#also I will admit that I am not looking forward to the tailoring on this one

[chiropteracupola]

the thing about being up to ceramics stuff nearly every day for the last several months means that now that I have no ceramics to do, I can only think about the fact that I want to do ceramics.

[arcielee]

the salver & the sword

Artwork by @azperja 💜

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 4.7k warnings: AFAB reader, more pining and angst, kissing, vaginal fingering, p in v unprotected because this is a medieval au author's note: I am reading through the manga and enjoying knitting other characters into my story. Only 3 chapters to go!

Chapter VI - If I Am With You

With Mimiko gone, there was only the option to walk the day away, until you finally spotted the gold light pouring through the streets of Shiba, the early evening already thrumming with the combination of music and laughter. Suguru pushed through the noise, the saddle bags thrown over his shoulder and Nanako glinting from his backside. You followed after, holding onto your satchel, your stomach groaning at the savory smells of cooked goods and ale that was crisp in the autumn air. 

The town was brimming from some celebration, and every room was booked for the night. Your steps grew heavy with the dull ache for a proper bath and a bed where you could sleep for a hundred years, when the name Kento Nanami mentioned entered your weary mind. 

“Who is Yuki?” 

There was the flicker of something that was tucked beneath his mastered stoicism, though the same rose tones flushed over–just as it did when her name was first spoken. It pulsed a curiosity anew that tugged at your heart, begging to ask him, but you remained silent. You noticed the shift in his demeanor when you came to the town’s border, a hesitation from Suguru and his eyes flitting over before carving inconvenient pathways through the crowds. 

It was also the first time he had not directly addressed one of your questions. Instead, he paused and watched you for a moment, your exhaustion evident. Suguru sighed softly and reached for your hand. 

The gesture swept away your mind, lost with how your palm fit within his, and you allowed the warmth of his touch to guide your steps. Together, you weaved through the festivities, pushing through under you came to a villa that was decorated with men and women, dressed in their finery, leering over the veranda bannister to tease the possible patrons drunkenly waltzing by. 

You could feel the weight of their collective gaze turning to you and Suguru, a tittering excitement that could not be missed–the general has returned!

Your eyebrow arched at Suguru, but he would not look back at you. 

He was watching the woman who walked out to greet the commotion, aglow under the manmade lights and wearing a rich, silk gown tailored to her athletic figure. Her manicured hands held an unlit kiseru, toying with it. 

“Suguru Geto,” she said with a curl to her rosy lips, “you have been sorely missed.” 

Yuki Tsukumo was the madame and the matriarch of Shiba. Her crown was her golden hair that spilled down her backside, cut to frame her heart shaped face. She seemed to lord over from the top steps, her eyes dancing over you both. “Have you come to celebrate?”

Suguru sighed again. “I admit, I was not even aware there was a reason to.” He did not balk under her gaze and his smirk returned. “The days have been lost to me.” 

Another woman in red moved forward, lighting a match as Yuki pinched her fingers around the mouthpiece, her lips pulling a cloud of smoke. “Autumn has begun, or whatever excuse they wish to make so they can drink out in my streets.” 

His eyes did not stray. “You will have to excuse us then, as we have been preoccupied by the command of my prince.” 

“I was wondering if that was dealt with.” As she looked you over, you were determined to hold her gaze. “Are you the one Gojo has chosen? You have my sympathies.” 

It seemed almost patronizing and her words burned through you, simmering to the tips of your ears. She stepped down, closer, unbothered by your silence, and looked back to Suguru. “Why are you here?” “We need a place to stay tonight, Yuki,” he admitted. 

“Oh Geto, as you can see, we are very busy,” she giggled, more smoke spilling, “but I am certain any one of my bawds would happily welcome you back into their bed.” 

His jaw ticked, but his smirk remained. “We are only needing a place to rest for the night. Gojo is expecting us.” 

Her eyebrow arched. “Very well,” and she clucked her tongue, a shift to command, looking over her shoulder with the wave of her hand to summon the woman in red, as well as a man you had not noticed before. She then began to list off instructions that sparked lift into her staff surrounding her. 

The man was first to action, tall and fit, with a searing desperation to remain unseen amongst the whores surrounding him, but rapt to Yuki, his dark eyes only holding for her. “Choso,” –he brightened with his name– “be a dear and find the general a change of clothes.” 

“I also want a bath prepared for each of my guests,” her rose eyes watched the flutter of girls dividing to tend to the task, before settling back onto the remaining woman; her attention drawled over Suguru, glossy. “I want you to escort her to the bathhouse and make sure the room has been readied by the time they have finished–forgive me, Geto, but I only have one room to spare.” Yuki smirked before she sharpened onto the woman’s scowl. “Don’t pout. It is unbecoming.”  

Her dismissal set you in motion, pulling you inside the brothel and splitting from Suguru, his hand reluctant to let you go as Choso let him away. Your legs were numb to follow up the stairs, your mind whirling from the tobacco and the incense burning, from the words still echoing in your head–

You have been sorely missed.

