#I know Elaine has brown eyes I don’t care | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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Best Kept Secret

chapter fourteen : condemned (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.9k

summary : reader tries to take her mind off of things

warnings, etc. : domestic violence, language, angst

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

You’re having trouble sleeping.

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time.

You’re haunted.

Your dreams are plagued by visions of faceless men. They’re fuzzy and vague, all you know is that you’ve been left behind, you just can’t keep up. And in every nightmare the faceless man carries on without you, as if you never meant anything to him at all.

You wake up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping for air, with a dull ache in your chest.

So by the time the sun's up you’re more exhausted than you’d be if you had just stayed up without trying to sleep.

You have to fight to keep your eyes open as Lysa and Elaine carefully dress you, Elaine takes you by the arm and guides you to sit on the bed, crouching down to be eye level with you. Her mouth is moving but you can’t seem to figure out the words until she’s saying your name, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry… what were you saying?” You manage to murmur out between yawns.

“How do you take your caf, my lady?

“Oh… I umm, I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

Why is she looking at you like that?

“I’ll bring you some options okay?” You can only bring yourself to nod, your thoughts are muddled as she leaves, Lysa silently running a brush through your hair.

What had that look been? It had been sad, but it seemed like more than that.

Pity.

That’s what it had been. Huh. Maybe she had just noticed how tired you were these last few days.

Elaine returns just as Lysa is finishing your hair, she’s got a tray with three mugs on it, all containing liquids of various shades of brown. She hands you the darkest one first, it’s almost black, it smells… strong. You take a small sip and your face scrunches at the bitter taste as you quickly hand it back to her.

“Definitely not that one.” You cough slightly as you reach for the lightest one, a creamy beige, sipping this one carefully, not sure what to expect. You’re pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of this one, nodding as you take several sips. It’s the same color as the gown you’re in today, a light sort of cinnamon color. It makes your skin buzz, your mind still feels tired but at least your body feels awake. You watch curiously as Elaine sets the tray onto the vanity before taking the mug of black caf to the door, opening it slightly, setting it on the floor just outside before shutting it once more.

You continue to slowly drink yours, the girls standing across the room from you whispering to each other with a companionship that fills you with yearning. When you finish the caf you walk to the tray, setting it down, thanking Elaine as you open the door.

And there he is.

Setting an empty mug on the stone window sill across from your door.

And then there is an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your life, at least not like this. It’s an unpleasant feeling and you’re certain you aren’t doing a good job of keeping it off your face as you look at the mug and then at his visor. You desperately wish you could hide behind a helmet so he couldn’t see the wounded look on your face.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

And it’s one you have no right to feel for two very obvious reasons. One being that Elaine has done nothing to earn the resentment you feel bubbling up inside of you. She has been nothing but kind to you, she takes care of you, she has been a consistent source of comfort to you just by being in your presence. So why do you suddenly feel like she’s your adversary?

The second reason is plain and simple. You have no claim over the Mandalorian. No right to be bitter over him accepting a drink from someone who wasn’t you.

You need to stop. You can’t be thinking things like this, it isn’t healthy. So you summon Leo with a call of his name as you glare at Mando with a faint look of betrayal. He’s there quickly, giving you a low bow.

“How may I be of service, princess?”

“Can you find me a few empty journals? And some more pens, just bring them to the library if it isn’t a hassle.” It isn’t a hassle, nothing is ever a hassle when it comes to you and it’s getting infuriating. Only one person ever said no to you and you never thought you’d miss it.

Leo gives you a nod and vanishes as you storm off to the library.

For Makers sake, stop throwing a tantrum. He isn’t yours to feel envy over.

You get to the library in record time, pinching your eyes shut as you walk past the nook, deeper into the library to the table from yesterday, still covered in parchment. You shuffle them all into one pile and set them aside before beginning your search for books with pictures. You decide on A Field Guide to the Creatures of Tatooine and The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Fish & Shellfish of Naboo.

The Mandalorian still isn’t speaking to you.

At all.

Sure he’s always been quiet, (except when he’s fucking you senseless, then he can’t seem to shut up.) but this is different. It’s intentional silence, and it hurts.

So you pretend he’s just muted himself through the helmet, that he’s talking to you and doesn’t even realize you can’t hear him.

It doesn’t really help.

Leo is as quick as ever to bring you your items, two leatherbound sketchbooks and a handful of pens.

You immediately get to work, desperate to get thoughts of the Mandalorian out of your mind as you draw as many animals and fish as you can until you have to take a break because your wrist hurts. It’s a messy jumble of inky fish swimming around the pages and a lot of them were drawn so hastily you can barely tell what they are. But you stopped thinking about him, briefly.

And this works for a few hours. But then it stops working when you flip to a page with koi fish that has you furrowing your brow. You swear you’ve seen them before and before you can stop yourself from making the connection you realize that they’re the same fish that swim in the lake near the garden. The lake that he lives next to. The lake that he took you to.

And drawing in the library to distract yourself becomes a short lived success. So you decide to pack up your supplies and explore. It’s been a long time since you felt the urge to do so, giving you déjà vu to your first couple of weeks here. Maybe you could pretend you’re back in those days, when you could still be optimistic about your marriage, and the Mandalorian was nothing more than an annoyance. You walk the halls until you stop in front of a set of large ornate doors, you aren’t even sure what’s inside but you sit on the floor, your skirt falling in a circle around you, with your torso in the center as you open one of the sketchbooks. You draw the woodgrain of the doorframe. You leave an absence of ink on the brass door knob to show the light reflecting off of it. And you’re about to draw the stone walls around it but you freeze in place as you hear the familiar crackling static of a modulator.

It’s barely audible, most people wouldn’t ever notice it. But not you. You notice things, especially when they have to do with him.

You don’t dare move. Holding your breath in anticipation until it stops.

You resist the urge to turn around to look at him, hoping that if you don’t pressure him he might speak but it never comes.

He was going to speak.

That’s a start.

Do you want him to speak? Don’t you hate him? Do you even know anymore?

You’ve been so busy trying to not think about him that now you don’t know how you feel about him. That should be a sign for you to say something, or at the very least allow yourself to think about him.

But instead you stumble to your feet and start walking. And you keep drawing to distract you from the living armor that follows behind you silently. You lean against a wall as you draw the stone archway above a staircase, and once again, just as you're finishing up you hear that crackle, just behind you.

This time you can’t help but cock your head to the side slightly, the moment you do you’re back in silence.

Kriff.

This carries on like clockwork through the rest of your day. You draw as many doorways and windows as you can, if you were tired when you started the day you have no idea what you are now. You’re loopy with exhaustion as you stumble to your chambers.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe you’re just sick of hearing that crackle but when you open the door you lean against the frame and stare at him. You don’t say anything but you give him the chance to if he wants, you wait several moments, just glaring at him.

He doesn’t speak. So you close the door. You don’t even make it to the closet, not bothering to remove your gown you collapse onto your actual bed.

✩

You get a few hours of sleep in this time. It isn’t much because you’re still chasing after faceless men but it’s better than nothing. This time when you wake you stumble to the vanity, the bags under your eyes are dark and they make you look too serious.

It’s clockwork again, You’re back in purgatory. Without Mando planning things for you to look forward to you’re trapped in the loop you hated so much when you first arrived.

Wake up, be dressed like some sort of doll, find an aimless task to keep your brain occupied, sleep, repeat.

Except today isn’t another day in the loop, because when the girls arrive Elaine already has a mug of caf in her hands for you and Lysa is getting a blue dress from the closet and you have to physically restrain yourself from groaning as you realize you have dinner with Kodo tonight.

Everything is blending together. Days seem shorter and you feel like you spend all your time trying to get to sleep.

Is this the rest of your life? Days so unremarkable you can’t remember them?

You gratefully take the cup and drink it down quickly as they dress you. At least you have something to worry about other than the Mandalorian today. You can worry about your revolting husband who was more than frightening last time you had spoken.

You push those thoughts away the same way you push thoughts of the Mandalorian away. When the girls are finished you thank them both before grabbing the sketch book and pens. You leave at the same time as Elaine and Lysa and you catch Elaine glaring at Mando, she gives him a look of rage and then raises her eyebrows expectantly at him before taking Lysa’s arm and walking off.

You didn’t even know Elaine was capable of anger, she was always so reserved and put together.

Maybe he did the same thing he did to you to her.

The thought makes your stomach ache.

You decide it’s best not to dwell on it further as you begin to walk. He follows behind you like always, just a few steps back. You don’t bother going to the library today, you don’t want to copy pictures anymore. Today you’re going to draw from memory. It takes about half an hour but eventually you find a window with a wide enough sill that you can sit in it, pulling your legs up as well so you can balance the sketchbook against your thighs. The Mandalorian settles against the opposite wall.

As of today it’s been a week since you last heard his voice.

Don’t.

Don’t think about him. Just draw.

You draw Elaine.

You draw the short horns that come up from the top of her head in cone shapes. The long head tails that fell down her shoulders, you’d never seen a Togruta with them as long as hers. You lightly shade in the red parts of her skin, leaving the white spots on her face empty of any ink.

You try to draw her with the expression she had made earlier.

You can’t seem to get it right. Your depictions never seem angry enough.

You draw Lysa.

Her big round eyes, her olive skin, and her short black hair. You draw her next to Elaine. It feels weird to separate them.

You draw Leo.

His head tails are significantly shorter than Elaines and he usually wears a beige cap over them.

You draw him exactly as he always is.

Stern looking and uptight.

You wish you had asked for paints so you could color his skin orange.

Before you know it you’re flipping to a new page and drawing someone unfamiliar.

Your eyes glance up for just a moment to look at him. There hasn’t been any static today.

You draw a sharp jawline, covered with stubble.

You draw round, plush lips, open just enough to see his front teeth.

You draw furrowed brows, and forehead creases from frowning too much.

You draw short buzzed hair, before deciding it doesn’t look right and scribbling it out.

You draw several noses. Some small, some large, some button and some bumpy. None of them fit the face you’ve drawn.

It looks all wrong, so you start again.

And again, and again, and again.

But none of them look right. None of them suit him.

You keep trying. Your wrist aches but you have some sort of primal desire to get it right.

You try hooded eyes, round eyes, almond eyes, at one point you draw squares just for the hell of it, of course they don’t look right but neither do any of the other ones. You try every face shape you can, round, sharp. None of it’s right and you’re starting to get frustrated.

Again.

And again, and again, and again.

And then there’s static.

He’s standing just in front of you now. You hadn’t realized he’s walked over as you slam the journal shut.

He clears his throat.

That’s it.

He doesn’t speak but he does make you aware of how much darker it is in the hallway, you need to go to dinner. You look at him once more, waiting, hoping he’ll say something but there’s nothing. So you nod and stand, walking to your chambers first, tossing the book inside along with the pens before heading towards the dining hall.

Your pace is sluggish. You know you’re already late but you have no desire to see him and Mando doesn’t rush you so you take your time.

Your walk is over too soon as the guards at the door nod when you approach.

As the doors are pushed open you can’t help but pray to all the gods that he isn’t sober. There’s no way you can handle that bone chilling venom in his voice when he talks to you without his drunken drawl.

You step in to see him already finishing what you assume isn’t his first glass of ale, relief rushing through your veins, the Mandalorian hot on your heels, Kodo looking up at the sound of your footsteps with a twisted grin.

“There you are my nervous mouse!” Nevermind, sober would be better than this anyday.

“Hello dear husband.” You mutter as you take your familiar seat across from him, the Mandalorian taking his position just behind you.

“How are you my mouse? Have you been well?” He chews with his mouth open, little bits of the meat pie before him spewing out from between his lips.

Maker, he’s disgusting. You wish he was the one who was sworn to forever wear a helmet.

“I’m perfectly fine, my prince.” You play with the food in front of you, you have no appetite as you watch him, possibly the most drunk you’ve ever seen him.

His dinner conversation is filthy.

He won’t shut up about one of the girls his brother just became betrothed too. He goes into graphic detail how attractive he finds her “lithe figure.”

There’s a sadness in your heart for this stranger.

Does she know what she’s marrying?

Of course he can never seem to stop talking about his brother's wives as he mentions that one is currently pregnant, claiming she’s the size of a barn.

You don’t hide your frown.

Why should you?

If he’s going to be a pig you might as well treat him like one.

Eventually he settles on rambling about how he wants to get more battle droids for his personal guard because the people in the city don’t seem to be fond of him, and because he’s often out in public spaces he needs more protection.

Personally, the six he currently has following him at all times already seems to be a bit much but you could care less.

They take your untouched plate and bring out another course that you don’t touch as he continues to ramble about his battle droids for the entirety of this course.

Finally someone comes to take the plates and you’ve only got dessert left to get through. He finishes another drink as he begins to talk with his mouth full of whatever pastry is in front of the both of you.

“Still hiding in the library little mouse” He raises his once again filled glass in your direction.

Your jaw twitches at the nickname.

“Yes my prince.”

“Still my little mouse I see. How dull.” He laughs loudly, when he slams his glass down on the table a bit of the dark liquid spills onto the white tablecloth.

“I suppose I just like reading.” You don’t want to entertain him any longer. You just want to go back to your room.

He hiccups as he releases the glass in his hand and points at you, taunting you.

“You’re a tedious little thing aren’t you?” There’s that cruel grin.

He must get off on this or something.

You have no interest in being a part of that so you just pick at the pastry in front of you with your fork.

“Did you hear me little mouse? Your prince asked you a question?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d like to be dismissed.” You push your chair away from the table standing and collecting yourself before you start walking out. You hear Kodo’s chair screech against the wood floors and he goes around his side of the table to cut you off before you reach the exit.

For someone as drunk as he is he’s surprisingly quick on his feet.

“You’re dismissed when I dismiss you.” He spits out, glaring down at you, even slouched he’s got a few inches on you. You roll your eyes as you start to push past him but you’re suddenly knocked to the ground, a sharp sting on the left side of your face.

It all happens in slow motion.

The force of the slap has you reeling to the floor. Your head knocks against the cold ground.

Your teeth cut deep into your lip, and you taste blood.

His handprint lingers against your face and you know you’ll have a mark.

All of this registers in an instant. The next thing you do is purely on instinct, your eyes go to the Mandalorian. Because somehow you know that if you don’t stop him he’ll do something irreversible.

You give him a warning look, eyes wide, shaking your head the tiniest bit, just enough that only he will register it.

And you were right to do it because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s taken a step forward in your direction, positioning himself beside you defensively.

You’re actually grateful for how drunk Kodo is because he doesn’t seem to notice any of this and it only takes one more stare from you to get Mando to take his hand off his firearm.

“Now you’re dismissed.” Kodo growls at you before throwing his glass against the wall, screaming at one of the servants to find his brothers, not bothering to be discreet as he yells about some whore house.

The moment he storms off you’re struggling to your feet, groaning, you never actually get to your feet though as you’re lifted off the ground.

The Mandalorian picks you up effortlessly, holding you bridal style as he rushes you out of the dining room, his helmet trained on your face as he brings you towards your chambers on muscle memory alone, his visor never looking away from you.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to process anything that’s happened in the last two minutes, your hand coming to your face causing you to wince as you poke at the gash on your lip.

He’s shaking.

His entire body trembles and his grip on you is unyielding as he walks.

You stare up into the black line of the visor and the shakes seem to lessen so you stay like that, staring at each other as he carries you until you get there and he leans down to open the door, never letting his gaze falter as he brings you inside and sets you on the bed. He puts his satchel next to you before giving you one final look.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since the night he ended things. The hoarse rasp of his voice crawls deep into your brain, settling like warm honey and calming your nerves.

You want to plead with him. Beg him to stay, but he said he'll be back so you stay put. He quickly leaves the room, grabs the book on flowers off the vanity on his way out. The one he had been reading that you had taken. He’s only gone a moment, you hear a tearing sound and when he comes back the book is gone.

You don’t push further as he approaches you. Taking your face in his hands to observe the injury.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He says it like he’s the one who hit you. Full of regret and longing.

“I don’t want your apologies.” Liar. You want anything he’ll give you. You want his apologies, his insults, and his praises. But more than anything you want that soft tone, that gentle way of speaking that he reserves just for you.

“I don’t care what you want right now. My only concern right now is making sure this doesn’t scar.” You cringe as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to get a better look at where your teeth cut through the tender flesh there.

“I’m sure you’d hate that. What use would I be to you without my looks?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe you just need someone to be angry at right now. Maybe he deserves it. You aren’t really sure. But there’s a harshness in it you didn’t know you were capable of. If he has a reaction to your words he doesn’t show it physically as he continues inspecting the small wound.

“I’m the last person who cares about that…” Now he seems concentrated on prodding and inspecting the red mark that’s certainly forming on your cheek as you push his hands away.

“Thanks.” You scoff, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You know that’s not what I meant, now can you not be difficult? For just a few minutes? This is really deep… it’s almost all the way through your lip. It will definitely leave a mark if I don’t take care of it…”

His gloved hands gingerly grab your chin, he sounds more frustrated than you’ve ever heard him. He reaches into his bag and retrieves some antiseptic and a rag. He pours a bit onto the cloth before dabbing it at the broken skin of your lip causing you to wince at the sting.

“I know. Just a little more.” It’s almost that familiar soft tone he takes with you as he finishes up before grabbing a small vial from his bag, a viscous clearish, white liquid in it. You can’t help but furrow your brows as you stare at it. It’s like he reads your mind as he uncorks the top.

“It’s bacta, you deviant.” He mutters as he pours a bit of the slimy solution onto the fingertips of his gloves as he generously applies it to the cut. Your nose scrunches up at the sour smell of it. He’s silent as he carefully coats the side of your face with a thin layer of the stuff before hesitating and then continuing. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No.

Not really.

You weren’t really sure how you felt about it. You knew Kodo was a bad person. You just hadn’t realized how bad.

And you’re married to him. Condemned to be his wife.

But you don’t want to tell Mando all that so instead you just shake your head no. You’re grateful that he doesn’t push you for more, he simply nods as he coats the inside of your lip with the bacta.

“Maker, that's gross…” You groan as a bit touches your tongue, it tastes just as sour as it smells.

“It is. But it won’t scar.” He hands you the rest of the vial. “Have one of the girls put more on in the morning, you should be good as new by tomorrow night.”

“Oh great. It won’t scar, thank the gods.” You roll your eyes as you take the tube, tossing it onto the bed.

“Watch it.” His tone is sharp and you feel it stab into your chest, it’s just like the first few days. When he’d snap at you because he thought you were plotting against him, of course, you were but he was presumptuous to assume that.

You don’t like that it reminds you of what you used to be.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. You don’t get to do anything to me anymore, including tell me if I can or cannot have a mark on my face. It doesn’t bother me, so maybe when you leave I will wipe off this disgusting salve and let it scar, I don’t understand why you care so much about my face having an imperfection.” You shove past him.

You don’t know why you’re so mad. It isn’t his fault.

You definitely just need someone to be mad at and he just so happens to be here.

But that doesn’t matter. You deserve to be angry. And he deserves to have someone angry at him because of how he’s treated you.

You walk to the closet, as you open the door he’s already caught up to you, grabbing your arm. He immediately pulls it back, like your skin was ablaze and you had sent him up in flames. You glare, waiting for him to speak or leave.

It's quiet for a long time.

The only sound is the crack of the modulator.

It gives you goosebumps as you wait.

“If I had to look at you every day and see that reminder of what he did, sooner or later I would walk into whatever pleasure house he’s defiling on that particular day, and no amount of battle droids, or royal guards, would be able to stop me from cutting off the hand that had struck you.”

Oh.

You don’t have a witty remark.

Or any sort of comeback.

There are no words to explain how you feel so you nod before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. After a few minutes you hear the click of your bedroom door and you know he’s gone.

Oh.

You can’t really focus on anything that’s happened tonight. There’s too many things happening in your brain.

So you tug at your dress.

Desperate to be free of the suffocating blue fabric. You don’t know when you start crying but your cheeks are wet with tears and bacta and eventually you manage to tear the fabric in the front of your bodice as you rip the front of the dress completely in half. Frantically pulling yourself free of the cloth you open the closet door to throw the wretched thing into the main room before curling into a ball on your blankets.

You’re just so tired.

But you can’t stop thinking.

And you don’t want to think about Kodo.

So you let yourself think about Mando.

You don’t tell yourself to stop. And you don’t deny things as you think about what he said.

Eventually you fall asleep.

And that night in your dreams the faceless man stops running away.

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#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

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acourtofquietdreamers · 9 months ago

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“Elain shouldn’t have to convince anyone that she belongs in the Night Court.” “Elain needs to leave the people that coddle her.” “Elain just needs to give Lucien a chance and she’ll realize he’s perfect for her.”

Elain is often criticized for being passive and not standing up for herself yet some people believe she shouldn’t fight for what she wants and what she believes in. She should just run away. She should just give in to the mating bond and give Lucien a chance. She should continue being passive.

I believe Elain’s growth would be more impactful if she continues down the path we’ve begun to see her go down where she passionately fights for what she wants and doesn’t back down. We may not have Elain’s POV yet, but Elain has made her feelings known on a couple subjects. I’m focusing on Elain’s words only because I do not believe others know what’s best for her.

Elain very confidently declared herself as a member of the Night Court.

When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

Should Elain abandon her declaration and leave the place she’s begun to build a life in because she looks plain in black? Or because Nesta thinks Spring is made for “someone like her”?

Or should she prove them wrong by earning her place within the court (cue Elain using her powers) and show the claws she’s been hinted to have?

Elain no longer wants to be coddled by her sisters and we see her stand up to them for the first time in ACOSF.

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Should Elain run away from this battle and leave her imperfect relationship with her sisters behind?

Or should she continue to address the issues in their relationship so they can come out stronger?

Elain has made it clear that the mating bond means nothing to her, regardless of others trying to convince her to give the “nice guy” a chance.

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?” “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”

“You belong to him.” “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.”

Should Elain give in to the pressures of giving her mate a chance? Forget about her dream of a love that would trump even a mating bond?

Or should she fight for a love of her own choosing?

I don’t want Elain to give in. I don’t want her to be passive and let others make decisions for her. I want to see Elain surprise everyone and continue to fight.

#pro elriel #elriel #pro elain #Elain rambles

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nightcourtreader · 1 year ago

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OMG. I just saw that if Elain gets with Lucien it would be Stockholm syndrome. Are you fucking kidding me?

Where in this situation is Lucien Elain’s abuser or captor? WHERE. STOP MAKING LUCIEN THE VILLIAN OF ELAINS STORY WHEN HE IS NOT THE ISSUE!

For some reason people only like to look at the fact that elucien mating bond is shackling them together like Elain doesn’t have a choice to reject the damn bond! SHE CAN. Lucien is still a choice whether people like that or not. If Feyre got to choose Rhysand in acomaf, and nesta got to choose Cassian, why the hell can’t Elain choose Lucien?

Lucien has done nothing to Elain! NOTHING. He didn’t know that the sisters were involved. I don’t care for Tamlin but he didn’t know either! The only person who knew was Ianthe and that bitch got what she deserved.

Lucien and Elain being mated is not Lucien’s fault. Lucien literally thought that his mate already fucking died. THE BOND IS FROM THE DAMN CAULDRON. The same cauldron who is suppose to love Elain so much remember, so why the hell would Elain not have a perfect mating bond?

People in this fandom have a hard time accepting that mating bonds are there since both parties are born! Rhys literally saw Feyre in his dreams when she was still human! It was clear something was going on with Nessian when nesta was still human. Nothing happened between Elain and Lucien while she was still human because they didn’t have a chance to properly meet first before she was thrown in the damn cauldron.

But even then before Lucien knew that Elain was his mate, he was the ONLY one who was trying to get to Elain and was worried about her and her well being before & after she was put into the cauldron.

• Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two gaurds and hoisted up. (pg 604, ACOMAF)

• “This is enough” Lucien surged for Elain, for the cauldron. (pg 604, ACOMAF)

•“Lucien snarled at the King over the bite of the magic at his throat, “don’t just leave her on the damned floor—“. There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.” (pg 606, ACOMAF)

• Lucien took of his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—“ (pg 606, ACOMAF)

• Water poured forth, Lucien hosting Elain in his arms and out of the way. (Page 607, ACOMAF)

Before Lucien even announced that Elain was his mate, Elain was already looking at him! She didn’t look at Azriel who was injured with a damn bolt in his chest! She was looking at Lucien.

• “But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal…Lucien hands slackened at his sides. His voice broken as he whispered to Elain, “you’re my mate” (pg 608, ACOMAF)

And I hate the argument that Elain and Azriel weren’t mated because Azriel was injuried. So was Cassian after he literally got his wings shredded defending Azriel and him and nesta were still mated. Azriel was not worried about Elain going into that cauldron! He was worried about Mor! He didn’t tell hybern to not touch Elain! He told hybern to not touch Mor.

• “Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.” Mor looked at Azriel—and there was real fear there. Fear—and something else. She didn’t stop moving until she again kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed—but covered her bloody fingers with his own.”

A certain part of this fandom are going too far with their statements about FICTIONAL CHARACTERS in order to bring up a FICTIONAL SHIP THAT IS NOT CANON.

#elucien #pro elucien #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elain and lucien #elain archeron #lucien and elain #acomaf #acowar

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starsreminisce · 1 year ago

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“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?” “No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud. Rhys's face drained of color. "You believe you deserve to be her mate?" Azriel scowled. "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway."

“I would agree with you on that,” I admitted. “But remember that they were engaged. Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?” My nostrils flared. “That’s not what I meant.” “She wants nothing to do with me.” “Would you, if your positions were reversed?” He didn’t answer. I tried, “After Solstice wraps up, why don’t you come stay for a week or two? Not in your apartment, I mean. Here, at the town house.” “And do what?” “Spend time with her.” “I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.”

When Elain declared that she doesn't want a mate, the responses from Azriel and Lucien were vastly different. Lucien, understanding her well, anticipated her reaction and acknowledged that she doesn't want a mate. He expressed self-deprecation in response to Feyre's suggestion to give Elain time.

On the other hand, Azriel's reactions were different. He questioned if the Cauldron was wrong, turning it into a mate issue, and when asked if he believed he deserved to be her mate, he deflected and made it about Lucien, stating that he doesn't deserve to be her mate and on how Elain perceives Lucien.

Elain's declaration that Lucien is not entitled to her time or affections and that he doesn't know her raises interesting points. Despite this, Lucien has never demanded these things from her and is aware that she does not want a mate.

The statements about Azriel's "she has no interest in him" versus Lucien's "she wants nothing to do with me" highlight how little Azriel knows about Elain compared to Lucien. Lucien understands that Elain wants little to do with him because she's avoiding the issue, as evidenced by her ignoring Feyre's statement. Azriel, however, interprets her behavior as having no interest in him because it doesn't align with the typical behavior of mates after the bond snap.

Elain's decision to rebel against the Cauldron and fate, making her own choices, contrasts with Azriel's perspective. Azriel doesn't share the belief that love can triumph over a mating bond, as indicated by his inquiry about why the third sister was given to another, suggesting that Lucien now owns her.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #antie/riel #antielriel #pro elain archeron #pro lucien

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nikethestatue · 1 year ago

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A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter X

Howlin’ For You

Today

Breasts.

Boobs.

Mammary Glands.

Jugs.

Boobies.

Tits.

Fiery Biscuits.

Melons.

Baps.

Milkers.

Tatas.

Snuggle Pups.

The ‘girls’

Whatever one called them, here they were. Staring Azriel Night in the face. He could’ve thought of a few more names for them: ‘naughty pillows’, ‘honkers’, ‘knockers’, ‘the rack’...and on and on and on.

This pair was nice as fuck. He couldn’t deny it.

The generously bosom-y blonde across from him was a beauty named Mor. And this Mor was a stunner. Big brown eyes, hair like molten gold, tits for days, childbearing hips, a nipped waist.

He’d arrived early, yet she was already here, at a posh, faceless bar in the City. She wanted to go somewhere flashier, but Azriel didn’t want any more of his photos splashed across Daily Mail under the headline ‘Another One for Footie’s Bad Boy?’ so he chose this spot. It was filled with nervous and overly intense finance blokes, with an uneven ratio of 78% dicks to 22% pussy in attendance. If he didn’t know better he’d think this was a gay bar, but it wasn’t. It was a bar where ‘deals were made’ and no one paid attention to him. He was wearing a suit and easily passed for another manic finance bloke.

Mor was on her third drink already, but she was holding her alcohol well, though Azriel suspected that might have a problem somewhere there. Currently he wasn’t training or playing due to his injury, but he still stuck with sparkling water as was his habit. Those big bazoongas shifted beneath her bright red dress and even a blind man would’ve felt the earth shift when she moved, but Azriel remained…uninterested.

Yes, in theory, she was tempting and attractive in every way. If this was three months ago, he probably would’ve been pounding her on the way back from the bar, giving Dev an eyeful. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

Alas, currently, not only did he not care about her tits whatsoever, he also kept thinking about the cool 20 Day Advent Calendar that he bought for Pinky, where there was a special treat behind every little daily slat. He was unhealthily excited about this Advent Calendar and kept imagining how excited Pink would be about it, and how he and Elain would open it daily to reveal treat-of-the-day.

No tits were as desirable as the happiness of his dog. Besides, the only tits that were interesting to him, the only tits he wanted to touch and squeeze, the only tits he wanted to lick and bite, were Elain’s. Soft, ample, squishy titties–the only tits worth his time and attention. Whatever Mor was laying down, he sure as hell wasn’t picking up. The only reason he was here anyway, was because his ornery girlfriend demanded it and he was humouring her. A little bar talk with this loud woman was a small price to pay for having Elain in his arms through the night, making her accept him, slowly, but surely fall for him, submit…Yeah, it was worth it, even if he didn’t want to be here.

Five Days Ago

“You aren’t even that ill!” Elain protested.

Azriel offered a loud and very fake cough to demonstrate that he was indeed quite ill.

“I beg to differ,” he argued. “Are you really going to send a star athlete all the way to Canary Wharf, in the beginning of December? While he is half-dead from fever and has a broken leg?”

“Oh, now the leg is broken too?” Elain crossed her arms on her chest, shaking her head, looking at him. The good thing was that Pinky decided to take Azriel’s side, and now he sat by his side, working hard at giving Elain the biggest puppy dog eyes in history.

“You two are emotional vampires!” she declared, getting up from the table.

“We are emotional puppies!” Azriel argued.

“You are a traitor,” Elain hissed at Piglet, who whimpered pathetically.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” Azriel offered sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes and told him firmly, “you aren’t sleeping with me”.

“Umm,”

“No, don’t even think about it.”

“Where am I sleeping then?”

“In the guest room,” she said primly,

“Aren’t you planning to sleep with your husband in the same bed?” he queried.

“Yes. But you aren’t my husband.”

“But I will be,” he reminded her.

“Dream on, football boy,” she puffed her cheeks, while Azriel gathered the plates and hobbled with them to the sink. And then, he proceeded to wash the dishes like a good boy. It was silly, because obviously she had a dishwasher, but Azriel wanted to show how he would be a great husband-material, and how much potential he had in that department.

Elain didn’t say anything, but quietly began putting things away after dinner. Pinky was laying there like a log, watching them closely, monitoring every move.

Azriel was almost done with the washing up, when he stepped aside and suddenly pulled Elain to him, wrapping his arm around her waist.

Her breath quickened, but she didn't struggle in his hold. He pressed her into the counter and held her within the cage of his arms.

Elain smelled delightful. A heady mix of jasmine, with light undertones of warm honey and vanilla. Her scent was exactly what she was in life–a flower-lover and a baker. It was a perfect mix of who she was.

Azriel inhaled her deeply and felt her shiver against him. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, savouring the moment. It was quiet, other than some instrumental Christmas music playing on Elain’s phone. So it made sense when Elain’s arms tentatively wrapped around Azriel’s waist and she pulled him a little closer.

“Why are you like that, my matchy?” he whispered.

“How am I?”

“Skittish. Afraid. You shouldn’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”

She sighed sadly and whispered, “Others have said the same, and did, in fact, hurt me.”

“I am not ‘others’. I am it. I knew that I was fucked once I started wondering what your lips would taste like, and I am still wondering about that. I’ve been many different things in my life, and not all of them any good, but with you, it’s different.

“You smell like home. You feel like a wife. You act like the mother of my children. There is nothing I can do about that.”

“You fell hard,” she murmured.

“Surprised me too,” he chuckled, “but here we are.”

She took his hand in hers and looked at his scarred skin, absently rubbing the mangled flesh with her thumb. At that, it was Azriel’s turn to squirm a bit. He didn’t like close attention being paid to his hands.

But, all she did was whisper ‘beautiful’ and Azriel didn’t know what to do with that. So he blushed. Because it wasn’t something he expected, and coming from her, he knew that it was the truth. She found his hands beautiful.

She then took him by the hand and gently pulled him behind her, sneaking from under his arm.

“Gonna put me to bed, beautiful?” he chuckled.

“Don’t push it,” she warned playfully.

They went upstairs, Azriel being on his best behaviour, careful not to spook her and have her send him back down to sleep on the couch.

Elain’s upstairs wasn’t any less luxurious and stylish than the downstairs. The landing had built-in bookshelves and a loveseat and apparently Pinky’s own swanky pad, with a vast doggy bed and various cushions upon which he could ‘relax’ (not that his life was very hard and required much relaxation). In addition, part of the built-ins contained all his outfits, his toys, and bows. He had more clothes than Kim K.

“You are here,” Elain opened the door to one of the bedrooms. It was modern, comfortable, like a world-class hotel room. But impersonal.

“There is an en-suite,” Elain waved her hand to another door.

“And where are you?” Azriel asked immediately.

She gave him a look, but said “at the end of the hall. Should you require anything, knock and let me know.”

Then, after a beat, she added, “And since you sleep in the nude, please don’t forget to cover yourself.”

Azriel smirked and gently cupped the side of her neck, drawing his thumb over the tender skin of her throat.

“So you remembered then?”

Primly, as if they were discussing cottage cheese, she said, “it’s my job. I pride myself in remembering what my clients tell me.”

“Ahhh,” he nodded slowly, with a knowing look on his face. “And for no other reason I am sure, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then, Ms. Archeron,” he pressed his lips to her forehead and gave her a soft, loving kiss, “good night. And if I do need anything, I will remember to cover my massive cock,”

“Ahh,” she gasped and he laughed, giving her another quick kiss.

She pushed at him, pretending to be oh-so scandalised, but there was no fire in her protests.

“Stop kissing me!”

“That’s a hard no from me,” he shrugged. “I only intend to kiss you more.”

“Why are you like this?”

“What? Charming? Sexy? Smart?”

“Yeah, all of the above,” she snorted. “Don’t you ever take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“Not really,” he confessed. “Definitely not this time around.”

“Why not?” she asked quietly, looking straight at him.

He licked his lip and then stated simply,

“Because you are mine.”

Today

“Three million.”

Azriel was so lost in thought, especially recalling how that night five days ago went, that he didn’t catch anything that Mor was saying to him. Not until he heard ‘three million’.

“Pardon?” he finally asked.

“I think that’s a reasonable sum,” she decided, flipping her hair behind her shoulder.

“For what?”

“Us!”

“Us? Us what?” his brow furrowed and he had no idea what she was referring to.

“That’s the exchange,” she pushed, leaning across the table towards him, and letting her boobs slide forward, the material of her dress barely containing them. Gosh, she was trying hard.

“Miss Hewn, lay it all out,” he all but snapped at her. “What do you want?”

“It’s what you want,” she corrected him and brought her martini glass to her bright red lips. An espresso martini, no less. What a revolting 80s drink that no self-respecting person would ever touch. But Azriel chose to keep his opinion to himself. Mor wasn’t Elain. He could tease Elain. She’d answer, she’d taunt him back. It would be wonderful. But he didn’t need to worry about Elain–she was a whiskey and lager and gin girl. Proper drinks. Classic. None of this frou-frou nonsense. He had no opinion on Mor because he didn’t give a shit.

“What am I exchanging for three mil?” he queried, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back in his chair.

She mimicked his posture, and said in a firm, bland tone,

“A little birdy told me that if you don’t marry by the time you are thirty, you lose your chance at your inheritance…and I hear it’s over 200 mil. Lord Darling is worth what? About two billion? 10% of his wealth goes to his two adopted sons–you and your brother Cassian. Am I not correct?”

“You are alarmingly well-informed about Lord Darling’s finances,”

She shrugged and said with false innocence in her voice, “all public knowledge, Azriel. And I am a girl who does her research.”

Another one.

Another girl who was doing her due diligence. But unlike Elain, whose intentions were honourable and even a little naive, Mor seemed much more predatory. Her big eyes gleamed with excitement.

“So, if I am understanding you correctly,” Azriel sipped his sparkling water, wondering how long he had to stay here for, “you want me to pay you three million pounds,”

“Correct,” she nodded.

“For what exactly?”

“To marry you, of course, silly!” she smiled at him and winked.

“Oh…”

“Two years? Three?” she shrugged irreverently and finished her gross martini, while immediately motioning to the waiter for another drink.

The balls on her were…impressive.

If Azriel wasn’t so internally disgusted, he would’ve been awed.

But he was mostly grossed out.

“We marry, we stay together for a couple of years,” Mor continued easily. “I get my three million. You get your 200 million and then we part amicably. What do Americans call it? Irreconcilable differences. We wouldn’t be able to reconcile our differences too. I’ll even sign a prenup, and won’t ask for any spousal support or any bit of your money,”

“Generous of you,” he said dryly. “So this has been the plan from the beginning, I am guessing?

She shrugged innocently.

“I go where the money is.”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted. “You know all about how much I make too?”

Her red-tipped fingers gently caressed his hand, but in a condescending sort of way, like she was taming a wild animal.

“Of course I do, darling,” she smiled at him. “Of course, I do. 115 million contract with Arsenal over 5 years. Multiple multi-million pound endorsement contracts with big name companies–Adidas, Apple, Bank of England come to mind. Oh, Smart Water. Oh, oh,” she snapped her fingers, “a deal with that shaving company…You looked good in those adverts. All damp and half-naked, water dripping off of you,”

Azriel barely managed not to roll his eyes.

“How did you get through Elain’s rigorous screening?” he interrupted her litany, speaking frankly and not giving a fuck. He was past being Mr. Nice Guy or even Mr. Pretend to Be a Nice Guy for the Evening. He was going to be the dickhead that he usually was.

Mor laughed lightly and accepted another weird concoction from the waiter–a Lemon Drop, apparently. What was with this woman and her 80s drinks? They weren’t even classics. Just gaudy.

“Ohhh,” Mor did a sing-song thing with her voice. “Elain…Lady Elain Archeron, the 7th Marchioness of Londonfair, sister to Nesta, the Duchess of Velaris and to Countess Feyre Archeron.

“See, Azriel, I do my research on everyone. Did you know that the Duke of Velaris petitioned Queen Victoria some time around 1894 to have all the females in his family receive titles. Just the females, the same way the males would. And the titles are passed on to women in that family. Interestingly, the old Queen wasn’t exactly a feminist. In fact, she was sternly opposed to feminism and felt that women should obey and serve their men. Wonder what the Duke had to do to convince her? But whatever he did, apparently worked.

“The sisters’ mother was the Duchess of Velaris. Nesta was the Marchioness. Elain, a Countess. Feyre, a Viscountess. Once the mother died, the titles shifted to each respective sister. Interesting, isn’t it?

“You know how much they are worth?”

“No,” Azriel snapped. “I don’t, and I don’t care.”

“Pity. It is curious that Lady Elain has this strange profession. Very odd, don’t you think? A matchmaker.”

“She wants to bring happiness to others,” he said. “Love.”

Mor scoffed,

“Love. Yes, love. It’s adorable that you bought into her fantasy.”

“Her track record is impeccable,” he argued roughly.

“Oh,” Mor waved her hand, “I am not arguing, I know she is good at what she does. Poor lonely souls flock to her in hopes for their happily ever after.”

“And you didn’t?” he challenged. Dark, angry, cold rage was rising up in his chest, threatening to suffocate him. His own personal feelings aside, Elain was good. She believed in what she did. She was kind and thoughtful and careful with the feelings of others. She did want people to find their partners, and their happily ever after. Of that, he had no doubt. Therefore, anyone taking advantage of her sincerity and her beliefs made him see red.

“I did flock too,” Mor confirmed, almost chugging her Lemon Drop in one go and motioning for the waiter yet again. Jesus fuck. “Just not for love,” she continued. “It wasn’t exactly difficult to build up a story that Elain wanted to hear. My very unsuccessful first engagement, then a string of men who didn’t turn into anything serious, disappointments and my ‘yearning for love’,” she made air quotes. “The poor silly cow fell for it just like that,” she snapped her fingers.

At that, Azriel flinched, but Mor didn’t notice it. Instead, she ordered ‘Sex On the Beach’ and he almost died of embarrassment. When the kids on the team told him that they ‘died of cringe’ he now understood what they meant.

“If you know where to look, you’d find out that Lady Elain abruptly ended her engagement to Lord Nolan a few years back. I figured that he stepped out on her, and it turns out that I was correct. So I played that up to her, telling her that my fiance did the same. She was so easy,” Mor sighed dramatically. “I mean, what was I expecting? This is a woman who dotes on her lame legless pug and,”

“Pardon,” Azriel stood up abruptly and muttered, “I need to go to the loo,”

“Oh, alright then,” Mor nodded. “When you come back, we’ll discuss the details of the arrangement.”

Apparently, in her mind, everything’s been settled already.

Azriel left his jacket hanging on the back of his chair, but he figured it would be a small price to pay to escape. He veered off the path to the toilets and passed by the long, glass-covered bar, where he spotted Dev, who was sipping mineral water. Azriel motioned his head to the driver, and Dev got up promptly, his expression perplexed. His eyes darted from Azriel to Mor’s golden-haired head which loomed over the table.

Azriel came over and grabbed his driver’s arm, quickly ushering him towards the exit.

“Are you doing a runner?” Dev guessed, grinning at the panicked looking Azriel.

“Sure am!”

“Wait, so you pumped and dumped,”

“No pumping,” Azriel quickly, shuddering visibly, “only dumping.”

“You really gonna ghost her like that?”

“Honestly, it’s not my proudest moment, but I am afraid she is going to charge me for leaving. A tenner at least.”

Dev chuckled, and nodded towards Azriel’s lack of jacket,

“You’ll freeze your bollocks off,”

“Small price to pay to escape Miss Golden Arm over there. She really started the conversation with ‘you pay me three million and then I will marry you’.”

“Shit. For real?”

“Sure am. She is a thirsty one. Not for cock, but for a buck.”

Dev laughed and said, “Alright then, mate, let’s go. I’ll save you.”

Azriel tossed two hundred pounds to the barman and said, “For the lady’s drinks,” he pointed towards Mor. “And make sure she doesn’t drive. She’s had one, or ten, too many.”

By the time he slipped out of the bar, took the lift downstairs and came outside, to the frigid night, Dev was pulling the car around the corner.

Azriel all but collapsed into the warm cabin and rubbed his hands.

“Told you you’ll freeze,” Dev told him.

“What did you want me to do exactly?”

“Never seen you walk away like that from a woman before,” Dev commented, while he pulled away from the curb.

“Ehhh,” Azriel looked out the window, watching the sleek streets decorated for Christmas. “I wasn’t into it.”

“Uh-uh,” Dev only muttered, with a knowing look on his face. “Where to then? Canary Wharf or Russell Square?”

Azriel shot him a glance in the mirror, and Dev continued lightly, “I wasn’t planning on being done with the evening by,” he glanced at the clock, “7:08 pm. But here we are. So, where are we going? Home? Or where you wanna be?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel demanded.

The driver huffed and snickered.

“Come on, Az. I’ve known you for 20 years. Known you since we were lads.”

“So?”

“Seen you with all kinds of birds, and here we are tonight, and I am watching you walk away from Miss Busty without a second thought. And I can see you itching to go back to that posh neighbourhood and see your posh lass and her mega posh pug. Tell me I am wrong?”

Azriel rubbed his chin and looked back at the window.

“Russell Square,” was all he said.

Dev smiled widely.

“On my fucking way, lad.”

Because yes, Azriel wanted to be with his woman. And wanted a repeat of the night from five days ago.

Five Days Ago

Five nights ago, Azriel did not keep true to his word.

Well, technically, he didn’t promise to stay in his room. He didn’t promise to stop kissing Elain. He didn’t promise anything, other than to cover his cock if he went to her room. And he did.

He covered his cock.

He wore his boxers, to be precise.

He settled for the night–or at least for the immediate couple of hours–but as soon as the door closed, he heard scratching and banging, growling and barking.

“Piglet no!” came Elain’s urgent pleas. “Az is going to sleep. So should you. Go to your bed. Right now!”

Instead, there was snapping and more growling.

“Piglet, no. You had chicken and rice, you took a nice walk, you played with Az, and it’s time to call it a night. Go to bed.”

There was a pause, and then more aggressive banging on the door, which Azriel hoped wasn’t Pinky ramming his head into it.

“I swear to god, Piglet Pinky Archeron,” Elain exclaimed sternly and Azriel just about fell off the bed, at the sound of the middle name,

Piglet Pinky Archeron Night. Thank you very much.

“I am going to take you to the vet!”

A shocked, horrified whimper was the answer.

That was a hella threat then.

And then Piglet started crying and Azriel couldn't take it anymore. He got out of bed and threw the door open. With that, Piglet in turn threw himself in his arms like the floor was lava. Azriel wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “It’s okay, my boy. It’s okay. I am not going to send you to the vet,” he glanced at Elain, meaning to give her the stink eye, and only to notice her shocked expression.

Oh yeah…he was naked, other than for his underwear.

“Ummm,” she mumbled…”I…well, I…if he…you know he is quite loud if you want him to sleep in the room,” she rambled on, as her eyes darted here and then, trying to avoid the sight of his naked flesh.

That’s right, sweetheart. Keep looking.

“I am dressed,” Azriel pointed out with a smirk.

“I…I,” she huffed, swiping her hand over her brow, “I wouldn’t call this ‘dressed’ Mr. Azriel…”

“Mr. Azriel?” Azriel teased. “What happened to Mr. Night?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Mr. Night!” Elain nodded frantically, “that’s what I meant, of course. Naturally. Mr. Azriel.”

He kept staring at her, smiling, while she muttered, “Mr. Night!”

Then he shrugged and told her, “I rather like hearing my name on your lips, beautiful. ‘Azriel’ me all you want. Come on in then,” he jerked his head, inviting her in.

“Come where?” she baulked.

“To my comfy bed, obviously,” he explained like she was a bit stupid. “It’s only nine o'clock. According to the Daily Mail I am a ‘debauched footballer’--so what the fuck am I doing in bed at this hour? It’s fine for Pink, but you and I can spend some quality time together,”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she kept muttering, while he grabbed her hand and tugged her along.

“Don’t worry little virgin,” he assured her, “I’ll leave your virtue intact, if that’s what you’d like,”

“I am not a virgin!” she hissed at him and he laughed and then the three of them piled onto the bed, under his significant bulk and strength.

But first things first…

He got her in bed with him, which was a massive accomplishment. Took two months, but here they were. Now, he needed a minute to wrap his mind around the fact that Elain Archeron, his Elain, was in bed with him. Thankfully, Pinky offered him that opportunity, when he jumped off the bed, screamed excitedly, and then began running frantic circles around the room.

Watching the pug’s antics, Elain laughed and whispered, “major case of the zoomies.”

“For the laziest dog, he sure does pack a lot of energy,” Azriel commented, carefully arranging himself next to her, trying to be inconspicuous, like this was normal for them.

Nothing was normal.

None of this was normal.