You clutched onto your satchel, walking up the staircase that curved around. The woman you followed was busty with a voluptuous spill from her dress. Her hooded eyes cast over the railing, admiring Suguru and Choso as they walked away, before her gaze settled onto you, her grin cutting through on her painted lips.

“The general is just as handsome as I remember him,” she began, her tone dripping with implication. “Do you not agree?” 

Of course you did–it was written plain across your face for anyone to see. Your gait shifted to match her slowed-down pace, an unease prickling your skin as her eyes continued to flit over you. “He has filled out some from what I remember. More definition,” she continued with her coy sneer. “I wonder, is he still just as insatiable?”  

“I–” you swallowed and it clawed down your throat. “He and I… we are not together in that way.” 

You were aware of the differences between his life and your own, but it was now something that was palpable, perfumed, in front of you and you were choking on it. She had you pinned as a simpleton from the north, dressed in rags and swept away with the fantasy of General Suguru Geto because of how your hands interlaced with his. 

Stupid, you blinked, desperate to keep your tears from falling. 

“Oh, my mistake,” she continued her feign sincerity that raked through you “I had only assumed, but perhaps I should try and persuade him to my bed, allowing you the room to yourself?” 

The favor offered left you raw, flustered, unable to respond, but thankfully a door opened to see the girls from before filling a porcelain tub. A rich aroma wafted through the air of rose and lavender and eucalyptus, grounding you. 

“You may do whatever you wish.” Your words were tight, and you pushed past her, stepping through the door. 

They moved to leave you alone; you tore away your tattered clothes to disappear into the milk bath, slipping beneath the petals floating above for a scream that bubbled to the surface.  

Simpleton or not, you held no aversion to sex but understood that whatever traffic came through your small village could not compare to the promiscuity that seemed well known of General Suguru Geto. That thought did not bother you–in truth, you loathed how it enticed you further–but what gnawed through your bones to drag your heavy heart into the pit of your stomach was the realization of the abyss that existed between your worlds. 

That you could never satisfy. 

Not that it even mattered.

In less than two days, you would turn down the proposal of Prince Gojo and return to the north, or wherever your silver would allow you to reinstate and build your life again. And Suguru would remain, his devotion a detriment. 

And that was what rattled through you, splintering into your chest: that Suguru would no longer be in your life, and what was worse was you could not remember how it was before him. 

Stupid! You groaned, pressing your palms to cover your eyes, the fruitless wish that you would have just let Gojo drown. 

A sharp knock on the door pulled you from your misery. “Come in?” you asked, slipping to hide yourself beneath the water’s white surface.  

Yuki entered with a bundle of plum silk. “I have found something clean for you to wear,” she announced, moving to hang it behind the dressing screen. 

Before you could stop it, your mind thought of how the color would complement his eyes, and you wished you could drain away with the bathwater. “Thank you.” 

She did not leave, but moved towards the dresser, a clink of glass as she pinched some of the hair thin tobacco to pack into her pipe before lighting it. Smoke trailing with her steps as she moved to open the wooden shutters, allowing the celebration to faintly pour in, exhaling the blue hue of smoke back into the night. 

“How long have you known the general?”

Yuki smirked as if she had been expecting the question. “A very long time, back to when Gojo would slip away from his mother and drag Geto along.” She took another drag, seating herself on the window ledge and looked over at you. “I found I could empathize with the prince. And besides, the pair of them left quite the impression.” 

Of course they did. You wilted at her words, but chose to ask her something else. “What do you mean that you could empathize with the prince?” 

She tilted her head to appraise you, pleased with your question and happy to share. She was an esteemed lady of the court and one of the queen’s favorites. A favorable match had been made, but Yuki found that she loathed the man on sight. Perhaps it was because her father overindulged her shrewd mind, but she could not stomach being wasted on a man who had to interest in anything she had to say; he only wished for a gilded decoration. 

So she left. 

“Shiba was nothing more than a little village,” she smiled with the memory. “I had a villa built to serve as a reprieve. I pulled in traders passing through for Hoshi. Then, one day, the prince showed up and relished in my whores.” She glowed with her business savvy. “And here we are.” 

Relished. “Did they come often?” 

“They returned frequent enough.” She took another drag, smoke pouring from her painted lips. “They were insatiable, really.” 

Insatiable. Another word that gutted you. “Did…” you licked your lips, pulling the courage to ask, “did they have their favorites?” 

Your mind returned to the woman in red while Yuki thought for a moment. “Gojo did, but no one seemed to hold Geto’s attention, just whatever happened to pass by. But I will say that whenever the pair would show, everyone was desperate to catch the general’s eye.” 

You appreciated her blunt honesty. It needed to be said, the reaffirmation that no one could solely satiate the general… that you were nothing more than passing memory that glimmered in his amethyst eyes. 

You changed the subject. “Thank you again for your hospitality, though I assume that he will probably find somewhere else to sleep tonight.” You were not bitter, but wounded. 

“Perhaps.” Her rose eyes glittered. “But that does not mean you cannot have your own fun tonight.” 

The warm bath blotched your skin, crimson exploding across your features. “I do not want–” 

“The festival,” Yuki interrupted you, her laughter filling the room. “There will be vendors and dancing and fireworks. You should come with me and see all that Shiba has to offer.” 