Even the fact that Elain was barefoot, and he was seeing her pretty toes for the first time, had Azriel spiralling internally. She was usually formally dressed, and when he did catch her in casual attire, it was strange enough. But Elain barefoot? Her toenails were painted a light pearl colour and he couldn’t stop staring at them. He couldn’t stop staring at the difference in their sizes: at how much bigger he was than her. He was a big man, but her little pale feet seemed almost childish next to his large, beat up, calloused ones. His muscular legs reached almost to the edge of the bed, and he looked rough and wild compared to her, his skin a deep golden brown, tattoos peppering his body here and there, all the sinewy tight muscles bulging and shifting beneath his bruised, scarred, scratched skin. She was soft and creamy, pale and resembled a marshmallow or a cream puff. He resembled a gnarly log.

He extended his arm and Elain naturally leaned into the crook, laying her head on his shoulder.

She wore grey pyjama pants with pugs on them (obviously), and a red Arsenal t-shirt, with Azriel’s own number. Like a proper girlfriend should. Though it made his chest warm and everything inside of him squeezed with strange wormy happiness, because this wasn’t the jersey that he gave her. This was a different shirt, which she clearly bought for herself, and now wore to bed.

There was nothing sexy or alluring about her mismatched night outfit, but to Azriel, it was somehow perfect. Undoubtedly, the ensemble that she had on earlier–the shorts, the knee highs, and the jumper–was Pinterest-worthy in its enticing sexiness, and nothing beat half of her ass falling out of those shorts.

But this was good. Like it should be.

He rested his chin atop of her head and then she reached across him and tugged a blanket on top of his body.

“You’ll grow cold and will never get better,” she complained.

“Is my naked body messing with your little ladyship sensibilities?” he teased. “What’s it like with Lord Eris? Brace yourself, Sally, and think of England?”

“I hate you so much,” she said flatly, shaking her head with disdain.

“No, matchy. You like me,” he said assertively.

She tensed a little against him, but he only stroked her shoulder lightly, keeping her in place.

Piglet finally tired out from his zooming and attempted to climb back on the bed, but he couldn’t reach that high up, so he began whimpering frantically, now wanting as much attention as possible and fearing that he was missing out.

Azriell scooped him up with his available hand and placed him at his side.

“You can stay here, but you are not Beyonce, so no one will be entertaining you. Calm down and go to sleep. It’s me and Ellie time.”

Piglet pouted at him, but then burrowed himself in the blanket and quieted down.

“Try to keep the farting to a minimum,” Azriel warned, but Piglet only snorted at him.

Azriel draped the rest of the blanket over Elain, and then boldly grabbed her hip and hoisted her leg up and over his own.

There was a moment there, where they just looked at each other, their bodies connected, the intimacy of the moment almost stifling.

It was then that Elain asked,

“What do you want, Azriel? From me?”

He looked at her, studying the lovely contours of her face, and after a long pause, said,

“I want everything from you. I want you in the worst way. I need your taste. Your scent. I want to know what your skin would feel next to mine. I want to crawl so deep inside of you, that you won’t be able to extricate yourself from me ever. Not ever. Not with a spoon. Not with an axe. Not with a prayer. Not with a saw. And I want it all tonight. I want it every minute of the day. And I know that I can’t have it. So I yearn and desire, and I suffer, because I cannot have it. I cannot have you.”

“It’s a violent image,” she whispered at last, watching him in awe. “Your love is possessive, and nearly scary.”

“Nearly,” he agreed, “but not quite. I simply didn’t know that I could feel this way about anything. About anyone.”

“Are you going to start spouting poetry?” she smiled and lightly traced her finger over his jaw.

“I usually don’t need to resort to that,” he chuckled. “But if you’d like me to give you a little speech about how you’d bewitched me, body and soul, I could do that.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve read Pride and Prejudice!” she gasped in shock.

Azriel laughed quietly, “Fuck no! But I’ve seen enough gifs from the movie to remember that line.”

“I love that movie,” Elain admitted dreamily.

“Absolutely no surprise there,” Azriel concluded.

He then pulled her closer and slipped his arm lower, so he could cup her lovely ass, and when he did, she didn’t even fight him. That’s my girl, he thought.

“What should I get Pinky for Christmas?” he pondered, as he glanced at the sleeping pug.

“I don’t think that he cares all that much,” Elain admitted, while her little finger kept making circles on his skin, travelling from his neck, down to his shoulder and chest, as she traced the lines of his tattoos.

“Come on, of course he does! I do too. What should I get him?”

“Well,” she thought, “the things he likes the most are: empty Amazon envelopes, the padded ones. Socks. You can get him an old shoe. A stick, of course. He likes a good stick. Any kind of hose that he can tear up–pantyhose are his fave. An empty box. And of course the thing that he loves the most in the world is,” then her voice dropped to a whisper and she said into Azriel’s ear, her voice barely audible, “meatloaf.”

Even though Elain was whispering, the magical word still caused Piglet to stir sleepily. He waited for a moment, before falling back asleep.

“See?”

“Wow, he really must love it,” Azriel barely contained himself, stifling his laughter. “I guess I know what we are having for Christmas!”

The next hour and a half were spent in blissful warmth. Azriel took out his phone, and they proceeded to watch a bunch of comedians on Netflix. They laughed at the same jokes, and Azriel found it endearing.

“I think we need to get a tree,” Azriel decided at some point. “I would’ve thought that you’d be completely Christmas-obsessed and everything would be covered in Christmas spirit. Kind of like in ‘Elf’.”

Elain sighed and frowned.

“What?” he pushed, stroking her head.

“I didn’t feel like it this year, I guess,” she said lamely.

“Why?”

“I dunno…”

“Come on. Tell me.”

“I am not feeling festive, I suppose.”

The vague admission didn’t sit right with him and he turned her face up, so he could look at her.

“What happened?”

She bit her lip and sighed,

“I don’t know…I guess I didn’t see myself in this place, under these circumstances, at this stage of my life,”

“What circumstances?”

“Single, I suppose,” she sighed again. “I figured that by 28, I’d be married, maybe even with children. For sure with someone significant in my life. Now I'll be 28 in less than two weeks, and I guess I just broke up with my long-term boyfriend? I am not even certain where we stand with him. And then there is you, and you are all kinds of confusing,”

“I am not confusing,” he argued. “I am your boyfriend. I don’t really care that you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge this yet, but I am. You ain’t single. You are mine. And if you want me to put a ring on your finger on your birthday, I will, if it will make you happy,”

Elain elbowed him harshly and snapped, “Stop talking like that! We barely know each other! We,”

“We know each other plenty. What don’t I know about you and you don’t know about me? Short of an anal probe, you’ve asked me every question imaginable. You know what I like to eat, where I grew up, how I fuck, what I wear, where I live, and I know that you love your pug, and your sisters, and that sometimes you are lonely, and that you love watching couples that you set up end up married and happy, and you’ve been hurt in love, and you love apple crisps and are sweetly rough around the edges despite being a Lady.”

“I don’t know how you…fuck,” she cleared her throat.

“I can certainly show you that right now,” he offered. “I’ve been ready to fuck you since you’ve been eyeing my happy trail the day we decorated for Halloween,”

“WHAT!!!!” she cried out. “I was not!”

“Sure were, baby, sure you were,” he teased and squeezed her ass cheek hard, “you think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t let you watch for as long as you wanted?”

“Oh my god, you are horrible!” she smacked his bare chest. “I wasn’t. It was just there. Your stomach! You were showing it to me,”

“Uh-uh. Anyways. This Christmas will be brilliant, for you and for me. A new start, a new beginning,”

“Beginning of what?” she asked timidly, her expression hopeful and eager. She liked what he was telling her.

“Us, Elain Archeron. Us. Argue all you want, but I ain’t letting you go. And I am taking Pinky to get us a tree!”

He drove the point home by reaching and cupping her breast. He squeezed it tightly, bouncing it within his palm. It didn’t escape him that Elain wasn’t wearing a bra under the t-shirt, and her soft full tits have been rolling around all evening long next to him and driving him crazy.

She squeaked in surprise, and attempted to throw his hand off, but once he brushed his thumb over her nipple, she stilled and her breathing hitched audibly.

“You want me to show you how I fuck?” he asked quietly, swiping his thumb over the hardening nipple.

“You promised,” she protested breathlessly. “You said you won’t pressu-,”

“I did,” he nodded. “I did. But let me promise something else now then,”

“What?”

“I will fuck you, Ellie. And you are going to love it. And you’ll ask for more.”

When Azriel was 9 years old, he stole an eclair from a bakery. His class was some kind of class trip to the theatre. They were brought to Covent Garden and he walked around there, eyes wide open, his mind blown. He’d never been to a place more exciting, or beautiful, or wealthy. All he knew were hospitals, drab council estates, and his football, which he often played on concrete. He gawked at the shops, all the restaurants and pubs, and the bakeries. Gorgeous displays of wonderful things everywhere.

Azriel always had quick, sticky fingers, and though he didn’t like thieving, sometimes, it was necessary. Basic necessities were hard to come by, and when he could, he stole–socks and belts, toothpaste, combs, tissues, candy. He made it a point not to steal for no reason, and not get in trouble needlessly, over something trivial.

That day, they passed by some French sounding bakery–it was all gleaming marble, and outlandish displays of croissants and pastries, cakes and tarts, and rich people drinking coffee and buying bread. Nine quid for a loaf of bread. Outrageous!

But there were two types of eclairs that he couldn’t tear his eyes from. One covered in a chocolate glaze, and another sprinkled with hazelnuts and decorated with cream roses. He couldn’t stop looking at them–two girthy decadent stunners that called his name. All he wanted was to sink his teeth into one. Or both.

So he went for it. He pinched them. Wasn’t difficult. He was small and no one paid any attention to him. Besides, even if someone did notice him, they’d assume he was here with a parent. It took a minute, tops. In and out, and two eclairs were nestled in a paper bag, and then in his school bag. Later that night, he and Cassian snuck out, and ate the eclairs sitting on the crumbling stoop of a building.

Up until tonight, Azriel Night had never tasted anything better than those eclairs. Never did anything more sumptuous, sinful and blissfully delicious pass his lips. Never.

Not until he sunk his teeth into Elain’s soft, delicate neck.

In his defence, the scent of her hair, her body, the mix of honey and jasmine and vanilla made him dream of those delectable pastries. And somehow, his lips found their way to her cheek, and then, to her gorgeous neck. His mouth travelled the length of her throat, placing hungry, hot, desperate kisses on the lightly perfumed, warm skin.

Elain moved and moaned softly beneath him, and he woke up fully, feeling her luscious breasts splayed beneath his chest, her small, firm hand gripping his bicep sleepily. He wasn’t sure if she was awake or if she was also dreaming. But once he started, he couldn’t stop. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled, while he kissed over the trembling pulse point, the hot pumping of blood erratic and needy beneath his lips. He licked her vein, before kissing gently below the ear, only to return to the neck, and cover it in more kisses, peppering it with small bites.

Elain’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him in the darkness.

He wouldn’t have it. Didn’t want any arguments or debates about this. Gripping her chin firmly with his fingers, he turned her head to the side, allowing him all the access he needed to her neck.

“Shhh,” he shushed her. “Let me have this…”

Her nails dug into his skin, but she didn’t fight him that moment. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, back arching sexily and a needy little moan escaped her lips. He kissed her deeper, and his hand slipped back to her breast, which he covered with his palm. God she was soft. Soft and smooth and delicious in every way. And as his teeth and lips dug deeper into her skin and he sucked on her mercilessly, while realising that nothing compared to her in any way. She was his. That fluttering little heart beat for him.

He squeezed her breast harder, his fingers closing on the nipple, as he twisted it between his fingers, pinching it hard enough for her to gasp loudly.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned, “oh god,” because he pulled and pinched her nipple again, causing her to shudder next to him from both pain, but also pleasure.

Azriel figured that she hadn’t experienced true pleasure in a long time now. He was going to fix that.

“Enough,” she moaned at last and pushed him away slightly. “Not yet…”

“Okay,” he said quietly and pulled away from her neck. Flipping on his back, he covered his eyes with his forearm and willed himself to calm down. Elain was panting next to him.

When he glanced at her, her hair was a mess, her lips were parted, and she was holding her breast, while a bruise bloomed on her neck.

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing his face. “I am sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She was silent, staring at the ceiling.

“Ellie, I am sorry,” he muttered worriedly, “forgive me. I am sorry, I overestimated my,”

“It felt good,” she said suddenly.

“Oh. Well, that’s good, right? I thought that I was too,”

“Rough? Yes. But you warned me about that,”

“And…is that okay?”

She thought about it and said, “No one’s ever been like that with me. You are different,”

“I should hope so!”

“You are so heavy,” she commented, “I love your weight. You are solid and so muscular,”

Amused he repeated, “That’s what you like? My weight?”

She pressed her fingers to her neck, “You bit me.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” he whispered sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to,”

“I think that you did. You marked me. I can feel the imprint of your teeth.”

Maybe he did mark her.

He bit her like a savage. Like an animal in heat during mating.

He’d never bit anyone like that before.

And he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

So he didn’t explain or say anything further. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, parking her curvy ass in the cradle of his hips. It seemed that she waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, she tucked her hands beneath her cheek and settled in, with him holding her in his arms.

It was Piglet who nosed into Azriel’s neck, huffing and snorting, clawing at him lightly.

It was barely light outside, but that was to be expected. December in London wasn’t exactly full of sunshine and blue skies.

“He needs to go poop,” Elain groaned sleepily, though she made no effort to open her eyes and only snuggled closer to Azriel.

He smiled and patted her butt, before kissing her head and sitting up.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll take him.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, surprised.

“I am sure. Take a break. I’ll pick up his turds, no problem.”

She snorted a laugh and then turned away and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. Azriel climbed over her–totally unnecessarily–and made sure to sit on her for a second too, while she screeched and tried to swat him away.

“I thought you loved my weight?” he reminded her with a laugh.

“Not this much!” she yelled, and slapped his thigh. “Ohmygod, you are almost naked!”

“Sure am, baby. Nothing but a thin piece of cotton that’s standing between you and my cock n’ balls.”

“It’s too early for your sex talk,” she complained.

“Sweetness, when we are married, be prepared for some morning sex.”

“It’s especially too early for your marriage talk.”

“Never!”

“Make sure to put a coat and a hat on him,”

Azriel picked Pinky up and muttered under his breath, “You do remember that he is a descendant of wolves?! Now he eats fuckin’ meatloaf and wears a hat to go outside.”

At the word ‘meatloaf’ Piglet howled happily.

“That’s for Christmas,” Azriel promised him.

Leaving Elain to snooze, Azriel picked up his clothes, and then found a bathroom in the hallway. It was right across from Elain’s bedroom, where he didn’t dare go yet, but he figured that that’s the one she used for herself. When he entered, he was proven correct. It was the prettiest bathroom imaginable–with a gorgeous view outside, no less. As with everything in this house, it was a perfect combination of modern and classic, tiled simply with white tiles, it also had a modern tub, and a glass shower.

He already imagined their babies splashing in the tub and him fucking Elain in the shower.

Yeah, he always had a vivid imagination.

He looked around, snooping through the cupboards and cabinets. Elain had a moderate amount of products for her hair, only a couple of body lotions, which he sniffed, perfume–custom made, which explained her unique scent–period pads and tampons (he noted the brands, so he could buy them for his own place), same for toothpaste (they used the same one) and finally, he opened the medicine cabinet. No prescription drugs. Just a few utilitarian things and that’s about it, other than the flat disc, which he was pretty familiar with. He took it out and opened it. Low dosage birth control pills. He tsked, seeing as Elain wasn’t very careful about taking them. He figured that she probably didn’t care, since her ginger prick wasn’t here, but that also pleased him because she definitely wasn’t fucking anyone right now.

As he wrestled with Piglet, who was ready for a bath apparently, Azriel considered what to do. He found a pack of toothbrushes, brushed his teeth, noting that he was looking better than yesterday, combed his hair, and then slipped the birth control pills into the backpocket of his joggers.

No need for these anymore, sweetheart.

Did he feel bad about messing with Elain’s birth control–not really.

He just stole it.

At least he didn’t replace the pills with sugar pills, which he briefly considered.

He wasn’t a good man, and he never pretended to be one.

But he wanted his cum to fall in fertile ground, when the time came for that. Ellie didn’t need any birth control.

By the time he and Pinky returned from their walk, Azriel carrying two cups of coffee and a bag with pastries, Elain was up.

For a moment, he worried that she was going to question him about the pills, but she didn’t say anything, only laughing at Pinky’s ridiculous outfit. It was some kind of knit poncho with a hat attached to it. He looked like an idiot, but Azriel loved it, and so did Elain apparently.

“I love walking with him,” Azriel announced, setting breakfast on the counter. “No one pays attention to me. Everyone is only interested in him. Someone even asked him if I was his new dogwalker!”

Elain burst out laughing, while Piglet began zooming around the first floor and Azriel sat down across from her.

“I have a proposal,” she said at last, lacing her fingers together, as she stared him down.

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back.

“Oh god. I am not in the mood for proposals. Unless you are being a modern woman and asking me to marry you. Then, it’s a yes.”

“Well, no.”

“Figures.”

“But it is connected to marriage.”

He sipped his coffee and then said dejectedly, “What now, beautiful? You better make it good.”

“I promise to go out with you,” she announced grandly, and he laughed.

“Isn’t it a little too late for that? Considering that I am sleeping in your bed now?”

“No. Proper dating,” she insisted. “Like if you are my boyfriend,”

“I am your boyfriend,” he reminded her.

“Can you listen to me!” she snapped, and he rubbed the back of his neck before finally saying, “fine. What do you want?”

“You agree to go out with two more candidates,”

Shaking his head violently, he said, “no, no, no. No way. I am done with all that.”

“You’ve gone on ONE DATE!!!”

“No,” he corrected. “I’ve gone on three dates, with one person.”

“Exactly!” she did not relent. “With one person. That’s not enough. Nuala is one candidate. You must go on at least two more.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I am happy where I am at–with you.”

“Mr. Night,” she began, but he waved his hand,

“Fuck off with the Mr. Night, beautiful. We are done with all that. And I am done with the matchmaking. I am matched already.”

“Do you take pride in your work?” she asked seriously.

“Obviously.”

“And just because you are friends with someone from an opposing team, would it stop you from scoring against them?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, consider me your opponent.”

“That’s not even remotely the same. Your comparison is absolute shite. You aren’t my opponent. And I am not scoring against you. I wanna score with you.”

“Two people! Is that so much to ask? If it doesn’t work out, then we know that this is real,”

“I already know that this is real. I don’t need to go on dates with random lasses to know that I’d come back to you.”

“What if you are infatuated?”

“I am infatuated. But it’s much more than that. Also, why am I gonna waste time on courting others, when I have work to do with you. You are still all shifty and weird with me.”

“Because you are my client!” she exclaimed with exasperation. “This isn’t something I’ve ever even considered doing! Let alone actually…doing it.

“And I need to know for myself that this is right for us. For me. I have to know that I am not selfishly shortchanging you.”

“You aren’t,” he insisted. “But if I must, I will go out with two more matches. No more,” he warned her sternly. “No more, Elain. I am not kidding,”

“I understand.”

“If it doesn’t work out–which it won’t–I am done and done, and I am dating you. That’s it.”

“But you have to be truthful and sincere about it. Not just say ‘no’ to them because you want to be cross and contradictory,” she added quickly.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“But if they aren’t for me, I will be honest about that too.”

“Fine.”

Lady Morrigan Court-Hewn.

30 years old. Socialite. Handbag and jewellery designer. Graduated from St. Andrews with a degree in International Studies. A fencing champion at the university, and an accomplished equestrian. Still rides professionally.

Previously engaged to Lord Vincent Eris Autumn, son of Earl Beron Autumn. Notable previous relationships include Prince Harry, Henry Cavill and a brief fling with Ronaldo.

Hobbies: Car racing (F1), horses, fencing and wine tasting

Today

And that’s how Azriel ended up here.

‘Professional drinker’ was definitely omitted from Mor’s profile. As was, ‘expert gold digger’.

As Dev drove towards Russell Square, Azriel checked his phone.

Baron Kier Court-Hewn lost most of his fortune about ten years ago. He bred racing horses, and five of his top steeds needed to be put down due to some disease that they all got. With the death of the horses, the family fortune dwindled. That explained Mor’s ‘research’ into everyone’s finances. It wasn’t surprising that Azriel was primed for the taking.

He wouldn’t have cared about the money thing all that much–it was understandable, everyone wanted money–if she weren’t so vocal about her cunty opinions about Elain, and her calling Pinky ‘lame and legless’.

It’s been a busy week and he was feeling antsy for not having seen Elain and Pinky for four days. He set up the meeting with Mor as soon as Elain got him her information, preferring to get that out of the way. Then he had to travel to two games, and even though he wasn’t playing, he still had to attend. There was a meeting with disadvantaged youths from East London a couple of days ago, and a whole day shooting an advert for Christmas with his team.

Thankfully, it was almost holiday time.

Once Dev pulled up to the townhouse, Azriel said, “don’t wait up”.

Dev smirked and told him, “I wouldn’t think of it!”

Bracing against the cold, Azriel rushed up the stairs and banged loudly on the door. Pink’s excited barking and scratching was heard on the other side.

“What is it?” came Elain’s faint question. “Piglet, what’s going on?”

Bark-bark.

“Is it daddy?”

Fuck yeah it’s daddy!

The next moment, the door opened and Elain was smiling at him.

“Get dressed, beautiful,” Azriel ordered. “Put a hat on Pinky. We are going tree shopping!”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #A Match Baked In Heaven #new chapter #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #Elriel fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction

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luckbealincoln · 2 years ago

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter fourteen : condemned

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.9k

summary : reader tries to take her mind off of things

warnings, etc. : domestic violence, language, angst

You’re having trouble sleeping.

You’re haunted.

You wake up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping for air, with a dull ache in your chest.

So by the time the sun's up you’re more exhausted than you’d be if you had just stayed up without trying to sleep.

“Sorry… what were you saying?” You manage to murmur out between yawns.

“How do you take your caf, my lady?

“Oh… I umm, I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

Why is she looking at you like that?

“I’ll bring you some options okay?” You can only bring yourself to nod, your thoughts are muddled as she leaves, Lysa silently running a brush through your hair.

What had that look been? It had been sad, but it seemed like more than that.

Pity.

That’s what it had been. Huh. Maybe she had just noticed how tired you were these last few days.

And there he is.

Setting an empty mug on the stone window sill across from your door.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

The second reason is plain and simple. You have no claim over the Mandalorian. No right to be bitter over him accepting a drink from someone who wasn’t you.

“How may I be of service, princess?”

Leo gives you a nod and vanishes as you storm off to the library.

For Makers sake, stop throwing a tantrum. He isn’t yours to feel envy over.

The Mandalorian still isn’t speaking to you.

At all.

Sure he’s always been quiet, (except when he’s fucking you senseless, then he can’t seem to shut up.) but this is different. It’s intentional silence, and it hurts.

So you pretend he’s just muted himself through the helmet, that he’s talking to you and doesn’t even realize you can’t hear him.

It doesn’t really help.

Leo is as quick as ever to bring you your items, two leatherbound sketchbooks and a handful of pens.

It’s barely audible, most people wouldn’t ever notice it. But not you. You notice things, especially when they have to do with him.

You don’t dare move. Holding your breath in anticipation until it stops.

You resist the urge to turn around to look at him, hoping that if you don’t pressure him he might speak but it never comes.

He was going to speak.

That’s a start.

Do you want him to speak? Don’t you hate him? Do you even know anymore?

This time you can’t help but cock your head to the side slightly, the moment you do you’re back in silence.

Kriff.

He doesn’t speak. So you close the door. You don’t even make it to the closet, not bothering to remove your gown you collapse onto your actual bed.

✩

It’s clockwork again, You’re back in purgatory. Without Mando planning things for you to look forward to you’re trapped in the loop you hated so much when you first arrived.

Wake up, be dressed like some sort of doll, find an aimless task to keep your brain occupied, sleep, repeat.

Everything is blending together. Days seem shorter and you feel like you spend all your time trying to get to sleep.

Is this the rest of your life? Days so unremarkable you can’t remember them?

You didn’t even know Elaine was capable of anger, she was always so reserved and put together.

Maybe he did the same thing he did to you to her.

The thought makes your stomach ache.

As of today it’s been a week since you last heard his voice.

Don’t.

Don’t think about him. Just draw.

You draw Elaine.

You try to draw her with the expression she had made earlier.

You can’t seem to get it right. Your depictions never seem angry enough.

You draw Lysa.

Her big round eyes, her olive skin, and her short black hair. You draw her next to Elaine. It feels weird to separate them.

You draw Leo.

His head tails are significantly shorter than Elaines and he usually wears a beige cap over them.

You draw him exactly as he always is.

Stern looking and uptight.

You wish you had asked for paints so you could color his skin orange.

Before you know it you’re flipping to a new page and drawing someone unfamiliar.

Your eyes glance up for just a moment to look at him. There hasn’t been any static today.

You draw a sharp jawline, covered with stubble.

You draw round, plush lips, open just enough to see his front teeth.

You draw furrowed brows, and forehead creases from frowning too much.

You draw short buzzed hair, before deciding it doesn’t look right and scribbling it out.

You draw several noses. Some small, some large, some button and some bumpy. None of them fit the face you’ve drawn.

It looks all wrong, so you start again.

And again, and again, and again.

But none of them look right. None of them suit him.

You keep trying. Your wrist aches but you have some sort of primal desire to get it right.

Again.

And again, and again, and again.

And then there’s static.

He’s standing just in front of you now. You hadn’t realized he’s walked over as you slam the journal shut.

He clears his throat.

That’s it.

Your pace is sluggish. You know you’re already late but you have no desire to see him and Mando doesn’t rush you so you take your time.

Your walk is over too soon as the guards at the door nod when you approach.

“There you are my nervous mouse!” Nevermind, sober would be better than this anyday.

“Hello dear husband.” You mutter as you take your familiar seat across from him, the Mandalorian taking his position just behind you.

“How are you my mouse? Have you been well?” He chews with his mouth open, little bits of the meat pie before him spewing out from between his lips.

Maker, he’s disgusting. You wish he was the one who was sworn to forever wear a helmet.

“I’m perfectly fine, my prince.” You play with the food in front of you, you have no appetite as you watch him, possibly the most drunk you’ve ever seen him.

His dinner conversation is filthy.

He won’t shut up about one of the girls his brother just became betrothed too. He goes into graphic detail how attractive he finds her “lithe figure.”

There’s a sadness in your heart for this stranger.

Does she know what she’s marrying?

Of course he can never seem to stop talking about his brother's wives as he mentions that one is currently pregnant, claiming she’s the size of a barn.

You don’t hide your frown.

Why should you?

If he’s going to be a pig you might as well treat him like one.

Personally, the six he currently has following him at all times already seems to be a bit much but you could care less.

They take your untouched plate and bring out another course that you don’t touch as he continues to ramble about his battle droids for the entirety of this course.

“Still hiding in the library little mouse” He raises his once again filled glass in your direction.

Your jaw twitches at the nickname.

“Yes my prince.”

“Still my little mouse I see. How dull.” He laughs loudly, when he slams his glass down on the table a bit of the dark liquid spills onto the white tablecloth.

“I suppose I just like reading.” You don’t want to entertain him any longer. You just want to go back to your room.

He hiccups as he releases the glass in his hand and points at you, taunting you.

“You’re a tedious little thing aren’t you?” There’s that cruel grin.

He must get off on this or something.

You have no interest in being a part of that so you just pick at the pastry in front of you with your fork.

“Did you hear me little mouse? Your prince asked you a question?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

For someone as drunk as he is he’s surprisingly quick on his feet.

It all happens in slow motion.

The force of the slap has you reeling to the floor. Your head knocks against the cold ground.

Your teeth cut deep into your lip, and you taste blood.

His handprint lingers against your face and you know you’ll have a mark.

You give him a warning look, eyes wide, shaking your head the tiniest bit, just enough that only he will register it.

And you were right to do it because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s taken a step forward in your direction, positioning himself beside you defensively.

You’re actually grateful for how drunk Kodo is because he doesn’t seem to notice any of this and it only takes one more stare from you to get Mando to take his hand off his firearm.

The moment he storms off you’re struggling to your feet, groaning, you never actually get to your feet though as you’re lifted off the ground.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to process anything that’s happened in the last two minutes, your hand coming to your face causing you to wince as you poke at the gash on your lip.

He’s shaking.

His entire body trembles and his grip on you is unyielding as he walks.

You don’t push further as he approaches you. Taking your face in his hands to observe the injury.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He says it like he’s the one who hit you. Full of regret and longing.

“I’m the last person who cares about that…” Now he seems concentrated on prodding and inspecting the red mark that’s certainly forming on your cheek as you push his hands away.

“Thanks.” You scoff, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

No.

Not really.

You weren’t really sure how you felt about it. You knew Kodo was a bad person. You just hadn’t realized how bad.

And you’re married to him. Condemned to be his wife.

“Maker, that's gross…” You groan as a bit touches your tongue, it tastes just as sour as it smells.

“It is. But it won’t scar.” He hands you the rest of the vial. “Have one of the girls put more on in the morning, you should be good as new by tomorrow night.”

“Oh great. It won’t scar, thank the gods.” You roll your eyes as you take the tube, tossing it onto the bed.

You don’t like that it reminds you of what you used to be.

You don’t know why you’re so mad. It isn’t his fault.

You definitely just need someone to be mad at and he just so happens to be here.

But that doesn’t matter. You deserve to be angry. And he deserves to have someone angry at him because of how he’s treated you.

It's quiet for a long time.

The only sound is the crack of the modulator.

It gives you goosebumps as you wait.

Oh.

You don’t have a witty remark.

Or any sort of comeback.

There are no words to explain how you feel so you nod before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. After a few minutes you hear the click of your bedroom door and you know he’s gone.

Oh.

You can’t really focus on anything that’s happened tonight. There’s too many things happening in your brain.

So you tug at your dress.

You’re just so tired.

But you can’t stop thinking.

And you don’t want to think about Kodo.

So you let yourself think about Mando.

You don’t tell yourself to stop. And you don’t deny things as you think about what he said.

Eventually you fall asleep.

And that night in your dreams the faceless man stops running away.

tag list : dm to be added!!

@stagerightlauren - @dins-riduur-anthe - @littleguy-bendy - @rarachelchel - @laurensnotsparkly -@gerardingurway - @reallyidontcare- @clear-your-mind-and-dream - @estoniacobaltpayne - @buckyandgeraltsupremacy- @cookielovesbook-akie - @diabaroxa - @love-the-abyss - @sasakipsposts - @eclipsedplanet - @fatima-marisa - @somanyminidragons - @dindjarinsmut - @lemonboynsp - @disregardedplant

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #best kept secret

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labellefleur-sauvage · 1 year ago

Text

DILF Daydreamin'

Lucien would be a great dad, Elain thought suddenly. The image of him holding and caring for their eventual children came completely unbidden to her mind, like a metaphorical bell that wouldn’t stop ringing in her ears. He’d be so sweet and supportive and fun-

Woah, settle down girl, Elain thought. You’ve only been dating him for a few months. One afternoon babysitting your nephew isn’t enough proof that Lucien would be a good dad, if he even wants that.

Elain discovers she likes the idea of making Lucien a DILF. Elain also discovers that Lucien likes the idea of Elain making him a DILF.

For @elucienweekofficial 2023 Day 7: This smut! I have no excuses. The title gives you everything you need to know (full tags are on the AO3 link), so don't say I didn't warn ya. Thank you for the event organizers for making Elucien Week 2023 so much fun!

Rating: Very Explicit

Words: 4K

Read on AO3

XXX

“God, Elain, you’re a lifesaver.”

Elain Archeron stood in the foyer of her sister and brother in law’s once pristine house, a slight grimace on her face. She understood why Feyre had called her the evening before, sounding exhausted and trying to sound desperately like she wasn’t begging Elain to babysit her nephew so she and Rhys could have a few hours of blissful silence to clean and sleep. Feyre stood in front of her now, looking just as weary as she sounded.

“He’s a precocious boy, isn't he?” Elain hummed as she surveyed the damage around her. A brown blob she prayed was chocolate was splattered on the tile floors, paint scribbles decorated the white walls, small Lego bricks formed a veritable minefield in the hallway all the way to the kitchen, and other random toys—plastic cars, a stuffed bat, picture books—littered any open space on the floors and furniture around her.

“Geez,” a deep voice said behind Elain. “For a little guy, he sure can cause a lot of destruction, huh?”

Elain tilted her head and smiled softly as her boyfriend Lucien stood behind her and looked over Nyx’s path of destruction. They were still in the honeymoon phase of their new relationship, and Elain had been worried when she called him last night to cancel the picnic in the park they had planned for the next day.

“We can just bring him with us,” Lucien responded easily. “He can’t be that difficult to manage. He’ll wear himself out, I’m sure.”

Now Elain wondered if perhaps Lucien may have underestimated the task ahead of them.

“He got into my painting supplies,” Feyre said, watching Lucien’s eyes settle on the walls. “He was so excited to show me his little masterpiece this morning.”

Elain grinned. “Maybe you have another painter on your hands.”

“More like another agent of chaos, like his father,” Feyre said conspiratorially. “Come on,” she motioned, waving Elain and Lucien into her house, “we have everything in the kitchen. We already have everything packed—don’t worry, that’s just chocolate—including food, toys, extra clothes, all that. He has a little bit of eczema on his arms, so we can only use this special sunscreen on him—it’s in the bag. Oh, and he still doesn’t quite understand that not every puppy is friendly, so if you see any dogs around, keep an eye on him so he doesn’t run and try to make a new friend. Here he is!”

They entered the kitchen to see Rhys strapping Nyx into his car seat. Her brother in law’s normally perfectly styled hair was disheveled and greasy looking. His white shirt had no less than four distinct, suspicious stains, and his gray sweatpants were ripped in several places. He had the same tired, wan complexion as his wife, though his face brightened like Feyre’s did when she saw Elain and Lucien.

“Our saviors!” Rhys grinned. “I’ve already told Nyx that he’s going to the park today and he has to be on his best behavior, so I hope that’s still the plan,” he said, looking nervously between Elain and Lucien.

“It is,” Elain said brightly, standing in front of Nyx in his carseat. “We’re going to have so much fun today, aren’t we!” She tickled his belly and he clapped his hands excitedly.

“Lain, lain!”

“And we have someone else joining us today,” she said, dragging Lucien over to stand next to her. “Nyx, this is Lucien.”

“Hey buddy,” Lucien said softly, grinning at Nyx. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun at the park today.”

Nyx stared solemnly at Lucien but perked up when he heard the word ‘park.’ He smiled and squirmed in his car seat.

“Go, go!”

“His new favorite word,” Feyre said. “Which means it’s probably time for you three to head out, unless you want a full blown tantrum soon.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Elain said as Lucien grabbed the handle of Nyx’s car seat and started wading back through the trenches to the front door.

“He has a lot of energy!” Feyre called after them.

“We got it!” Elain called back.

“He’s one toddler, how bad could it be?” Lucien asked as he buckled the car seat into his SUV. “Right, my man? I bet you’ll be ready for a nap after an hour of playing.”

Apparently, Nyx was up for the challenge.

“How is he… still going?” Lucien puffed weakly, his hands on his knees as he tried to recover his breathing. “He just won’t stop. What is that kid running on? He hasn’t eaten in hours!”

“I’m hungry just watching him,” Elain panted. She was in her nicest yellow sundress and wasn’t able to keep up with her nephew and Lucien, but she was trying her hardest. They had been at the park for nearly three hours and Nyx hadn’t stopped running since his little feet hit the grass. They had already gone down every slide in the huge park a dozen times, ran and jumped over every piece of playground equipment they could find, rode the old fashioned carousel twice, played in the decommissioned old fashion fire truck—though Nyx was too afraid to go down the firepole, even in Lucien’s arms—and had wandered down to the pond to feed the ducks and geese.

“I should have put my Apple Watch on him, see how many steps he’s taken.” Lucien wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“I don’t think we’ve invented a number that high.”

“Loo! Loo!”

Nyx was standing next to a baby swing seat, thumping his chubby hand against the plastic.

“Loo! Go, go!”

“Impressive,” Elain smirked. “You already have a nickname. And he wants you to push him on the swing.”

“Lain and Loo,” Lucien said, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her briefly. “We should get matching couple shirts.”

Elain hummed happily as butterflies tumbled in her stomach at his suggestion. “Go on, go play with Nyx for a bit and I’ll get everything for the picnic ready.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and pushed him away playfully when he went back for another kiss.

She took her time setting up a picnic table with all their food, then ambled her way towards the swing set. Lucien was excitedly pushing Nyx in a chair-style swing, her nephew’s chubby little legs waving in the wind. Every now and then Lucien would duck to the side of the swing and pop up right in front of Nyx, much to his glee. His shrieks of laughter rang through the air as Lucien laughed right along with him, and Elain lost her breath.

Lucien was stunning. He had put his long red hair in a ponytail and his golden brown skin was flushed with the summer heat and the exertion of pushing Nyx. His biceps bulged with the effort and his shirt revealed a bit of trailing red hair on his toned stomach as it rode up whenever he lifted his arms.

All of his attention was on Nyx, though. Lucien looked genuinely happy to be pushing his girlfriend’s nephew for the hundredth time. He didn’t look annoyed or put out that the picnic he had painstakingly planned for the two of them now included an energetic toddler. Her boyfriend’s eyes were filled with excitement, his smile big and bright, his enthusiasm contagious.

But the images wouldn’t go away. Like it was right in front of her, she could see Lucien pushing a redheaded girl in a swing, her hair blowing in the breeze, or going down a slide with a little boy with her brown curls. It was all so clear and so lifelike. He’d be so kind and gentle and nurturing to their kids.

“Earth to Elain. Hey! Elain?”

Elain blinked. Lucien was giving Nyx a few weak pushes and staring at Elain with a furrowed brow.

“You alright? You were kind of staring at us and zoning out.”

“Uh huh,” she said noncommittally. That was embarrassing; they were still so new together, and the topic of potential future families hadn’t come up yet.

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

“Just the heat!” she replied with a fake grin. “Come on you, time for food.” Elain plucked Nyx out of the swing and put him on her hip, refusing to look Lucien in the eyes. “Your mommy packed you all your favorites,” she told Nyx, pinching his red little cheeks. “Goldfish and applesauce and berries.” Nyx smiled at her and Elain took that as a sign he might actually eat some food.

She turned and headed to their table. “I could eat a horse,” she said. “I’m really glad we packed a whole bag of those barbecue potato chips.”

The only reply was Nyx’s little babbles. Elain looked around—Lucien wasn’t with her. Turning back, she saw him standing by the swings, staring after Elain with a dazed and surprised look.

“Is the heat getting to you too?” she called back to him.

Lucien’s eyes darted up to hers before he ran his hands over his face. “Yeah,” he called back, making his way towards them. “Guess I forgot what it felt like to stand still.”

By the time they finished their food and went for one last ride on the carousel, Nyx finally started to slow down. They went down a few of his favorite slides before packing everything up and heading back to Feyre’s house.

They returned a napping Nyx to his refreshed parents and a much cleaner house, then made a hasty retreat back to Elain’s apartment. She thought her and Lucien would have a quiet evening consisting of takeout food and Netflix, before going to bed early so they could recover from their tiring day.

Taking energy inspiration from Nyx, her boyfriend had other ideas.

Lucien had carried her to her bedroom and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed, tearing off her clothes, and was currently between her thighs, his tongue making clever twists and turns over her folds. He was good at everything in bed, but he seemed to take a particular shine to eat Elain out.

“Fuck!” Elain gasped as one of his fingers entered her slick channel, her eyes fluttering close. He thrust his finger inside her as his stiff tongue flicked the head of her clit. She was so close, and she wanted to come on his face before coming on his cock. All she had to do was lay back and relax.

Instead, her mind wandered. She thought of the casual strength Lucien had displayed when he carried her to bed, and the warm smile on his face, and was instantly reminded of Lucien pushing Nyx on the swing, how good he was with her nephew, and how natural caring for a child came to him.

He crooked his finger just right inside her and a bolt of lightning shot down her spine. “Oh fuck Daddy, yes!”

Lucien stopped moving completely and it took a few seconds for Elain to register the silence in the room. She whined and thrust her hips up towards his face, her oncoming orgasm swiftly departing, when she finally opened her eyes to look at him. His eyebrows were raised, eyes wide, and what she had blurted out suddenly came back to her.

“Oh God,” Elain whispered, mortified.

“That wasn’t what you just called me,” Lucien quipped, unable to keep a smirk from his face as he pulled his finger from her cunt.

But this was no laughing matter. She had just called her boyfriend of only a few months—a few months! They weren’t even living together!—Daddy, one of the kinkiest things she could imagine. This might even be too much for Lucien to handle, freak that he was.

Sex with Lucien was great. He was enthusiastic, listened to her, wanted her to have as many orgasms as possible, and had the stamina of a racehorse, with a cock to match. He was the complete package—no pun intended—and she had just called him Daddy. She had never been so embarrassed in her life.

“I’m sorry!” Elain moaned, covering her beet red face with her hands. “I don’t know where that came from!”

Lucien hummed and kissed her inner thighs. “I can hazard a guess. Maybe the sight of seeing me with Nyx today made your brain think of me with our future kids. Less Daddy kink and more… DILF kink.”

Shoot. Her. Now. She was not having this discussion, preferably at all, but especially not with a new boyfriend.

Elain shuddered and fought to keep her breathing steady. She didn’t trust herself to answer. She peeked out from behind her fingers. Lucien stared up at her, an eyebrow cocked, waiting for an answer.

“Um, y-yeah, I guess,” she stuttered out. “Just a weird, one time, slip of the mind. Biological clock is ticking, and all that.”

“It doesn’t have to be one time.”

Oh, god. Why was Elain surprised that Lucien would be into this? She had quickly learned over the course of their relationship that he was a certified freak in the sheets. The difference was, he had been the one who always brought any new kinks into the bedroom. Elain wasn’t sure if she wanted her first foray into kink to be calling her boyfriend Daddy without any prior discussion on the topic.

“I saw you today, watching me with Nyx.” Lucien’s voice had gone deeper, his eyes hooded. He trailed the tips of his fingers over the soft skin of her inner thighs and hips, and Elain shivered. “At first I just thought you were worried I’d drop him or something. But then,” he suddenly thrust two fingers into her heat and Elain gasped, “I noticed you giving me that same look you have on right now.”

“And what look is that?” Elain was torn: she desperately wanted Lucien to continue, but her own embarrassment made her want to crawl away and hide for a week.

“Your ‘fuck me now’ look,” he said, thrusting his thick fingers in and out of her pussy. “Your eyes get all hazy and you bite your lip and you start squirming, like you need my hard cock in you or you’ll go crazy—yeah, just like that. And seeing me with Nyx made you that way, hm?”

“Lucien, please,” Elain whimpered.

“Please what? Answer me: did seeing me with a baby turn you on?”

“Yes,” she groaned, mortified. She closed her eyes.

“Good, because seeing you like that was so fucking hot.”

Elain gasped as Lucien withdrew his fingers from her body and manhandled her so she was on her knees and elbows, her ass in the air. He settled in behind her and knocked her knees further apart with his own. She was vibrating with anticipation as she felt his hard length between her legs.

“Seems you're not too embarrassed now, huh?” Elain couldn’t see his face but knew Lucien was grinning slyly at her.

Elain huffed and merely arched her back even further, sticking her ass up closer to him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Elain yelped, blushing at her reaction.

“Then use your words. What do you want?”

“I want you in me.”

Lucien scoffed. “Is that all? That’s not very original.”

She groaned in embarrassment and buried her head in her pillow. “I want you to come in me,” Elain mumbled, speaking more into the bed below her than Lucien over her.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” he cooed in a sing-song voice.

Elain gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind being teased but she was quickly growing frustrated that she hadn’t come yet and that Lucien appeared to be making light of her embarrassment.

“I want you to fuck me and I want you to come in me!” she snapped, looking over her shoulder to glare at Lucien.

He gave her a cocky grin. “Was that so hard?” Not giving her time to answer, Lucien shoved her face down into the bed and ran his cock over her slick folds.

“God, you’re so perfect Elain,” he groaned, notching the fat head of his cock at her pussy. “But you know what?” Lucien leaned down to whisper in her ear. She shivered. “Seeing you holding a baby on your hip today made me think all the same things you were thinking about me.” He sunk into her slowly, letting her adjust to his girth before withdrawing and sinking just a little bit deeper inside her. “Made me wonder what our kids would look like, how you’d look holding them.”

Elain gasped for air as Lucien finally settled all of his cock inside her, stretching her out and filling her. She took several uneven, heaving breaths, not only from his length, but the realization that Lucien had the same dirty fantasies as her. She relaxed in the knowledge that he wasn’t disgusted by her—quite the opposite, apparently—and wriggled her hips in an unspoken gesture to move.

Gripping her hips and cursing quietly to himself, Lucien set a fast pace, his powerful hips snapping against her ass. Elain moaned and hung her head between her arms. Lucien always seemed to know exactly how she wanted to be fucked, how hard he needed to go or whether she wanted something slower.

He gave a rough thrust and she yelped. God, it felt like his cock was halfway in her stomach. She clenched around him and Lucien’s answering moan made her tremble. He fucked her even faster, and Elain gripped her duvet cover so hard she thought she might tear it if she wasn’t careful. This was absolute perfection. Lucien was absolute perfection—

“Have you thought of it before? Me as a DILF?”

Well, maybe not. Elain snorted and laughed through her moans. He was still fucking her roughly, though he slowed down to laugh with her at his ridiculous statement.

“I haven’t before,” she said, turning to look back and up at him and grinning. “But I’m definitely going to now.”

Lucien grinned and leaned down to kiss her shoulder, placing a solid hand over hers on the bed and lacing their fingers together. His other hand wandered down to her lower stomach and pressed against her, his cock leisurely stroking in and out of her tight depths.

“Not now, but maybe one day, you’ll make me a dad, yeah?” His breath was warm against the shell of her ear. “Let me come in you until it takes, right here?”

“Yes, yes,” Elain whimpered, screwing her eyes shut at the dirty image his words conjured in her mind. She knew he loved coming in her, but she thought, like most men, Lucien just had a fascination with his come, not a full on breeding kink. His words sent flutters throughout her lower belly and Lucien moaned as her pussy tightened around him. His hand on her stomach moved between her legs and slowly started caressing her clit as he fucked her, his hips rutting into her as he hunched over her.

“Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Fuck, Elain, I need you to come now.” His fingers circled her clit as thrust into her, his breathing harsh between her shoulder blades. “God, please say you’re close.”

There were too many sensations within and around her: Lucien’s warm hand holding her own, the wet smacking of their flesh joining, his rough fingers on her clit, and his cock hitting her so deep his come wouldn’t have far to go if he really was trying to knock her up.

It was that sudden realization that did her in. With a final strangled gasp Elain came, her walls fluttering and squeezing Lucien’s cock so hard that he came only a moment later. Groaning, he dug his teeth into her shoulder, leaving a temporary part of himself in the indentations in her flesh.

He panted against her raggedly. His fingers tenderly stroked the sides of her clit as she quivered through the aftershocks of her orgasm. She felt sweaty and tired but content.

“Do you have one more left in you?” Lucien asked quietly, his fingers brushing the sensitive head of her bud.

Elain wriggled underneath his big body. She was dangerously close to becoming overstimulated, little shocks of discomfort blazing through her clit the more he touched her. A few tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. “Oh, Lucien…”

“Just one more,” he said soothingly, kissing her along her jaw and neck as his fingers picked up their pace. “Need to make sure you keep all my come inside you so you can give me a baby. Fuck, you’d look so beautiful pregnant.”

Sobbing, Elain came again, weak aftershocks flooding her body. Lucien turned her head towards his to kiss her, swallowing her feeble cries with his soft lips. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Lucien withdrew his hand and his cock from her body, running soothing circles over her skin as she collapsed face first onto the bed, trembling.

A warm hand skimmed the back of her thigh, up and up, then kneaded one of her ass cheeks. “I love seeing my come dripping out of your pretty cunt,” Lucien rasped in her ear, sweetly kissing her before he rolled down next to her on the bed like he hadn’t just completely rocked Elain’s world. He took her hand in his, entwining their sweaty palms together.

Elain turned her head and peeked at him. Lucien was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his face and upper chest flushed. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his mouth. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Elain thought, taken aback, once again, by how damned lucky she was.

“You’re still on birth control, right?” Lucien asked, cracking a single eye open to look at her.

“Oh yeah, I still have a few years left.”

“Oh, thank God. Knew you did, but in the heat of the moment…”

“What, you weren’t serious about knocking up the girl you’ve only been seeing a few months?” Elain asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow and smirking at him as she turned over to lay on her side towards him.

He scoffed. “Well, not yet at least. My mom would kill me if I got you pregnant and we weren’t married.”

She ignored the little somersaults in her belly at hearing Lucien talk about marriage and getting her pregnant one day. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to live with the knowledge that my insanely hot boyfriend is a sex fiend with a breeding kink,” she sighed dramatically.

“Insanely hot boyfriend, huh?” Lucien smirked. “I’ll take it. But the real question: am I hot enough to be a DILF?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m not answering that,” she said.

“We could put it to the test. Give me a reason to marry you and not have my poor mother disown me.” His eager hands wandered up her legs and stomach to her breasts, caressing a peaked nipple.

“Lucien!” Elain shrieked in laughter, hitting him with a pillow as he feebly tried to defend himself. Sometime later she would admit that yes, he’s definitely hot enough to be a DILF - as long as she was the only one who got to fuck him.

(Lucien had no complaints about that.)

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #my fic #my fics #WELP #look away god this doesnt concern you #this is straight up FILTH #SMUT

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shadowqueenjude · 1 year ago

Text

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter. “He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?” “No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”

This is for people who think Feyre is an E*riel shipper😂😂😂 not that I think Feyre's opinion should influence who the hell Elain chooses. It's her choice, right? As Elriel shippers keep harping on. Idgaf what Feyre says, we haven't seen all Elain has to offer yet. I know she can handle Lucien's fire. 😏😏😏😏😏😏It's always the ones you least expect.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elucien #pro lucien #pro elucien #feyre archeron #anti elriel

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acourtofthought · 2 years ago

Text

It's All Canon Baby

Sure this happened:

Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

But so did this:

But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back.

And this:

Azriel leaned against the wall by the lone door, Truth-Teller bloody in his hand.

But Feyre, Cassian knew, had been aware of what she’d see before entering. And well aware that these ten minutes had only been the opening movements in a symphony of pain that Azriel could conduct with brutal efficiency.

And this:

And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her.

Sure this happened:

Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

But so did this:

Cassian bared his teeth. “What the hell can we do against that?” “I’m going in,” Azriel said. “No,” Rhys snapped. But Azriel was spreading his wings, the sunlight so stark on the new, slashing scars down the membrane. “Chain me to a tree, Rhys,” Azriel said softly. “Go ahead.” He began checking the buckles on his weapons. “I’ll rip it out of the ground and fly with it on my damned back.”

And this:

“I want to confirm that Briallyn has the Crown,” Azriel said. “I’ll travel to the human lands tomorrow.” “No,” Feyre and Rhys said at the same time, in the same breath. Azriel’s eyes shuttered. “I wasn’t asking for permission.” Rhys smirked. “Doesn’t matter.” Az opened his mouth to object, but Feyre said, “You’re not going, Azriel. If Briallyn has the Crown and catches you, even if she just suspects you’re nearby, who knows what she could do to you?” “Give me some credit, Feyre,” Az said. “I can keep hidden well enough.” “We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.” “Like hell I will.”

Sure this happened:

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

But so did this:

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”

And this:

“Stay out of it. She’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” I lifted a brow. “Snoop.” Mor leaned back against the steps, utterly unrepentant. “Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.”

Sure this happened:

she breathed, “Beautiful.”

But so did this:

I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath

Sure this happened:

Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks

But so did this:

“Thank you,” Nesta said, quickly pulling away to marvel at the device. “It’s brilliant.” Azriel blushed and stepped back, shadows swirling.

And this:

Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel

Sure this happened:

And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.”

But so did this:

I think she and Amren would be fast friends.

Which led to this:

Only Amren ignored her, and Nesta ignored Amren. The tension between them was a living band of lightning. But no one said anything, and they seemed content to pretend the other didn’t exist.

And though they eventually made up to some degree, Nesta's truest friendships ended up being with Emerie and Gwyn.

Sure this happened:

Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

But so did this:

He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

Sure this happened:

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.

But so did this:

"I didn't dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all".

Sure this happened:

“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

But so did this:

“It would seem so,” Rhys mused, then said to Lucien, “The flame in her eyes was not of your usual sort, I take it.” Lucien shook his head. “No. It spoke to nothing in my own arsenal. That was … Ice so cold it burned. Ice and yet … fluid like flame. Or flame made of ice.”. I held Rhys’s gaze, as if it were again the tether that had kept me in this world. “I think the power is death—death made flesh. Or whatever power the Cauldron holds over such things. That’s why the Carver heard it—heard about her.”

Sure this happened:

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.

But so did this:

“I’ve spent weeks in that blasted court,” Mor said.

And this:

The High Lord of Day considered Cassian and Azriel, then frowned. “Where’s my beautiful Mor?” Az said tightly, “Away.”

And this:

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?” Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

And this:

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

Sure this happened:

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

But so did this:

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.”

Sure this happened:

Lucien, surprisingly, was chuckling, his shoulders loose and his head angled while he listened.

But so did this:

Vassa rolled her eyes, then looked to Lucien, who sank onto the sofa beside Jurian. Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before. But Lucien’s attention was upon Cassian.

And this:

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. (Lucien looking at Elain).

Sure this happened:

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here.

But so did this:

Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward. Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness. And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go … He did not glance back at Elain. Did not see the half step she took toward the stairs—as if she’d speak to him. Stop him.

Sure this happened:

"She hadn't bought her Mate a present.". "She'd gotten Azriel one last year"

But so did this:

Elain gave him a specially designed ceramic mug with a lid that he could travel with, bespelled against breaking, to keep tea warm for hours. (Cassian's gift)

And most likely this from the last Solstice:

"The others passed around their gifts"

(possible proof that Elain got Cassian something the year before too, just like Az. If anything, it cannot be proven that Elain only got Az a gift the year before).

Sure this happened:

"a headache powder he'd kept on his nightstand at the HOW. Not to use, just to look at."

But so did this:

I’m fairly certain Azriel has a drawer full of all the daggers I’ve bought him throughout the centuries that he’s too polite to throw away, but won’t ever use.”

Sure this happened:

"he wouldn't go so far as to call Gwyn a friend"

But so did this:

Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it. But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

Sure this happened:

No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

But so did this:

"They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around".

Sure this happened:

“And you?” I made myself say. “Are you—all right?”. Elain looked over a shoulder at me as we entered the foyer, then turned left—to the dining room. In the sitting room across the way, all conversation halted at the smell of food. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, a smile lighting up her face.

But so did this:

I’d seen those smiles before. On my own damn face.

Sure this happened:

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?"

But so did this'

Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to.

Canon isn't the argument some think it is, it doesn't prove Endgame anything.

Whatever a reader thinks is going on based on canon alone is purposely ignoring that SJM doesn't always come right out and tell us the direction she's heading, she leaves subtle hints. She has literally told us in interviews about all the "breadcrumbs" she sprinkles so what good is it doing to act like these big, bold, obvious moments have to be the only possible outcome while conveniently pretending like those other breadcrumbs don't matter?

"Elain and Az nearly kissed! They want each other!"

"Elain belongs in the NC, she said so herself!"

"Elain has friends and hobbies so she's got no more healing to do!"

"Az is over Mor! Cassian said so!"

"Az doesn't even consider Gwyn a friend a few months after officially meeting her, they could never end up together!"

"Elain won't look at Lucien so it must remain that way for all of eternity!"

The truth is, SJM has put enough in there to support Elucien, E/riel, or Gwynriel. I think based on her style, she's setting E/riel up to have only been an emotional / near physical rebound for all the wrong reasons (which came to an end in the POV Chapter), but I cannot deny she hinted at something between them in the other books. I'm also not going to deny that all those hints were followed by hints for other ships or proof that neither Az or Elain were over Mor and Graysen. But I'm still not here pretending there weren't things that led us to what happened on Solstice. I just think regardless, E/riel was always set up as being doomed to fail.

I'm not sure why E/riels refuse to admit that E/riel might not have the endgame setup they think they've had, and that there are canon moments that could hint at an Elucien / Gwynriel future too. That the characters and their feelings for one another can still change in the next books.

Do they think stubbornly refusing to admit any other outcome is a possibility will somehow guarantee their ship? I'm sure Team Jacobs and Team Gale's did the same thing yet they still ended up having to accept defeat.

At this point it all comes down to hoping those hints lead us to the outcome we want. Because canon currently supports the possibility of every single pairing and if SJM wants, canon up until now doesn't even have to matter because she has created a brand new ship in a single book despite the Canon that came before.

Make your posts, defend your ship, but seriously, stop sending threats, stop acting like other people are stupid or lack reading comprehension for believing in theirs. You just make yourself look like the idiot considering they can provide just as many canon moments and the fact that you don't realize or ignore that those canon moments exist means you are the one lacking in reading comprehension and are guilty of selective reading.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #gwynriel #azriel acotar #gwyneth berdara #acotar ships

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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

Text

The Enemy

I would make you the enemy if I could

Summary: In order to kill his most hated enemy, Azriel has to kidnap Graysen Nolan's fiance.

Should be easy, right?

Chapter 4/5: Love Made Me Crazy | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

For @elainweekofficial- I am not following the prompts (as no prompts can contain me)

Elain didn’t know what to say once Azriel had her in the car. And for the long drive back to the cabin, the only sound that passed between them was their shared breathing. He’d put one warm, steady hand on her thigh—as if he suspected she was close to falling apart and needed something to ground her.

She’d killed someone. A real person who’d been alive before he’d ever met her. Elain kept waiting for horror to replace the satisfaction she felt. She wasn’t happy she’d done it—but neither did she regret it. Maybe this was shock. Maybe horror would find her in a few hours.

But maybe it wouldn’t. And what did it say about her that it didn’t?

Elain didn’t move when they reached the cabin, nor did she fight Azriel when he jogged to her door and all but lifted her out. He was afraid, and she couldn’t quite grasp why. He would have died, and that seemed so unthinkably foul to her that she wanted to shake him. She’d known, when she’d run out of that car, that she might hurt someone.

Known in theory, at any rate. It had been instinct that made her move from her hiding place, and fear that drove her to slam Azriel’s blade into Hyber’s neck. She wanted to tell him that, but Azriel’s hands were insistent as they tugged her up the drive, gripping her shoulders like he expected her to fall over at any moment.

He didn’t take her to the couch like she expected, or even to bed. He brought her to the bathroom, reached through the glass door of the shower, and turned on the tap.

“Take it off,” he demanded. For one wild, almost silly moment, she thought he meant to—well, it didn’t matter. Because he took a step back when her fingers went to the hem of her shirt, and averted his gaze when the fabric plunked between them on the tile floor. Elain caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room.

Pale and wide-eyed—and splattered with blood. She looked awful, which she supposed explained his gruff, yet distant attempt at care. Was she supposed to laugh? To smile? He hadn’t spoken a word, and it occurred to her too late that perhaps he was horrified by her actions.

She stood before him utterly naked, steam curling around her form. Azriel was staring at the wood wall just to the side, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon.

“Wash yourself. I’ll—”

“Stay with me,” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. Azriel turned so, so slowly. She expected him to tell her no, which was foolish, in retrospect. He kept his eyes on her face even as he began stripping himself out that bloodied, armored suit. Elain could scarcely breathe as inch after glorious inch of his golden skin was revealed, nor when he was just as unclothed as she was. She took a step backward, reaching for his fingers to bring him with her. He stumbled forward, watching her with parted lips and the same streak of red smeared over his features.

“Why?” he demanded when the hot, unrelenting spray of water hit them both. “Why didn’t you run? Why aren’t you afraid?”

Elain reached for his jaw, brushing her fingers over the rough, dark stubble. “What is there to be afraid of?” she replied, her words half drowned. “You’ve never been cruel to me.”

Something she might have mistook for pain crossed his features. “I have. Unforgivably cruel.”

He was coming closer, crowding her between his body and the wall behind her. Elain pressed her palm to his bare stomach, hissing softly at the flexing muscle beneath. She didn’t dare look lower though she desperately wanted to.

“Don’t I get to decide what you’ve done that I forgive?”

He brought his face closer, those bright eyes of his burning. More brown than green, and flecked with shimmering gold. “Is that what tonight was? Forgiveness?”

She sucked in a breath. “You know what that was.”

He groaned, snaking a strong arm around her slick body so there was no space between them. She could feel his cock then, thick and long and all but bruising when he wedged it against her hip bone. He gave her no opportunity to look, to admire him the way she wanted to because he’d kissed her.

It was, as far as first kisses went, absurd. Soaked and still bloodied, standing in a shower as captive and captor, Elain had to swallow a hysterical laugh. She doubted very much this was how he’d expected things to go when he’d snatched her from her room. Elain found she didn’t care. Not when her arms wound around his neck or his fingers came to her hair, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss between them.

It was like magic. A man as brutal as Azriel should have kissed just the same. It should have felt like a claiming and yet it felt like a question. Soft, sweet—almost tentative at first. So at odds with how she was used to being kissed. He tasted warm and bright and Elain was drowning in it.

“You were supposed to leave,” he growled against her mouth, teeth nipping at her bottom lip. Lust bolted through her, filling Elain with heady excitement.

“I know,” she agreed, dragging her nails down his back. Azriel kissed her again, his tongue meeting hers somewhere in between. They both moaned, pressing closer until his powerful thigh was between her legs. He had her pressed against the wall, one side of her body blasted with water, for all she noticed. All Elain could think of was his skin beneath his palms and his hands sliding up and down her slippery body.

“Tell me why you stayed.”

Elain moaned, arching her neck as he peppered kisses along her collarbone. Raking her fingers through dark hair, she replied, “You know why, Azriel.”

He groaned, sinking to his knees before her. Azriel’s large body took up most of the space in the shower, his scarred hands pushing apart her legs. She didn’t understand what he meant to do until he kissed just beneath her aching sex. Elain squirmed, unable to keep Graysen’s voice from her head—just for a moment. Eyes locked on Azriel’s, she could hear Graysen telling her how emasculating it was to get on his knees, how it made him flaccid and unaroused to put his mouth there.

“What do you taste like, princess?” he whispered, his breath curling against her overheated skin. Elain raked her fingers through his thick hair, pushing Graysen out. She swallowed hard, drinking in the image of his broad shoulders covered in dark ink. She wanted to know what he tasted like too. What he sounded like when he came apart, how it felt to share a body with him.

He didn’t wait for her response to take that first languid taste with the flat of his tongue. Azriel’s reverberating groan told Elain whatever he’d found between her legs, he liked. She did, too. His mouth was soft, teasing and Elain hadn’t realize how wound up she was until he’d begun to spread her apart. Azriel didn’t stop his slow exploration, acting as though he had all the time in the world. He reached for her ass, holding her up as he slung her other leg over his shoulder. She ought to have toppled to the ground. His strength kept her exactly where he wanted her, exactly as he wanted her.

All but riding his face, if his excited mouth was anything to go by. Elain hadn’t meant to grind herself against him. Pleasure was making a mockery of her, turning her into a creature of need. He was moving so slowly, his tongue making slow circles over her clit. She needed more. More of him, more of this. Of them. Azriel might have had time, but Elain did not. If she didn’t have him now, she thought she might combust.

After all, she’d had to watch the beating Hybern had given him. And she’d have been the one to watch him die in that filthy corner. They were alive and they were together. What had he said to her?

Let’s get you home.

So she ground herself against him, gripping his hair so tight she thought it must hurt him. Azriel only groaned, tugging her closer to all but ride his face. “That’s it, princess,” he said, his voice ragged with unspent need. “Take what you want.”

“I want you,” she replied, her back arching off the wet tile behind her. “Az, I want—”

His tongue slid into her body, pulling a soft shriek from her lips. It was a mimicry of the fucking she’d beg him for later—assuming she had to beg at all. “Can’t think when you say my name like that,” he managed, his own hips thrusting forward. She could just see the tip of him jutting from between his legs, hidden from view by virtue of how they were positioned. Elain wished they were anywhere else, somewhere she could touch him fully, where she could sink to her knees and—

“Say it again.

“Az,” she breathed, turning another thrust of his tongue and a moan from his lips. He licked faster, his tongue sliding the length of her over and over until Elain was being driven mad, until she was drunk with pleasure, all but burning with it. Elain couldn’t remember the last time she’d come from something other than her own hands or a battery operated toy. But right then, her skin scalding beneath the spraying shower, Elain broke apart around his face, gripping his hair to keep him moving, to ride her through the bright spark of pleasure burning a wildfire through her.

He probably would have kept going had she not tugged him off her. Had she not, with nails digging sharply against his shoulder, pulled him upward. Azriel hauled her upward, letting her wrap her legs around his waist as he held her with ease.

And when he kissed her, Elain tasted herself on his tongue, the sweet, muskiness of it only adding to the arousal she still felt.

“Az,” she breathed against his mouth.

“Yes?” he responded, one wet hand sliding up her spine.

“I want more.”

Their eyes met, and powerful, terrifying, violent Azriel shuddered.

“You can have whatever you want.”

AZRIEL:

The walk to the bed was agony. Elain was in his arms, kissing the side of his neck as she rubbed her slick body against him and all Azriel wanted to do was throw her against the edge of the sink and fuck her sensless. Fuck her until she’d forgotten who he was and who she was. Until she wasn’t the princess and he wasn’t the monster—until she was his and only his.

But she was a princess, and to that end, he wanted to have her in a bed the first time. He’d have her everywhere else for the duration of her captivity and then…and then he didn’t know. He’d have to let her go and Elain might very well leave him.

Maybe she’d stay.

Her words were still ringing in his ears, loud enough she could have been shouting them.

Don’t you dare touch him.

And in his entire, brutal life, Azriel could scarcely think of a time someone had come to his defense like that. His brothers, perhaps, but they were always armed, always certain of their own strength, their own success. Elain was untrained, untested. And still she’d run into gunfire, into danger.

For him.

It was that thought that bolstered him, that offered him just enough hope. He laid her out against the ugly blue and black plaid bedspread, bought cheaply years ago so there’d be something useful to sleep beneath without anyone caring if it was ruined. It seemed sacrilegious to put her on it. The only other option was the couch and while he desperately wanted to fuck her there, it had to be the bed the first time.

He had to prove he could be gentle—that he could be kind.

“Elain,” he breathed, joining her on the soft mattress. She looked at him with wide, lust fogged eyes as she reached for him. He settled between her parted legs, committing her naked body to memory. Azriel had been with his fair share of women. None of it had ever come close to how he felt now. Coming out of his skin, nearly bursting with flame.

The taste of her pussy was still in his mouth, drowning out his ability to be rational. He scooted forward, taking his cock in his hand while Elain leaned up on her elbows to look. Azriel crept forward until he could rub his aching skin against her own, moaning softly at how wet and warm she was.

The long, thick length of him jutted past her hips, resting between her legs when he stilled his movements so could really look at him. He knew he must be nothing like the men she was used to. Not clean cut, not sweet, not soft. Azriel heard her swallow before reaching for him, curling one of her small hands around his shaft tight enough to rob him of his reason. Her fingers just barely met, the sight of which filled him with something primal.

Something instinctual.

She stroked him, looking from his cock to his face.

“Can you take it?” he asked her, adjusting his plans for the possibility she might tell him no.

“I’ll take whatever you give me,” Elain replied, unaware of how her words all but shattered him.

“I’m not a nice man,” he warned her, pulling himself from her grip.

“I never thought you were,” she replied, smart mouthed as ever. Maybe she wasn’t nice, either. Maybe that sweetness, those doe-eyes, were just a mask like the one he so often wore. And maybe, he thought as he lined himself up with her own body, Elain was no different than he was. Azriel punctuated his point by thrusting himself into her in one fluid, near brutal motion. Elain gasped, her back arching off the bed involuntarily.

He could have come from the sight of her alone. The feel of her body, though. Azriel was wrecked. She was wrapped around him like a silken fist, tight and warm. A second skin rubbing against his own, reminding him he ought to have taken more care.

He dragged himself out to the tip, groaning as he went.

He wasn’t giving her back. Fuck Rhys, and fuck Graysen, too. Elain was his, and when her father paid the fucking ransom, Azriel was going to keep her anyway.

He thrust back in. Elain screamed softly—not from pain, but the same drowning pleasure he felt, too. Clenched around him, Azriel knew there was no atrocity he wouldn’t have committed to keep her. This was madness, it was insanity.

"Look at how well you take my cock," he whispered, losing himself when she scratched sharply down his back.

Heaven and hell all at once. She was a goddess, an ethereal creature come to torture him and he was her worshipful acolyte, her willing slave. Again and again, Azriel thrust himself brutally into her body and again and again Elain rose to meet him. Collapsing against her, Azriel reached for her, kissing her if only to have a little taste of the woman who was so thoroughly unmaking him. He couldn’t tell her the truth of things, the words too much for him. Words he’d never said to another person, words until that night he didn’t think he was capable of feeling at all.

He reached between them, rubbing at her clit so he could feel her break apart around him. He needed to feel her come.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his other hand curling around her neck. Elain gripped his wrist, fingers spread around his scars. She wasn’t afraid and she wasn’t repulsed. Her lips found his, kissing frantically until there was nothing but their panting breaths and the slap of flesh meeting flesh.

Azriel squeezed her throat until Elain gasped, her eyes flying open to look at him. He merely held her gaze, thrusting viciously in her body until Elain’s back arched and she screamed, a rasping sound given the pressure he was putting on her neck. He could feel the rippling orgasm around his own cock, the force with which she’d come apart, squeezing around him like a vice so tight his hips jerked out of rhythm and he was all but rutting into her.

He’d meant to fuck her into oblivion a second time before he ever came the first, but her pussy was gushingly wet and Azriel had lost all pretense of control. He came with a near whimpering cry, spilling into her with reckless, careless abandon. It didn’t matter, he thought wildly. She belonged to him and he belonged to her. There ought to be nothing between them.

His heart pounded wildly as Azriel tried—and failed—to come to his senses. He kept stroking long after he’d come, sliding against her arousal and his come without a care. She was still kissing him, slow and long and deep, her arms tangled around his neck.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispered, marveling at the spike of arousal pulsating through him. It was usually right here that all Azriel’s regrets and good sense came crashing through. Just after finishing that found him wondering why he’d pinned that woman to the bed, why he’d fucked her at all.

But with Elain—fuck with Elain—he found himself asking why he’d stopped. Why he wasn’t still wringing pleasure from her? He wanted her satiated and exhausted, too tired to consider what they’d just done—and perhaps, her own regrets.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked him through bright, swollen lips. Azriel brushed little tendrils of damp hair from her face. He could still see the blood streaked over her skin, though the shower had washed it away. Could still see his knife clutched in her hands, could hear her voice whispered in the violent, inky dark.

Don’t you dare touch him.

“Yes,” he rasped. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Though, he wasn’t staying in this ugly bed, either. Pulling himself out of her was hell made slightly better when he got to watch his own come slide out of her. He couldn’t help himself when he slid his thumb over the lips of her pussy, pushing the fluid back into her body.

Nor could he stop himself when he leaned back over her and smeared both their arousal against her swollen lips.

Elain huffed out a breath even as her tongue darted between her teeth to taste them both. “You’re disgusting.” “You have no idea how disgusting I am,” he replied, raking his eyes down her perfect body.

Challenge streaked through those brown eyes. “Oh yeah? Show me.”

He couldn’t help himself or the laugh that ripped out of him. “I’m starting to think you’re not a princess at all.”

“I tried to tell you,” she replied, smiling right back. Azriel licked his lips before hoisting her up, surprised by how shaky his legs were as he brought them both off that ugly fucking bed. “Are you going to chain me to the radiator now?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned, walking her out to the living room. “I think I’d like you on your knees, hands tied behind your back.”

“And what would I be doing?” she asked breathlessly, licking the column of his throat. Goosebumps erupted over Azriels skin. “Choking on my cock, sweetheart.”

Elain’s teeth sank against his shoulder roughly, biting him hard enough to bruise. Azriel’s cock bobbed viciously between his legs, eddying all other thoughts from his mind. Had he ever been so turned on in his life?

There was a pause of silence as Azriel set her on the back of the couch. One where she studied his face curiously before accusing, “You liked that.”

Azriel made a show of cocking his head, of sweeping his eyes down her body before coming back to her face. “And?”

“Maybe I should bite you harder,” she replied breathlessly, sliding to her feet. He crowded her space again if only to feel her breasts rub against his chest. Sinking to her knees with an elegant sort of grace, she continued, “Maybe I should tie you to the radiator.”

Azriel’s response choked into a desperate moan when she gripped him and licked the long length of him.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he told her, hardly sounding confident. He sounded like a breathless mess. Elain looked up through those dark lashes and he wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake, letting her have him like this. If he shouldn’t wrap her up in a blanket and let her cry.

Elain sucked him into her throat before he could even try, and—well, Azriel was still a man, after all. And Elain had killed his most hated enemy for him. To save his life. If this was what she wanted in the aftermath, who was he to stop her?

To tell her no?

Even if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t—Azriel had already plunged his fingers in her hair and was panting yes, and fuck me don’t stop like some kind of wild animal. There were noises escaping his throat he’d never heard himself make before, that sounded distinctly like whimpering pleas.

He’d once prided himself on his control. He could go forever, could hold back his need to come until he was ready. Not anymore. Not when her mouth was the softest thing he’d ever felt in his life, moving in time with her pretty hand as she hummed and gagged her own pleasure. He felt brand new, like he’d never once had sex before.

Maybe he hadn’t. Not like this.

Hands knotted in those buttery brown curls, Azriel came so hard his vision went spotty and his legs shook violently. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her or the mix of saliva and come dripping down her chin and onto her perky, perfect breasts.

She pulled back with a shit eating grin. “That was quick- Az put me down!” she squealed, legs flying when he pulled her up and tossed her to the couch.

“Not a fucking chance, princess.”

ELAIN:

She’d never slept so good in her life. Elain woke up close to ten thirty plastered to Azriel’s naked chest. He held her tight, his breathing even. She didn’t think she’d seen him ever sleep so deep, and certainly not as long. Elain was careful to untangle herself from him so he could continue to rest while she showered quickly.

An actual shower, and not the half assed rinse they’d done before he gotten on his knees and gone down on her. She couldn’t think about that—or the other times he’d done it, either—or she’d go wake him up and beg him to lick her again.

And again.

Instead, Elain thought of Hybern and the knife she’d plunged in his neck. Azriel had killed him, though she had no illusions Hybern would have died eventually from the wound she’d given him. Azriel had done such a good job distracting her last night that there was no need to think about what she’d done.

Pulling on one of his shirts so she could wear it like a dress, Elain did think about it. Replaying the moment she’d stabbed him in her head like a movie, without rearranging things to make her seem better.

Because the truth was, Elain could have stayed where she was and Hybern would never have known. He’d have killed Azriel and left her there, unaware of her presence. More damning still, was the reminder she could have stolen his car and gone home. Elain had gone looking for him, knife in hand, and when she’d killed Hybern, it had been because she wanted to kill him.

And if Elain was even more honest, she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about it.

She’d do it again, if she had to make the same choice.

It was strange how that thought gave Elain peace. She padded back to the living room where Azriel was still asleep, one heavy leg hanging off the couch. He was half covered by a blanket and so very beautiful in the warm morning light. Elain shook off the surge of affection she felt, or the hammering emotions vying for dominance in her chest. She needed to officially end things with Graysen before she dumped all that in Azriel’s lap.

It lingered, though. Killing Hybern was fine, apparently, but her unfinished business with Graysen was intolerable. Elain focused herself on cooking breakfast, and when he crept up on her, wrapping strong arms around her middle while burying his face in the crook of her neck, she nearly doused them both in bacon grease.

“Where did you go?” he murmured, kissing just beneath her jaw.

“I was hungry,” she told him, leaning against the solid, steady warmth of his body. “I figured you must be, too.”

“Hungry for—”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, twisting in his grip. Azriel took that opportunity to steal a kiss, holding her cheek in one of his scarred hands.

“I was thinking we could do something today,” he began once Elain pulled back, carefully scooping her bacon onto a folded paper towel.

“Like what?”

Elain expected him to ask to play more games or, perhaps, to climb back in his lap. He’d thrown on a pair of athletic shorts, slung just low enough over his muscular hips that she could see the carved vee pointing straight at his cock.

“Like my place in the city,” he said casually, walking around the kitchen island. Elain was so busy watching the muscles of his back bunch and shift that she only barely heard him.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

Azriel leveled a dark stare. “Where do you plan to live when this is all over?”

“I…”

His expression was so guarded, fingers drumming against the faux marble countertop. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she finally admitted. “Did my father pay the ransom?”

“No,” Azriel replied. “But he will. Unless…”

Elain held her breath while Azriel seemed to force himself to continue. “Unless you’re going back to Graysen?”

She burst out laughing, “No. Of course not,” she added, crossing her arms over her chest. “Surely you have to know that I…” that I think I might love you, insane as it sounds. Elain cleared her throat. “I would haven’t done what we did last night if I planned to go back. Before you so rudely kidnapped me—”

“I think you mean romantically kidnapped you,” Azriel deadpanned. Elain smothered a smile.

“I was going to end things with him anyway. You’ve merely dragged this out an extra two weeks.”

He didn’t react. “Oh.”

“But I have my own place in the city, as you so well know,” Elain said, narrowing her eyes. “And I would much prefer, if you’ve decided we’re going to live together, that you moved in with me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “My apartment is better guarded.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, turning for plates. “And tell me about the color scheme, Az. All black? Minimalism?”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“You could repaint—”

“Or you could box up your six pairs of t-shirts and come live with me,” she returned blithely, scooping eggs on a plate. Azriel scowled.

“That isn’t my sort of place.”

“Then maybe I’m not your sort of girl.”

His mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“I think you owe me,” she said, holding his stare. “And that neighborhood is my sort of place.” Elain hated how her bottom lip trembled, how she was already so close to losing him before she’d ever really had him. All Graysen had ever done was make demands while she made concessions. Elain compromised and men got everything they wanted.

Azriel cocked his head.

“Your neighbors won’t like having me next door,” he said, watching her with that predators stare.

“Well, I was planning on introducing you as Azriel the mobster, but I suppose I could just say nothing and they’d have to mind their own business.”

He looked down at his fingers, blinking once, and then again. “I ah…I suppose if that’s what you want—”

“It is,” she said, carefully to keep her voice soft. His eyes raised to her face.

“And you want me?” he clarified.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Will you compromise with me? My place, just until the break up is settled—and I know he isn’t going to try and drag you back. I swear,” he added, as if he could hear the brewing argument. “You can help me pack. I’m not in love with that place.”

His words hung in the air, though Elain didn’t dare press.

It was smart, in truth. Graysen was likely to try and track her down, and the last thing she needed was a violent altercation on her front steps, especially when Azriel was volatile and unconcerned about getting his knuckles bloody.

“The minute he takes the hint, you’re in my bed.” Azriel placed his hand over his heart. “Pink sheets and all.”

She slid a plate toward him. “Eat, then. I want to see the squalor you live in.”

A smile slid over his face. “I think you want an excuse to fuck me in my own bed.”

“I don’t think I need an excuse,” she replied, forking fluffy eggs into her mouth. “In fact, I think I could have you simply by snapping my fingers.”

His fork clattered to the plate. “Want to test that theory, princess?”

Elain took another bite, holding that lethal stare. She raised her hand so, so slowly, well aware he was watching her every move.

Elain snapped and Azriel lunged with a growl. She didn’t make it far, rounding the corner when Azriel feinted, only to twist and catch her around the middle.

“One of these days, when it’s warm,” he breathed against her neck, dragging her back to the couch, “I’m going to unleash you in the woods and fuck you in the dirt.”

“You're depraved,” she breathed when he pulled them to the cushions.

“You like it,” was his eloquent reply, adding, “Now baby. Please. Ride my face.”

And who was she to tell him no?

It took them three hours to convince the other to get dressed and in the car—not counting how Azriel had immediately flung his seat back and pulled her into her lap as he declared he needed to fuck her everywhere. Their situation felt tenuous, as if one wrong movement would see him pulling over to fuck her again.

She was sore, could still feel him buried inside her even though she was separated from him by clothes and the center dash. Though, he had placed a hand on her thigh, squeezing every so often as though to assure himself she was still there.

Elain ran her fingers over his knuckles. “What happened?” she asked, turning the music down.

He glanced over, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “My father wanted to teach me a lesson.”

Elain blinked. “Your—what?”

“I was always reaching for my mother and he wanted me to be a man,” Azriel told her roughly, his eyes glazing over. “So he dipped my hands in oil and—”

“Stop it,” she whispered, squeezing tightly. “Don’t—I—” she blinked away angry tears. “Is he still alive?”

A haunted smile told her no, even as he asked, “Why? Do you plan to defend my honor again?”

“Yes.” She was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. “I would.”

“You’re so blood thirsty, princess.”

Sweeping her thumb over his scarred hand, Elain murmured, “I’m sorry someone did that to you.”

He took a deep breath. “I believe you are.”

The urge to tell him how she felt about him rose into her throat again, swallowed quickly when he pulled into a parking garage.

Not yet, something soft whispered. She didn’t want the memory of those words tainted by the threat of Graysen and intended to ask Azriel if he’d let her call him once they got back home. Surely there was no more pretense he was actually holding her hostage. Not when she was perfectly content to be there with him, and would have spent another two weeks holed up playing video games and cooking and watching Spanish soap operas.

No one stopped them when they reached the lobby, though a doorman did greet him as Mr. Moreno, which sent Elain spiraling into giggles. Azriel scowled, fingertips pressed against the small of her back while herding her into an elevator.

There was another round of giggling when he led her inside, revealing a spartanly decorated space in clean lines of black and silver. Azriel stalked in, ignoring her breathless laughter though the twitching corners of her lips told her he wasn’t that annoyed. Merely amused by her reaction and, perhaps, secretly pleased to be the subject of her joy.

Maybe she was projecting that hope, though.

He reached for her, fingers gliding over the floral fabric of her blue and yellow patterned sundress, while his other hand tucked a curl behind her ear. “How’s this for a couple weeks?” Elain looked over his broad shoulder, rising up on her tiptoes to survey the spacious living room.

“Another couch, I see,” she teased, thinking the nice leather didn’t seem like the sort of place she ought to put her bare ass.

“My bed is much nicer,” he told her, pulling her with him through a half open door. “And has the better television.”

He wasn’t lying about that. Azriel’s bed looked big enough for four men his size, framed by a wall of glass windows overlooking the city. Across was a massive television framed in more silver.

A shelf just beneath held sleek gaming systems, she assumed to play more than racing games.

“Want to see the closet?” he asked, pulling her further across the room, where she found a darkened bathroom and, just across, a walk in closet he was not making good use of. “For all your shoes.”

She pulled from his grasp. “What do you know about my shoes?”

His smile was lascivious. “Almost as much as I know about your underwear.”

She swatted at his stomach. “Snoop.”

“Do you like it, though?”

“Temporarily,” she agreed. That seemed to satisfy him, though. Enough for him to pull her back against him for a slow, deep kiss. It seemed like a dream—that this was happening, that she could have him, could stay in her home.

“I’ll take whatever you’re offering,” Azriel told her. She believed it, though she needed to hear him say more.

“And if I wanted to leave you?” she breathed, lips ghosting over his own.

“I hope you kill me before you go,” he replied, threading his fingers through her hair to pull her back for a bruising kiss. “I don’t think I could stand living like I was before.”

With his tongue in her mouth, there was no way for her to respond to that. Maybe that was for the best, because Elain might have told him everything. She might have confided how miserable she was leading up to the days before he’d shown up, how she’d gone home that day expecting to find nothing but misery.

How in his own weird, roundabout way, he’d saved her. And even though she knew he thought of himself as a monster, Elain didn’t think that was true. Not to her, anyway. No, to Elain, Azriel had rescued her. He had saved her.

They spent the night there, doing nothing but touching—so much endless, desperate touching. And when the first light of dawn poked through the glass, settling like golden shadow against his face, Elain forced herself to say the things she didn’t want to.

Rolled on her bare stomach, still dripping from the mess he’d made between her thighs, Elain brushed thick locks of his dark hair off his face.

“I want to call Graysen today.”

Azriel stiffened. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I want to end things—”

“Your father hasn’t paid the ransom,” he reminded her, as if Elain cared.

“I’ll pay it,” she said. Azriel narrowed his eyes.

“Then what lesson does your father learn?”

She blinked. “Who cares?”

He raised himself up on his elbows. “This is about more than just me and you.”

Cold disappointment tingled down her spine, causing her heart to race. “So what is it, then? I continue to date him until when, exactly? It no longer benefits you?”

Azriel winced. “Of course not.”

“What happens when he never pays, Az? Am I to be your captor forever? Or what—your boss says you better kill me—”

“Stop it,” he whispered, his voice vicious. Elain scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed when he lunged. It did her no good given how much faster Azriel was, how much stronger. He yanked her beneath him and when Elain slapped at his chest, he responded by kissing her roughly. Elain went to hit him across the face but Azriel was always one step ahead of her. He pinned her wrists over her head while leveraging his much larger body to keep her pinned to the bed.

“Let me go,” she whispered, hating the way tears burned in her throat.

“No,” he replied, cocking his head. Guessing correctly that the last thing she wanted was for him to take his hands off her. “Not now, not ever.”

“I hate him,” she whispered, turning her face so Azriel wouldn’t see her cry. “I hate him so much.”

“I know you do,” he replied with a sigh. “Trust me, Elain. Trust me.”

Elain drew breath. “This is going to end in heartache, Az.”

“It won’t,” he disagreed, using his free hand to tilt her chin so she had to look back at him. “Trust me, princess.”

Elain closed her eyes, willing herself not to admit that she did. He knew it, though. He knew when he kissed her and certainly when he released his hold on her wrists. If he hadn’t, though, he would have when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he told her, fingers stroking her cheek. “No one is going to hurt you. Never again, Elain.”

She could have drowned in that dark, hazel stare.

“I want to be free of him.”

“You already are,” Azriel insisted, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “I swear it.”

Elain breathed in the heady, masculine scent of his skin as she forced herself to calm down. Azriel held her, face buried in her hair as he whispered, “It was over before I met you. You owe him nothing.”

“What if it had been you?” she asked him, letting him raise himself up on his elbows. “If I had been taken from you?”

Anger flashed hotly over his features. “If he tried to take you from me?” Azriel asked her, those eyes darker than she’d ever seen them.

“Yes. You…you wouldn’t give him money—”

“I would,” he interrupted, his voice icy. “I would have paid him for you, and then I would have killed him for daring to touch you as soon as I had you back. Don’t doubt for a second the depths I’d go to keep you. There is no low I wouldn’t stoop, Elain.”

She shivered, despite the warmth radiating from him.

“You’re mine,” he said, mouth against her neck. “You must know it, now.”

She was his the moment she’d plunged that knife in Hyberns neck. She started to just tell him, but the shrill ring of his phone took him away. Scowling and swearing under his breath, but away all the same.

Elain quietly dressed as Azriel barked one word responses into the phone. By the time he turned, she knew exactly what he was going to say. His eyes raked over the dress, lips forming the most pathetic frown.

“Come on,” he said, sighing heavily. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Back to the cabin?” she guessed. Azriel nodded.

“Just a few more days. A week, max. Princess, come on. Don’t look at me with those eyes. I can’t stand it.”

He was quick to throw something on before coming back to her, too clothed for her liking. Elain skittered back, determined to still be upset with him. Azriel wasn’t having it.

“Tell me what you’ll do when we’re free of this,” he demanded, hoisting her up in his arms with ease. “Besides me. The very first thing—besides swallow my cock—did you just bite me?”

He didn’t release her, and how he managed to get them out the door was a mystery. “You’re very biteable.”

“You’re a brat,” he replied, affection lacing the words. “Tell me what you want to do first?”

Elain pressed her cheek against his chest. “Anything I want?”

“I already said you can’t ask for my cock—don’t you dare bite me again.”

She was laughing, their earlier argument forgotten as he brought her into the deserted elevator. “I want my own bakery.”

“Like…to own a bakery?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him. There was an almost dreamy quality to his expression, softening the sharpness of his beautiful face.

“I know just the place,” he said. Elain’s stomach flipped in her stomach. One day she swore she’d tell him everything. How these small, inconsequential moments meant everything to her—how his hopes about her future, one that he wanted to share with her, had convinced her she loved him.

Instead, Elain slid happily back into the car and convinced him with relative ease to let her pick the music. And though he complained, he didn’t stop her from turning it up loud or singing along, nor did he take his hand off her knee. In fact, she’d never seen him so relaxed when they reached the snowy drive of the cabin. He was grinning when he jogged over to her door, offering her a broad hand so she didn’t slip on ice.

“I was thinking,” he began, one arm slung over her shoulder. “That tonight we could cook dinner again—”

Elain didn’t register what happened with any immediacy. He’d been smiling when he pulled open the front door, and then he wasn’t. His body was over hers—and she was on the ground. Ears ringing in her skull while something wet dripped over her chest.

Azriel’s voice came back to her first. “Get up—baby get up—”

She couldn’t move. Elain blinked, reaching for him. There was blood on his shirt. Azriel twisted, looking at something in the hall she couldn’t see.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered, willing herself to stand up. Azriel was positioned defensively, eyes darting between her and the couch she could just barely see. “Az—”

“Baby,” he interrupted with those frantic eyes. “Princess. You’re okay. Just—just take a breath.”

“You’re hurt,” she repeated, the words metallic on her tongue. She could taste blood in her mouth.

Azriel winced, his hand pressed against his side. “There’s a gun,” he told her, nodding toward the couch. “Go—”

Elain did move then, leaving him in front of the open door to rip the cushions off the couch. She found the gun he’d once told her was unloaded—the liar—and made her way back to him mere moments before Graysen stepped around the corner. He was flanked by two burly looking men she’d never seen, both with guns trained on Azriel.

She was going to be sick. “Gray,” she said, one hand thrown over Azriel’s form. “What have you done?”

“I’ve rescued you,” he said coldly. “Where is your gratitude, Elain?”

A nightmare was unfurling before her eyes. Elain could see how this would play out and wondered if there was a way it could end without Azriel’s death.

“You��ve shot a man,” she said, tugging Azriel’s bicep. They hadn’t seemed to realize she’d tucked a gun under Azriel’s body, perhaps assuming she wouldn’t dare try and help him. “I’m not hurt. See?”

Graysen’s eyes raked over her darkly. She could read every terrible thought on his face.

“I suppose he didn’t have the time, given he was fucking you like an animal.”

“Gray—”

“Get up,” he ordered. “Get the fuck up right now.”

Elain stood slowly. “Swear you won’t hurt him.”

Two guns shifted, pointed directly at her. “I’ll kill you!” Azriel swore from the ground, for all the good it did. Elain swallowed her fear, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Gray,” she whispered. “It’s over. I’m not hurt–you’re not like him. You’re not…you’re not a killer. Please,” she added, praying he thought her tears were for him and not the bleeding man at her feet. “Please just—let's just go home. Please?”

Graysen looked at Azriel, his hatred plain. “If I leave him unharmed, you’ll come home with me?”

“Yes,” she agreed, not daring to look at Azriel. Would he understand this bargain was for his life? That Elain would have done anything to keep him from dying in front of her.

Graysen nodded at the men beside him, who dropped their guns. Elain exhaled before forcing a smile on her face. “You found me.”

Graysen stepped over Azriel’s body like it was worth nothing and Elain didn’t dare look down. “Of course I found you,” he said, pressing the worst kiss she’d ever tasted to her salt soaked mouth. “Did you doubt I would?”

“No,” she lied, watching the men with guns follow just behind. Elain stepped into the cold, not daring to look back at Azriel.

A hand curled around her arm, pulling her toward a car she hadn’t seen when she’d pulled up. Someone was driving—had they been followed? Graysen wasn’t touching her as he strode toward the passenger door. It was one of the men with guns dragging her now.

The other was still standing by the cabin. She couldn't see Azriel any more.

“Get in, Elain,” Graysen said.

“Gray,” Elain tried, her desperation betraying her. Had she truly believed just this once Graysen would be honorable? That just this once he wasn’t a liar?

“Kill him.”

Elain screamed, twisting against the bruising grip on her arm. She was shoved viciously into the same car Graysen was in, the door slammed in her face before she could catch her breath. The second man began prowling forward while Elain ripped at the door handle, but it was no use.

“Look what you made me do, Elain,” Graysen said as the car backed out of the drive. “Did you have fun fucking the monster?”

The sound of gunfire punctuated the question. Graysen, of course, didn’t really want an answer, nor did he expect one.

Elain swallowed the urge to cry. She hadn’t gotten to tell Azriel she loved him, and he’d died not knowing. It was all she could think about. He hadn’t known. He’d died planning to help her open a bakery—had died planning dinner.

She hadn’t told him she loved him.

Graysen had no idea what a monster was.

Elain was going to show him.

#elriel #elain x azriel #dont look at me like that #im not azriel im not moved by your eyes #you should know if you see a separatist apologist mafia fic that this is the direction we're going #and if youre new here welcome to hell

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divinemare · 1 year ago

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✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘!¡ •ଓ.°

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ azrielxfem!oc

part nine

𓆝 𓆜 ––––———–––––———–┊⁀➷

More pirates she had imagined joined them after her speech. She would forever be infinitely grateful with her people, whoever said pirates didn’t had a code or loyalty, had been wrong. You don’t hit a pirate, because they will bounce off the depths of the oceans and hit you back. And Hybern was just about to learn that.

Just as she had told him, Kallistrade meet the Prince of Merchants and his ships in their way to Prythian. She was…impressed, she had to admit to herself. Especially when, after winnowing to the main ship —the Nesta, she noticed with a smile, looking back at the Elain, and the Feyre that trailed behind it—, she saw the presence of a female that had become a whisper of a living myth; queen Vassa accompanied the human man, alongside a red head High Fae male she recognize for the similarities he shared with his family.

Lucien Vanserra.

What a truly mysterious and strange combination of people.

“Captan Devilsbane, your fleet looks as mighty as the legends sing them to be,” the male bowed slightly his head.

There was something about him that didn’t suit entirely right with the picture she had in her memories about the Vanserra family, maybe it had been too long since she’d seen them, or maybe…maybe Lucien was…somewhat different, but Kallistrade couldn’t exactly place how.

“Hybern has a debt to pay, and we’re ready to not let them forget.”

“So, the rumors are true, you became quite the terrifying pirate,” she heard a voice behind her.

A voice she hadn’t heard in so, so long that for a moment she had forgotten who it belonged to. But just as she turned around, not even 500 years could erase Drakon and Miryam’s faces. Especially the female’s, who had held her tightly while she screamed and cried and grieved when Kallistrade had found out of her brother’s death.

A light in her chest she had almost forgotten it existen lighten up. That side of her she had felt come back to life when she first saw Azriel slipped for a split second in her face.

“You motherfuckers,” she laughed, delighted, a happiness she had missed in her chest beaming as she approached the couple and hugged them both tightly.

“Careful, you don’t look too terrifying now,” Drakon laughed, but Kallistrade only pushed him away playfully.

Definitely, going back to Prythian, going back to Velaris and back to her old family, had revived something dead inside of her, she now felt it within her with the joy of that new re encounter.

“Shut up, or I’ll throw you off the plank and into the sea,” he laughed again, his brown eyes squinting.

“Now that��s more like it.”

She hugged only Miryam this time, flipping off Drakon. The last time Kallistrade had been in those arms, her world was falling apart in front of her and her heart was being shredded to pieces. Now, five centuries later, everything couldn’t be any more different.

“You look so…” When they parted, and the half-breed female took complete look of her, she sighed. “So different,” she said it with a certain pride that made Kallistrade’s heart warm.

“Different good? Or different bad?” She raised a wicked eyebrow, and gave Miryam a lopsided grin.

“Good, very good,” the sweet female voice brought back memories, both good and bad, that this time, Kallistrade did not shot down in the back of her head.

She was done with that, with the whole shoving-down-things. Her past was past and her present was present, no need to be bitter with any of them, not when she was given a second opportunity to have the best of both.

“I don’t know, those red blood lips look like you sucked someone’s blood dry, which I’m not entirely sure you didn’t do,” Drakon said, twisting his head to one side with an apprehensive look, but at Kallistrade’s light punch, he laughed.

“Are all those yours?” Miryam asked, looking back at the exactly 13 ships filled with men.

“That they are,” she gave them a wolfish grin, and Drakon nodded, impressed.

“I don’t know wether to be impressed or scared, they look positively cruel and wicked.”

“Well thank you! I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Miryam smiled widely and lovingly, having been there and seen Kallistrade, 500 years ago, in such a horrible, heartbroken state, she was infinitely proud of the female she now encountered; brave, wicked, full of new life.

“Will you care to join us for strategy?” Miryam asked, and Kallistrade smiled with a nod.

“Let’s see how rusted you are after so many centuries off in that little hidden island of yours, little bird,” the pirate said directly to Drakon, and the male followed her with challenging eyes, Miryam behind them, shaking her head with a joyful smile.

One would think that they weren’t just about to enter war, by the smiles plastered on their faces. But for Kallistrade, smiling was easier than allowing her treacherous brain and heart to think about Azriel, to think about her family, and if they might be dead when she arrived, that she might not make it in time. She couldn’t allow herself to think that, because now, she had to be the Pirate, the Captain Devilsbane, and lead a fleet of pirates into a Mother damned, bloody war.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

They were losing, Hybern was crashing into them with no mercy, no matter how strong their forces were, no matter how strong their men were, Hybern’s seemed to be stronger.

A miracle…they needed a miracle…

And a miracle had just arrived.

Drakon’s Seraphim legion, alongside Miryam’s and Vaasa’s people and…and her father, had arrived. But it had been the dark, big ships that had stolen their attention after her father’s, the dark ships that seemed to absorbe life itself and take power from it. The ships that contained so many sailors of every species Feyre could imagine that they looked like a combination of death in all possible colors.

They couldn’t be mistaken, by anyone who dared to look at them. They were fatal, they were wicked, they were twisted in a way that inspired admiration and dread and exhilaration all at once. Those ships were unique, dreaded in every corner of the Continent, in every corner of the world, so many songs had been made of them, those were ships that had inspired fear and respect everywhere they went. Those were…

Pirate ships. More than a dozen pirate ships. Their skull flags waved with the heavy wind. They were so big, dark, imposing, with sculptures carved at their noses that pointed fingers, wings, horns and even fangs at the ships from Hybern.

At the very front, leading the other ships, was the most terrifying, imposing one, the sea itself seemed to open a path for it, seemed to hit its waves in its favor.

Feyre knew that ship, she had had the same reaction she was having now the first time she saw it. The Bright Nightmare stole her breath. She swallowed hard, and prayed the Mother to never face the terrors that ship had surely produced to so many others.

Then, as if the rush of her heart and the tears that streamed down her face weren’t already enough, a low, yet powerful and dark female voice began to sing. Everyone who had enhanced Fae ears could hear it, and she instantly felt Rhys shiver at the recognition of whatever song started playing. Like a death sentence, a death promise, a chant so old that few knew it, but a chant so dreaded that everyone who did, shivered at its machiavelli sound.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

The words started slipping out of her mouth like an old prayer. The battle ahead of her had stoped partially, many praying eyes now looking their way, the ships already in bay had stoped their shooting, hers and those accompanying, had stolen their attention away.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed”

Kallistrade sang low, but was sure that every Fae around her could hear her, the men from her ships waited eagerly as well. The sound of cracking wood accompanied her every word, giving a more sinister touch to the song that had been sang for centuries amongst pirates before battle.

“And bound her in her bones”

Every word, every note, felt tingling in her mouth. The feeling spread out to her entire body, pounding strongly and eagerly in her heart.

“The seas be ours and by the powers”

Her hands began to tingle with the anticipation, she could already feel the blood in them, taste it in her mouth, even. She took a hand towards her belt, towards her sword, just as the last words spilled from her tongue in a death-coated note.

“Where we will, we’ll roam”

Kallistrade took out Seesnyer, and pointed its sharp tip towards Hybern’s ships.

Then a wicked symphony erupted, every pirate around her, from every ship surrounding her, from the smallest to the biggest, Fae and Human, Captains and commanders and first mates and all crew members alike sang together their ancient battle song.

“Yo, ho, haul together

Hoist the colors high”

Canons began to be pointed, swords and weapons to be drawn, their symphony accompanying that of the death promising words being sang by so many they became a loud, terrifying sound.

“Heave-ho, thieves and beggars”

They heard orders being shout out at the other end, enemy ships frantically trying to shift their weaponry towards them.

“Never shall we die”

Then real hell broke loose, and Kallistrade let herself be carried by it.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

She had come, she had really come. Azriel stared at the sea in front with his heart leaping out of his chest. The exhaustion that had consumed his body seconds ago could not compare with the rush of exhilaration when he heard the infamous pirate song.

He couldn’t fly, he couldn’t go up into the sky to see in a better view, but he knew it was her voice the one who started the song, he knew it her ship leading the armada of pirates, he knew it was her, that it was Kallistrade who had come to their aid.

Azriel had avoided thinking of her in those days they had been apart, he had avoided her name, the picture of her face in his head, the thought of her never coming back, and the thought of her coming back as well. It all had been useless, tho, he hadn’t been able to do any of those things. He hadn’t been able to avoid his stupid heart beaming with hope every time he went to sleep, and every time he woke up, waiting to see her sail back to him.

And there she was, just as he had thought that today was his final battle, his final breath of air, his final day on this earth with only her filling his thoughts, when the song he had heard of, the song every sailor dreaded ever hearing, began to sound.

It was wicked, it was dark, it was a lot of things, evil and twisted, but beaming like a light of hope for those in desperate need of it. For him, especially, not because he felt his body protesting with each thrust of his sword, his wings snarling with pain and his energy giving in the exhaustion, but because once he heard her, once the ships were visible enough for him to see the female standing atop the biggest of them all, her twisted, wicked sword pointed at Hybern’s armada, he felt a rush of energy, the necessary to fight off the enemies that continued to approach him in hopes of finally killing him, instead killing them all.

Kallistrade had come, she had truly come back, and as his body regained energy, taking it from a source he couldn’t yet place, a knowing voice in his head told him in whispers what his heart had been too stubborn to listen and accept.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

From the moment the first canon shot, up until now, Kallistrade hadn’t stop slicing through enemies and wrecking ships.

First, she had fought alongside Zena in the nearest ship they had winnowed to, slashing through soldiers while giving time to Rafe and Tiam, a member of her Dark Dream crew, to blow up the damned thing.

Then she had winnowed to the next ship, and the next, and the next, either from the enemie’s side or her own to aid whoever needed it. Pirates were being absolutely ruthless, leaving no time for pleadings of mercy, she herself was giving no time as she cut sailor to sailor, the cold dread of their faces at the realization of who had come to aid Prythian, of the Bright Nightmares firing canon after canon with deadly precision, and who was its Captain, being the last thing she saw of them before killing then off.

Kallistrade didn’t bother entertaining with soldiers, she let Seesnyer and Dark Wilder cut through them like paper without great effort. She was waiting for the big fish to come out and play. Waiting for the face of the male that had tormented her nightmares for 500 years. Then she’ll start having fun.

She danced through each fight, her movements soft as silk but brutal as both weapons in her hands, the power they gave her made the effort of her muscles that ached feel like an inconvenience, not an impediment.

She heard screams at the other side, ships, part of her armada, where sinking in flames as their sailors jumped into the ocean in an attempt to avoid death. She cursed, locating the Hybern ship that had gone out of formation to fire brutal shots at her ranks. Winnowing too much could waste her energy more than needed, so she put her fingers in her lips and whistled a simple tune, then dropped the body that had been impaled with Seesnyer, and, nobody left in the ship to fight off, she momentarily put her sword and dagger back in her belt to take impulse, then go running to the edge of the ship and jumped into the air.

Gravity tucked at her for a couple of seconds, until strong hands grasped her arms and hurled her up and up and up. When she tilted her head, Kaena winked at her Captain, her great Illyrian wings carrying them towards the ship that was making theirs sink.

Once they arrived, Kaena dropped her in the main deck carefully, Kallistrade fell on her feet with a powerful thud, and Kaena used her sword to destroy the masts.

They both fought side by side, until only few remained, and those who did, jumped into the ocean with hopes of surviving the merciless females.

Kallistrade took an axe from one of the fallen soldiers, then turn the rudder as hard as she could, and stuck it with the axe. The ship quickly began to turn sideways, and just as Kaena hurled her up into the air, it hit the side of another burning ship and sank into the ocean.

They returned to one of their ships, the one that was being worst attacked to help.

“Captain!” She heard a scream just as she cut with deadly precision the neck of a Hybern sailor in his knees.

Kallistrade turned to look at Maddox, who had just winnowed in, and was extremely glad to see that, up until now, he was still alive.

“Is there any problem?” Apart from the obvious, raging war behind them.

“You might wanna…” Maddox didn’t finish his sentence, only turned to look at the battlefield in land.

Kallistrade’s heart gave a full turn. She had been fighting off the feeling of uncertainty in her stomach since the moment she arrived, focusing on destroying as much enemies as she could, and not in the fact that she was losing her mind at not knowing where Rhys and Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Amren, Elain…where Azriel was. Instead turning that rage, turning that preoccupation, in power capable of destroying ships.

She approached the front of the ship with her heart in her mouth, and, having cleared the ship of enemies, allowed herself a moment to scan the battlefield.

The first thing her eyes immediately found, as if it was a reflex to find him in a crowd, as if it was an instinct, was Azriel.

Being outnumbered, by five, his siphons almost drained, his wings tucked in…why were they tucked in? Why wasn’t he flying, why did she felt her hands shaking, as if his were shaking too?

“I can-”

Before Maddox could finish his offer of winnowing her so she didn’t waste any power, she disappeared with a jaw clenched, and Seesnyer burning in her tighten hand.

“Mother have mercy on them,” Maddox laughed, knowing very well that Kallistrade; wouldn’t.

She landed at the back of one of the five males, the one that was about to plunge his sword into Azriel’s stomach while the Shadowsinger fought two other off, and cut his head off with a clean swing of Seesnyer.

The five males around stoped to turn and look at her; the four of Hybern furrowing their brows with a superiority that suggested they not only didn’t know who she was, but that they were stupid enough to think she would be an easy prey. Azriel, instead, his eyes flashed with a sea of emotions that Kallistrade had no time to point them all, but he let out a ragged breath, and blinked three times, as if testing out the vision in front of him, as if confirming she was, in fact, real.

She was. Very fucking real, and those bastards were just about to be proven that.

She gave them a cruel, evil smile that could make a grown male shit his pants, and not a second later she started cutting into them as if they were nothing.

Azriel was paralyzed by the sight of her for a moment, just a tiny moment, until he saw a male approaching her other side, too close, too ready for the kill, and with gritted teeth, lunched into him like a shadow of death.

They fought them all off, and in seconds, their mocking, confident smiles had turned into pain grimaces that would be forever carved in their dying faces.

“You came,” Azriel breathed, once they gave each other a moment to breath and look into their eyes.

“I promised you I would.”

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hawkeyeslaughter · 10 months ago

Note

A / T / U

thank you for the ask beloved mutual majorbaby !!! 🫶🫶🫶

— A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

— ugh , y’all know me i’m such a sucker for hawktrap but honestly i’m also down for the hawkeye/trapper/oliver agenda because i LOVE oliver and i miss him every single day of my life . and i always love a good klinger / henry moment ,, as far as friendships go as MUCH as i give bj a hard time i always love a sweet moment between him and margaret and i can’t wait to see that during my rewatch teehee !!

ships from other fandoms !! —

— mcspirk , broppy ( YES i watch trolls and it’s a better franchise than most of them out there do NOT come for me ) , hilson ( although i do think it’s 🤏 overhyped ) , chase/foreman ( bc why do they lowkey have more chemistry than chase/cameron )

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

— you know i do , but i’ll try to give y’all the just a few

— YES henry has dirty mags he keeps in his office for protection but he’s far more worried about keeping his fishing books and gear protected

— radar was one of those double jointed kids in elementary school who was always doing weird stuff with his joints to gross people out

— trapper worked a stint as a mechanic and is a car guy

— bj swears he loses a year off his life everytime someone asks him “ so how’s the weather up there ? “

— closest charles came to swinging at hawkeye was when hawk asked if he wanted his head polished

— hawkeye ate crayons as a kid

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

anyone who has seen any of my posts can infer henry is my favorite so we’re going with three DIFFERENT fandoms buckle up guys

— bones mccoy , star trek

i think bones was my first ever comfort character and it’s because he’s so real . like , he’s just not afraid to call people stupid and i respect him for that . i also like that he’s inherently someone who loves very deeply and wants to help people in every single way he can but it’s also very subtle … like he cares SO MUCH but it’s not in an over - the - top dramatic “ i would die for you “ way ( which he would , undoubtedly ) but more of a “ i love you and cherish you but you’re fucking stupid “ and that’s always been like ,, funny and sweet to me and shows that caring for someone isn’t always being nice to them sometimes you have to be a little cunty .

— elaine benes , seinfeld

— listen it was between her and lorelai gilmore and as much as i love and defend lorelai i love elaine more . y’all the amount of people who have said i’m literally elaine … and it’s a COMPLIMENT because i LOVE HER and you KNOW WHAT ??? i should’ve put her and george on the friends ship list because her and geroge are BESTIES . anyway i love elaine she’s so fucking funny ,, like be mean to jerry yes girl !!!! also she’s so cute i love that she’s so excited and over the top over everything all of the time i love her she’s my baby . is seinfeld even a fandom ? idk but you’re hearing ab it since we’re keeping the older show theme

— james wilson , house md

first of all the FUNNIEST MOTHERFUCKER TO EVER EXIST . second of all he’s MEEEE he’s literally me because i TOO just need people to stay and i also am on the nd meter and no one ever knows what the fuck i’m talking about so !!!!!! he also has the most beautiful big brown puppy eyes i’ve ever seen like okay gorgeous

— SHOUT OUT TO FRANK COLUMBO I LOVE YOU !!!! YOURE ON A GOD TIER YOURE MY FAVORITE EVER THAT JUST GOES WITHOUT SAYINF

#townes answers asks !#had a serious debate on whether or not to put lip gallagher #and fox mulder but they’re lowkey like #the same person LDJSODJDB #ask game #ask meme #mash #m*a*s*h #mashposting #mash 4077 #mashblr #seinfeld #house md #star trek #columbo #frank columbo #lgbt #lgbtq

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moeswriting · 4 months ago

Text

mine | 2. we were sitting there by the water

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: joel miller is falling in love and you’re learning to love, but joel’s hiding something big from you that might change everything,

or the first and third date

chapter warnings: panic attack, implied parental abuse, joel is 22 and reader is 20, descriptions of a bad marriage and teenage pregnancy (Joel), reader is described a small amount (has hair, able-bodied, wears feminine clothing, is going to school for secondary english education, has a heavily-detailed background), joel being The Single Dad™, this author HATES sand but loves the idea of the beach, reader’s best friend being horny af, reader walking in on someone having barely-described sex, a thinly-veiled gilmore girls reference that probably no one but me will get, and an OC that the author is pretty sure is just chappell roan with a different name and a country accent

word count: 7.1k

a/n: i actually cannot thank y'all enough for all the love this series has gotten already. i am so excited to show y'all the story i have planned for these two (next chapter we'll get some sarah, and then it'll be three ;) ) . hope you like this chapter! any reblogs and notes are appreciated <3

series masterlist | last chapter -> | next chapter ->

read this chapter on ao3

Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water?

You put your arm around me for the first time

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

You are the best thing that's ever been mine

✦ ✦ ✦

October 1994

“I didn’t know you had it in ya. I’m impressed.”

You’re rifling through your closet, as your roommate rambles in her thick Texan accent from across the room. Joel’s supposed to be here in an hour. You had just gotten out of class and were desperately trying to pull yourself together before he got here. He had told you to dress nice– that he was taking you to dinner and you had left your dorm this morning thinking you had something to wear, but now that you’re standing in front of every piece of clothing you own, you’re not sure that any of it is good enough.

You groan, “Elaine, I will kill you. I won’t hesitate this time.”

“My baby girl is finally gonna get some,” she squeals, jumping on her bed and hopping onto the ground elegantly, her fiery red hair fanning around her perfectly like it always does. Even in her current outfit of a shirt she stole from some frat boy she fucked last week and pink boxer shorts, she was perfect.

“Elaine…”

She prances over to you, hands on her hips, mischief in her eyes. You go back to looking in your closet.

“I need more information,” she pauses, looking you up and down, “What do we think he’s packin’?”

You groan again, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about this. I’m going to move out. I am requesting a roommate change.”

She guides your hands away from your face and giggles, “I’m sorry. This is just very important to me. I need to know everythin’.”

“There’s not much to know. We only talked for like half an hour,” you sigh. You pull a white dress and a denim vest from their hangers and toss them on your bed. Good enough.

She throws her hands up into the air when you walk away from her. “Okay, well, at least tell me what he looks like?”

You strip down to your underwear and pull the dress over your head. “Well… he’s tall, muscular. Curly brown hair, brown eyes– pretty, the kind that crinkle when he smiles… God, even his nose was pretty– strong–” you button your vest tightly to your chest, it’s almost like a corset– “I don’t think I’ve seen a prettier man in my life.”

“So… packin’?” She smirks.

You blush, throwing your hands up in the air, “Yeah, probably!”

She squeals, clapping her hands together. The sound almost makes you smile, but you smother it behind a groan.

“Oh my god. I’m so done with this. Tell me if this outfit is cute.”

She walks over to you and grabs your shoulders, face and voice genuine as she whispers, “Oh, baby… You are so beautiful. If Joel doesn't want you, then I might give you a go.”

“Well, let’s hope Joel wants me then.”

Elaine gasps and runs to her bed, grabbing the nearest pillow. You brace for impact as she throws it towards you with a giggle. Hello Kitty flies right into your face and plops to the ground as you squeal.

She pauses her laughter, her expression becoming serious as she stares at you.

“Why do you look like you’re going to puke?”

You glare at her and duck into your closet again for a pair of shoes, “Shut up.”

Docs will do, you think.

“No, seriously. Two seconds ago you made it sound like he was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with and now you look green. What’s wrong with you?”

You sit in your desk chair and pull your boots on, avoiding eye contact with your persistent best friend when you answer her question.

“Because I’ve spent the past twenty years of my life avoiding being in a relationship at all costs and this guy's nice and handsome and funny and I just don’t want to let him down… y’know?”

Elaine says your name sternly, “You could never let anyone down. You are amazing and way too good for literally any man on earth, but from what you’ve told me, he seems like he might be decent enough.”

She pauses, walking over to you and putting her hands on your shoulders, “You need to get out there. If you never try, you’re gonna be lonely for the rest of your life and as much as I want to try to save you from that– you need to do that all on your own, baby.”

You take a deep breath, or as much of a deep breath as your vest will let you, and let it out, “I know. I just don’t… I don’t want to waste my time on something that probably won’t last.”

Her facial expression drops into annoyance, “You have no idea! You have no idea if this could last. You think that every relationship is doomed to fail, and that’s just not fair! At least give the guy a chance to prove it could work out.”

You pause to think over her words. He’s cute. This could just be some fun, even if it doesn’t last. You toss your thoughts back and forth before you give in.

“Okay. But if this doesn’t work out, we’re going to reflect back on this moment and I’ll get to say, ‘I told you so’ over and over until we die.”

She points a finger at you. “You are pathetic.”

“And so are you.” You stick your tongue out at her and she does the same to you.

A knock at your door alerts you to his presence.

Elaine squeals, jumping up and down, her hair flying everywhere.

You shush her and walk to the door, opening it.

His brown curls are somewhat contained by some gel he obviously doesn’t know how to use and he’s freshly shaven his face. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white dress shirt tucked neatly into a belt that makes his waist look heavenly. He’s wearing the same cowboy boots he wore last time you saw him. He looks beautiful.

Elaine is poking your back and giggling in your ear. You would be giggling too if you didn’t think it would make you look like a weirdo.

He pulls a bundle of white and purple from behind his back and thrusts it into your hands, like they’re going to burn him if he keeps holding onto them. Flowers– carnations and lavender with a hint of baby’s breath.

You chuckle at his insistence and take them from him, “Wow, Joel, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Yeah, 's no problem. Figured you like purple so,” he trails off, stuffing his hands in his pocket. He smiles bashfully, cheeks a burning red. The fluorescent lighting of your dorm hall makes the blush on his face look much darker than it already is.

You know your face is flushed too.

“Uh, come on in! I’ll find a vase for these and we can go.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, following behind you as you push Elaine to her bed and rustle through your closet for the one vase you keep. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you as you bend down.

Elaine clears her throat impatiently.

You hum and narrow your eyes at her from your hunched over position, “That’s Elaine. Don’t worry about her.”

But, of course, since Joel is a Southern Gentleman and Elaine is a lady he’s never met, he introduces himself.

And it opens the floodgates.

She asks him about his job and his apartment and what size pants he wears and if he’s dated a lot. And, of course, he answers each question patiently, even the pants one (he's a 32, Elaine’s winking at you from across the room).

She’s still talking even as you shut the door in her face and Joel asks if that’s rude and you reply, “Just ignore her. She likes it,”

You can hear her cackling from the other side of the door.

The night goes brilliantly. When you get to his car parked across the street, he holds the door open for you and lets you pick the music station, even though you can tell he’s not exactly comfortable with your selection of pop– he doesn’t say anything though.

He takes you to a Colombian restaurant downtown where everyone knows him and greets him with loud declarations of, “It’s been too long, cariño,” and “you never come here enough, pendejo,” which he waves off with a, “I need a break from you all, sometimes.”

He orders you some empanadas (he insists that the woman who cooks them here is an empanada genius) and himself lechona, which gets him a side eye from the server and he just brushes him off.

You ask him what is wrong with the lechona, and he says that it’s supposed to be for breakfast or lunch, but he likes the rice dish for dinner instead. You smile when the server comes back with your food and flicks Joel on the head.

You talk about school and your favorite books and Joel talks about the diner’s latest gossip (Mr. Cassini and Doreen went on a date the other day, he hears it went well) and his brother who he just bailed out of jail this morning. You ask him why he was busted and he just shrugs and says, “Didn’t ask. All he said was he didn’t want mom to know, so I didn’t tell her.”

You listen to Joel talk about his brother and his “mama” like they hung the sun and the moon in the sky. He avoids talking about his father, you don’t ask.

He asks you about your family and all you can manage to say after a moment to think it over is, “Dad lives back in Washington. I don’t really talk to him much.”

He doesn’t ask anything else about your family after that.

When the server comes over with the check, you go to get your purse out and Joel clicks his tongue, “No, sugar, I got this.”

“But–”

“Put the purse down.”

You put your purse down.

He takes you back to your dorm with a blinding smile on his face, eyes crinkling with the intensity of it, and he walks you all the way back up to your door, even after you insist you can get there yourself.

He leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a wink, “Bye, sugar.”

“Goodbye, Joel Miller.”

The smile doesn’t leave your face for days, which just makes Elaine smug– “I told ya so,” leaving her lips every time she catches you daydreaming.

You think maybe… maybe this could work.

✦ ✦ ✦

November 1994

“Get in the car, Sugar,” he yells from across the street, his blue pick-up rumbling way too loudly like it always does. He’s got his window down and a Johnny Cash song playing on the radio.

It’s a sunny day, beautiful for a day at the beach like Joel has been planning and waiting for for a couple weeks now. It’s in the low 70s and the air is still. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

You giggle, “I’m coming; calm down!”

Your lilac sundress swishes between your legs as you run across the street and to the truck, looking both ways before you cross the street.

Leaning against his car door and into the window, he turns his cheek to you and you lean forward to kiss it. He hums in delight.

His eyes are sparkling a bright honey brown in the sunlight when he looks you up and down. He swirls his finger around and you give in with a smile, spinning for him, the skirt of your dress swirling around you in a silken circle and flip flops smacking the ground almost comically.

“Darlin’, you look gorgeous.” His grin is unmatched in its brilliance.

You resume your position on the door, arms crossed, and smirk, “Oh, really? How gorgeous?”

He hums, his own smirk lighting up his face, “Hm, get in the truck and you might find out.”

You perk up, “Oo, are you gonna buy me a pony?”

“It might be better than that, baby,” he laughs.

You gasp, grabbing his face in both your hands, for nothing except the drama of it all, “What could possibly be better than a pony?”

“Sugar, get in the damn car before I drive away,” he deadpans, but you can see his smile fighting to see the light of day.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle again. You never seem to stop giggling when he’s around.

This is your third date with Joel. The second had gone just as well as the first– you went to see a movie, Forrest Gump. You cried like a baby into Joel’s flannel and he just squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, trying his best to comfort you while the other theater-goers looked at you like you were crazy. He glared at every one of them until they looked away from you.

The night ended with another kiss on the cheek, from you this time, not Joel as it was the time before. You wanted to kiss him for real, know what his chapped lips would feel like on yours, but you were too nervous that you would fuck it up, so you just resorted to what you knew would work.

But, you think tonight might end how you want it to.

You’d seen him since then, going to the diner a few times to study between your dates and waiting up for him until his shift was over so he could walk you home. You offered once jokingly to walk him home, but he had answered with a very serious and stern no. You didn’t ask him again after that.

When you’re on the road, the sweet tea Joel had picked up from the diner for you (“Extra sweet, just how you like it, baby”) in your possession, and the highway rushing past you, you slouch in your seat and sigh, “Music?”

This is the only point of contention between the two of you. Joel liked classic country and rock, you did sometimes too, but you preferred pop music. He knew that.

He chuckles, like he knows you’re dreading the country that you know he’s going to play, but instead he says, “I got something for you, baby.”

He reaches around your front to open the glove box and two CDs sit within the truck's papers.

You gasp, snatching them up and clutching them to your chest, “No way!”

He glances at you and then back to the road, grin broad and sparkling in the sunlight, “Yes way.”

“You got me Like a Prayer and Music Box!” You unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your arms around his shoulders.

You can tell he’s proud of himself as you tuck Madonna into his CD player and hit play. His grin stays on his face as he watches you sing along; you even hear him humming along to the choruses of a few songs he recognizes from the radio.

It’s a three and a half hour long drive to the nearest beach– you curse Texas for being so damn long. But it’s also nice, watching Joel drive you, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding onto your thigh where your dress doesn’t cover it. He traces circles and random shapes into your skin, eyes fixed on the road. At some point you grab his hand in both of yours and kiss his knuckles gently, before depositing it back where it belongs. He just squeezes your thigh in response.

You’re done with your tea within the first hour of the drive, which means you have to stop to pee by the second hour of the drive, so Joel stops for you in a small town off the highway and stands outside the bathroom in his short-sleeve button-up and khaki shorts (not at all intimidating if anyone asked you, he looked like a middle-aged dad on vacation) while he waits for you after he sees the cashier give you a look. You tell him he can wait in the car, that you’ll be fine, but he insists.

By the time you get to the beach, it’s around noon, so the sun is high in the sky as it shines down on you in a comforting hug of warmth. Joel, as he always does, runs to your side of the truck and opens your door for you. You give him a smile over your shoulder when he closes the door as well.

When you look out to the view in front of you, the breath knocks out of your lungs. You’ve never been to the beach in the South. You’d only gone to the beach once as a kid when your dad was having a good day. In Washington, the beaches were surrounded by bluffs of rock and the water was so cold you couldn’t really swim in them, but it was nice to stick your toes in the wet sand and go shell hunting. That’s one of the only memories that you have of your dad where he isn’t angry, where he smiles.

But the water rolling out in front of you is the bluest blue you’ve ever seen. It’s mesmerizing, watching the waves crash into the shore and each other. Seagulls squawk above you, demanding attention from the people below. The sun watches on in fascination at the beauty of the planet it warms.

The truck door slams behind you and Joel taps your back lightly, urging you forward. He has a small cooler and a couple towels thrown over his shoulder, one blue and the other purple. His free hand takes yours when you start to walk towards the shore.

He lays out the towels next to each other, overlapping slightly in the middle, out on the grains of sand and delicately places the cooler next to the blue towel.

You point to the cooler, “What’s that?”

He flops onto the blue fabric and shields his eyes as he looks up at you, “Momma made us some lunch. Said I’m useless at lunch– says I make a mean dinner, but I don’t know how to make lunch light enough for travel.”

You sit next to him on the purple towel. You wonder if he got it just for you. “Well, what momma says, goes.”

He chuckles, “Yes, it does.”

His eyes meet yours in a stare that’s so intimate and personal you think it might be inappropriate to do in front of all these people. His eyes are the prettiest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, it’s almost like honey is dripping down from his hair and into his irises. They’re soft in that way that only the people who have been through too much can convey. You need to know why their softness matches yours.

You break eye contact and make grabby-hands at the cooler, “Gimme.”

You can feel the pause in the air as he holds his stare, looking you up and down, before he does as you tell him.

You pull open the cooler and in it is a sealed bowl of cut apples (which have browned slightly, but are still beautifully crisp looking), two sandwiches you can’t yet identify the filling of, a couple arepas in a plastic bag, and two bottles of water.

A little note is attached to the top of the cooler, but Joel is quick to pull it away from your eyeshot. You try to ignore the curiosity that takes over you.

“Looks yummy,” you hum.

He hums back, crossing his legs beneath him. “It is. My momma makes the best arepas in the world.”

“Tell your mom I said, ‘thank you for lunch’.”

“Of course, sugar.”

You fall into a comfortable silence as Joel lays out the food.

You take a bite of the arepa and moan in delight. You tell Joel you’ve never had anything better in your mouth in your life. He makes a joke that makes you choke and he loses it, slapping his legs and chortling so hard that he snorts, which makes you break out into unbridled laughter when you recover from your coughing fit.

It’s simple, easy– this thing with Joel. It feels good. It feels right.

You hear kids screaming and giggling as they run after each other, watching as they kick up sand under their feet. Parents watch on with matching grins on their faces, sitting under umbrellas with towels laid out under them. The kids make you smile too.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you again. Maybe you just have a sixth sense for when Joel is looking at you. You wish he was always looking at you; inside and out. You wish you could rip your secrets out of your guts and give them to him and say, “Look at me. This is me.” You wish he’d show you his too.

Maybe someday.

When you’re finished with your lunch, you stand up and pull him with you up and towards the shore, leaving both of your shoes behind.

You take your first step into the water, bracing for the cold, but all you find is warmth. And you sigh in relief.

Joel’s arms wrap around your waist from behind you, his chin sitting on your shoulder, his hands gripping yours as you bring your arms up to his.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your ear.

You let out a breath of amusement, “For what?”

He kisses your shoulder, chapped lips on soft, sunkissed skin. “For being here.”

You hum.

“Let’s go find seashells.” You take his hand and drag him back towards the shore. He just nods and lets you take him wherever you want.

You spend the next hour searching the shore up and down for seashells. You find so many, that you have to take multiple trips back to your towels to deposit them. It’s good. You’ll leave most of them here for the creatures that use them as their homes, but you’ll take one home. One for you and one for Joel.

When you decide you’re done, you hand Joel your favorite– a purple and pink shell, one of the classic looking ones– and Joel hands you his– a gray shell with faint brown lines splaying out from the middle. You ask him why it’s his favorite and he says, “It’s simple. Does the job, doesn’t need to be all flashy.”

You have to stop yourself from laughing at the fact that Joel has somehow found the least interesting seashell on this beach and turned it into something beautiful and so him to you. He is so… perfect.

Your day continues, seashells stored safely in the cooler and the leftovers sprinkled back over the shore, except for a pink one that you give to a little girl who tugs on your dress and asks for it. You crouch down and hand it to her with a bright smile and a nod. You get the feeling again that Joel is watching you, observing you.

You and Joel end up in a splash fight at some point, soaked and cracking up at the shock on each other’s faces. You feel something you haven’t felt in a long time; unstoppable joy– joy that feels like it’s never going to end.

You build a sandcastle, which really ends up being more of a sand pyramid without any tools to assist you, but you love it just the same. You poke a stick into the top and call it a flag pole. Joel calls it a masterpiece, but he’s not looking at the sand, he’s looking at you.

The sun is starting to go down when Joel decides that it’s probably time to leave, but you force him to sit on the towels for a few more minutes as you watch the sun set. You can feel the sand all over you, it’s stuck in between your toes and your fingers, catches on the inside of your thighs as you rub them together in an attempt to get warmer. It’s gotten much colder as the sun goes down and your sundress is not very good at keeping in heat.

Joel wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side. You can’t help but glance down at his lips as you lift your head up to look at him.

The sunset makes him look heavenly. The shadows of the rising night make his features look softer, makes the brown of his hair shine in the dim glow. He is beautiful. What did you do to deserve a man this beautiful to give you the time of day?

He’s looking at you too, lips open slightly and eyes roaming your face. You watch him stop on your lips a few times before you just decide to do it.

You grab his face and bring it to yours in a kiss you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You knew his lips would feel like an oasis in the desert, despite the fact that they were chapped from a lack of water and his beard is slightly tickling your upper lip, but this is so intense, it feels almost better than that. Like finding the other half of your soul and fusing into one. Like entering heaven and feeling at peace for the first time in your life.

His lips are moving against yours now, tongue sneaking its way into your mouth,, but it’s not desperate. It’s searching, exploratory, like he’s trying to figure out who you are and how to make you his.

You break the kiss, the need to breathe takes over and you look up through your eyelashes at Joel, “That was…”

“Amazing, sugar. Best kiss of my life,” he breathes out.

You feel your face get hot under his gaze.

Not able to stand the feeling rushing through you, you stand and hold your hand out for him. He takes it and you help pull him up.

“Let’s get you home, baby.” He picks up your stuff and makes his way to the truck, but not without another chaste kiss from you first. You hope you’ll be getting a lot more of those in your future.

You don’t want to leave him. He feels like home.

✦ ✦ ✦

It takes a few hours, most of it humming along to the radio and staring longingly at Joel from your seat with your hand in his, but you’re back in front of your dorm. You’ve been sitting in his truck for the last couple minutes, knees tucked into your chest, as you waited for “Material Girl” to end, insisting that he had to let it play the whole song or you’d put him on some kind of hitlist. He would’ve let you do anything you wanted, threat of a hitlist or not, you know that.

When it’s done, he switches the music off and sits in the silence.

He mutters your name, “I– I got something to tell ya.”

You turn your head to look at him, it still laying on your knees. He looks scared, eyebrows furrowed and hand scratching his beard.

“Sure, anything.”

He makes you stew in the sound of the old truck rumbling for a moment while he thinks over what he’s about to say. It makes you nervous, his hesitation.

“I’ve got a daughter.”

Your heart falls to the ground beneath you. You can’t help but lift your head and scrunch your face up in confusion.

A daughter?

You have a daughter?

Are you like him?

God, please, don’t be like him.

“Oh… Wow!”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah.”

What do you say to that? How are you supposed to respond like a normal human being?

“What’s her name?” Good enough.

“Sarah. Sarah Esperanza Miller. Gave her my momma’s name. Esperanza, that is. Her first name is Manda’s momma’s.”

“That’s a pretty name,” you reply, mystified.

A daughter.

This young man sitting in front of you is a father. You suspect you should’ve seen it sooner. Seen it in the way he holds himself, like he’s always half-awake, like he is in constant need of a nap. Seen it in the way he shows up for work with applesauce strewn across his shirt. Seen it in the way he doesn’t bother to shave for weeks at a time– lets his scruff grow into a beard before he finally decides to cut it all off again. Seen it in the way he cares so deeply, like he would give all of himself just for the people he loved to have everything they ever wanted.

But, you guess your dad was never really sober long enough for you to notice what a father should look like.

“I’d like to think so,” he chuckles lightly.

“How old is she?”

“Turned four in July. Had a princess birthday party for her. Didn’t stop wearing the damn tiara for a month afterwards,” he smiles, eyes misty like he’s reliving the memory right in front of you.

“Well, if I had a tiara, I’d wear it all the time too.” You let out a little breath of a laugh.

He chuckles, “I bet you would, sugar.”

He looks you up and down, evaluating your reaction to his news. You don’t know what he sees, because if you’re honest, you don’t know what you feel.

He nods once, looking back out to the street in front of you. Guess he found what he was looking for.

“Manda got pregnant when we were seventeen. Stupid– didn’t use protection like we should’ve. We had just graduated high school when she gave birth to Sarah. Got married a couple months after that cause our daddy’s told us we had to, especially hers. He told her she was a whore, kicked her out the house, told her he’d never let her step into his house again if we didn’t get married like we were supposed to.

“Supposed to,” he scoffs, “We should’ve never got married. She was a free-spirit. Never liked being in one place for long. A couple weeks after Sarah’s second birthday, she left us. Nothing but a note and the divorce papers.”

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Twenty-two and a single-father. You think he might be the bravest man you’ve ever met.

“Anyways,” he sighs, looking back to you, “Sarah’s my whole life. Everything I do is for her. And I know that’s a lot, ‘specially cause we’re so young and you’re still in school. I don’t wanna put that kinda’ pressure on you. So, this is me givin’ you an out, if you want it.”

You tilt your head to him as he continues, “But, I just want you to know that I’m all in–” he points to you and then him– “this, us– I’m all in.”

This is a tipping point. Whatever decision you made was going to change everything. If you said no, you were never going to see this man again– this man who just gave you one of the best days of your life and respected you and liked you. You wouldn’t even be able to give him a chance to show you how great life with him could be. But if you said yes, you would be committing to a relationship with a man who was already so grown-up, a man with a child. Would that make you… would that make you a mother if it all worked out with Joel?

“This is… a lot,” you mutter, eyes flicking to his hunched frame, highlighted in the dim, flickering glow of the street lights surrounding you.

Your lungs aren’t filling all the way. You can’t breathe.

His face falls, hopeful eyes going misty. “Yeah, it’s alright– I understand.”

Oh no, that’s not what you meant.

“But– I… Joel, this is a lot,” you blurt out, both hands flying out to grab his right hand, “But, I wanna give it some thought. Can I… Can I have some time to think about this?”

The softness comes back to his face, “Of course, sugar. Take all the time you need.”

His hand shifts between yours so it takes your left and he squeezes it lightly.

“Thank you. For telling me.” You squeeze back. Tears are stinging your eyes, desperate to escape their prison, to show the man in front of you that you aren’t ready for this, aren’t made for this. It takes everything in you to keep them at bay.

“Thank you for not bolting,” he chuckles, “I tried dating once since Manda left and… let’s just say it did not go too well.”

His face scrunches up in mock disgust and you laugh lightly. Your chest hurts with the effort. You feel the overwhelming need to bolt.

You hesitate, hand reaching for the door blindly behind you, “I’ve gotta– I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a lot of assignments to do tomorrow. But, I’ll call you. Later.”

He looks you up and down, smile fading, scrutinizing gaze evaluating you. Please, you beg to anyone who will listen, please don’t let him see it.

He nods, face expressionless, “Okay. See ya.”

He saw.

You open the door and climb out. You turn around and grab the lowered window in a last ditch effort to comfort yourself, maybe him too. He is real. He is kind. He is not him.

“This isn’t goodbye, Joel.” You hope that isn’t a lie.

He nods. You think you might see his eyes glistening when they catch the light. You can’t breathe.

You want to kiss him so badly that it hurts to pull away, like ripping your soul apart and leaving it open and bloody for everyone to watch as you bleed out.

Your hand falls back to your side. And you jog across the street and walk to the door of your building. Walk, not bolt.

✦ ✦ ✦

Joel curses himself as he watches you walk away, dress swaying in the wind of the oncoming rain.

Why didn’t he say something sooner?

Fuck.

He can’t breathe. Can’t even get himself to leave.

He thought he found it, someone who he could let into his life, but of course he had to fuck that up like he always does.

He wasn’t lying when he had told you that he was all in. He thinks maybe he was being dramatic or just trying too hard to get you to stay, but he understands now, breath not quite getting to his lungs, that he meant it. Meant every word of it.

He scared you. He didn’t want to scare you anymore with his self-inflicted hurt, so he made sure you didn’t see it– left his face stoic as you walked away. He hopes that didn’t scare you either.

His chest burns. It hurts. But he needs to get home. Tommy is waiting for him. Sarah is waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he yells, slamming his hands into the steering wheel. And he drives away, tears blurring his vision and raindrops falling heavily on his windshield

✦ ✦ ✦

When you open the door to your room, you can hear moaning coming from Elaine’s side of the room. The curtain around her bed is drawn, a red glow emanating from the pink, strawberry-covered curtain.

You debate turning around, sitting in one of the band practice rooms in the basement and wait for Elaine to page you to say you can come up. You’ve done it before. She hadn’t been very happy with you afterwards, demanding that next time you just subtly announce your arrival and she would stop and send her partner on their way.

Before you can even end the debate in your mind, the door shuts loudly behind you and the moaning stops abruptly.

You wince as you hear rustling, swears and what you can only assume is clothing being thrown. A few moments later, Elaine’s messy hair peeks out of the curtain and she squints her eyes in the darkness to see you.

“Hey, baby girl. What’s going on?”

You hear a woman’s voice come quietly from behind her, “Who the fuck is that?”

She hushes them, holding a finger up to her lips.

Turning back to you, she sighs, “Are you alright, baby?”

You sniff, voice watery, “Yeah, I just wanted to go to bed, but I can go.”

Elaine’s eyes go wide as she disappears behind the curtain again and hisses, “You have to leave.”

Dread runs down your spine.

You hadn’t meant to ruin her… whatever this was.

You hear them talk to each other in hushed tones, but you can’t hear exactly what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get out.

You turn to leave, heaving breaths only filling your lungs halfway. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You hear Elaine’s stern voice as she yells at you from behind the fabric, “If that’s you leaving, I will kill you. Stay where you are.”

You freeze.

A woman stumbles out of Elaine’s heightened bed and barely makes it to the ground standing. She glares at you, as she fumbles to put her heels back on. She looks mean. She looks exactly like Elaine’s type.

“I am so sorry–”

“Don’t you dare apologize to her. She is fine,” Elaine cuts you off as she slides gracefully out of her bed and lands with a soft thud on the carpet. She’s got mascara running down her face and she’s wearing a baby tee and men’s boxers like she always is– this time it’s Barbie’s decapitated head on a pink background and gray shorts. Despite the fact that she looks like she just had sex (which she had, or was trying to before you had fucking interrupted her), she looks gorgeous.

“But, I–”

She puts a finger up in the air, silencing you.

Elaine’s blonde is done putting her shoes on and is at the door with a scowl on her face, “E, you cannot be serious.”

“Go away before I punch you in the boob,” she states with a finality that makes the girl turn around and go, but not without rolling her eyes first.

Before the door is even done shutting behind her, Elaine is hugging you fiercely and pulling back before you even get the chance to melt into it, cupping your cheeks in her hands.

“What the fuck happened, baby?”

Your mind is off the blonde already. She holds you while you cry, and you try to take deep breaths that just stop short in your lungs. She cares– she has always cared.

You tell her about the drive there and the CDs that he had bought just for you and the seashells (fuck the seashells) and the way he held you as you watched the sunset together and…

“A child, Lane! He has a daughter. How could he not tell me he had a daughter?”

Elaine is spinning around in her desk chair, chest squished into the backrest, face turned up at the ceiling, her long, curly, red hair bouncing as it swirls around her. This is her thinking position.

You’re pacing back and forth, still in the dress and sandals you wore to the beach. You think you might be trailing sand into the rug below you. You’ll vacuum it later when you’re not absolutely panicking.

“Well, maybe he was scared.” She gets louder and quieter as her spinning pulls her voice around the room.

You throw your hands up in the air. “Well, now I’m scared!”

She hums, spinning coming to a stop.

“Is it a good scared or a bad scared?”

You turn to her with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, “What could that possibly mean?”

“It means are you scared that you like him too much, or are you scared you don’t like him enough?”

You blink at her, wide eyes trained on her own.

Slowly, you back up to your bed and jump onto the edge with a huff. Fuck. She knew you too well.

You think of his strong hands and his soft eyes. How he talks so candidly about his adoring mother and his troubled brother. How he lights up when he talks about his guitar. How he held you on the beach. How he so obviously loves his daughter. How you love that he loves so deeply.

Love.

You shrink into yourself, arms wrapping around your bent knees, nose tucking into the space between your legs.

“Too much.”

You can hear her brain working from the other side of the room, her nails clicking together as her mouth tries to catch up with her brain.

“Is this really a bad thing?”

Your head whips out from its hiding place, “What?”

She shrugs, “I mean, I don’ know. You like him and if he has a kid, and is supporting her well, doesn’t that mean he’s mature? That he might be a good person to depend on? To love?”

Love.

You can follow her logic– you’d thought the exact same thing yourself.

“But, that means that I have to mother a child. I don’t know how to be a mother! You know I don’t know how to do that,” you ramble.

She scoffs, getting up from her chair and making her way over to you, “No, it don’t. Baby, you have no idea what this means. You told me that he knew this might be too much, especially since you’re so young. And I know that you don’t do too well with parental figures.”

You nod slowly. She’s right. She’s always right.

She smiles, taking your face in her hands again, “Tell him how you feel. Make it clear to him that you wanna try with him and that you have reservations about the whole ‘daughter’ thing. I think it’s good that he told you before it was too late.”

You search her green eyes for a sign, for something to latch onto. To tell you this is a bad idea. To leave him behind. But all you find is her usual raw honesty and adoration for you. She wouldn’t tell you to do something you weren’t ready for.

“‘Sides, you ain’t even fucked him yet, so that can really determine if he’s worth the time or not.”

She giggles as you push her away from you with your feet on her chest.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, baby girl.”

You hold a hand out to her and she takes it, soft hand enveloping yours. Pulling her into your chest, you sigh and wrap your arms around her shoulders and your legs around her waist– a common position for the two of you. Elaine jokingly refers to it as your “clingy sloth” hug.

“No… I don’t.”

✦ ✦ ✦

To: Joel

From: Me

i wanna try, but we need to talk

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