+ + + +

By the time you finished bathing, Yuki called for more girls to come and help you get dressed. Silk was wrapped around to fit your form, flowing with your steps. Your hair was braided back to the nape, allowing the rest to fall and dry in the cool air. Scented oils were touched to the curve of your neck and wrists, a rose tint to your lips. 

You walked downstairs to see Yuki awaiting, the man named Choso shadowing her. Her mirthful eyes washed over you and stopped at your feet. “The boots will make it easier for me to navigate through the crowds,” you argued before she spoke a word. 

Her eyes glittered. “You are prettier than any of my girls,” she announced, reaching for your hand and pulling you to follow. 

Shiba was magical at night. Vendors were lined with their sweets and treats and different liquors on display while dancers floated through, their streamers trailing behind their graceful steps in synchrony to the music lilting above. The silver of the moon was halted by the shining amber arc created from the lamps and torches lit. People paused with a child-like wonder and rosy cheeks, watching the fireworks bursting above between the song interludes. 

Choso was quiet, a shadow that followed after Yuki. She pulled to lead, pausing at each booth to smile at the compliments poured over her and accept whatever gift presented. You indulged with a taste of everything, anything she placed in your hands with a plum wine to wash it down. 

Benches were placed to sit and spectate. You seated yourself next to Yuki, untying the cloth to share the yaki-garu, peeling the chestnuts to taste. Choso remained standing, ever watchful, ever devoted, though his shyness melted once Yuki finally settled her eyes onto him. As another dance recital began, she looked at you before she decided to pull him away for a stolen moment. 

You remained seated, smiling, savoring the memory of the night, allowing it to embed into your bones. It would be something you pulled when you were old and gray, a recollection retrieved with a sweet sigh and smile. 

It was your name that pulled you back, cutting through, sharp and distinct. Your head snapped to see Suguru, his height above the villagers as he pushed towards you. His face was twisted, but not with the anger to match his tone, but a fear, a desperation you had never seen before. 

“I have been searching everywhere for you.” His voice was rasped and you stood up, the chestnuts falling to the ground as he reached for you. “You cannot just take off like that. What if something would have happened–” 

“But nothing happened,” you found yourself snapping, wrenching from his hold. Your agitation twisted on your face, spilling hot from your tongue. “I just assumed that you wished for time to socialize, as you seem so very popular in Shiba.” 

He steeled his jaw, but did not touch you again. “I would not think you would damn me for my past actions.” 

Always a statement, and never a question, but either way, he seemed wounded. It was not what you wanted, but you could not stop. “I did not want to keep you from whatever your… insatiable appetite desired.” 

He pushed closer, spilling into your space, his arms reserved at his sides and his purple eyes sparked with the light around. “You are stubborn to a fault, and every thought that enters your head will spill off your tongue. You have isolated yourself in a way that I wonder if you are refusing Satoru solely because you cannot allow anyone to become close to you.” 

It rattled your bones with a fury that seared to the surface. “I was trying to be considerate of what you wanted.” Your tone was biting, spurred by the busty woman from earlier–I should try and persuade him to my bed. “Was it not what you wanted?” 

Amethyst pierced through you, holding you still. “I asked you this before, but,” his voice was low, pulling you in, gooseflesh rippling up your backside. “What do you want?” 

You sputtered. “I asked you first!”

“No,” he corrected, his insufferable smirk curling back onto his lips. “You did not ask me anything, but only made assumptions.” 

“You always brim with this arrogance that you have bordered around you, walling off everyone.” You could not answer him, not with the desperation burning through you, torn between taking a step away or a step closer towards him. Suguru just watched you. “I ask you questions because I only wished to know you, but still you hold things to your chest. And your sense of duty is your excuse to keep anyone from coming close to you.” 

He dared to step closer, and you felt his heat pooling off of him. Any anger hinted from before was gone, his eyes scraping across the surface to pull apart your words. He was the moon and you were the tide, helpless with your highs and lows to be determined with whatever he would say. 

“I will ask you one more time,” –his voice was for you to hear alone, whisking the noise around you away– “what do you want?” 

The time you shared with Suguru came through flashes, memories also embedded, pouring a molten courage over to command you. It sparked with the words from Runa–he would never try anything. 

You stepped closer, your fingers trembling to hold onto his forearms, anchoring yourself to push onto your tiptoes, to touch your lips to his own. His mouth was soft and warm and it shuddered through you, your mind screaming for him to pull you in and never let you go. 

He held still and the moment stretched into an eternity, unreciprocated, shattering when your feet touched the ground again. Suguru was stunned, still watching you. 

And you ran.

Your embarrassment burned bright, igniting into your soles, your boots allowing your steps to grab onto the earth and propel yourself back towards the villa. Your mind continued to scream–you kissed him, you kissed Suguru, and it was everything you could admit you wanted, but your dilemma festered alongside a sense of indigeneity: it was something only you clearly wanted. 

You left Suguru behind, rooted by that damnable devotion. 

That thought shattered through you, shards of the fantasy that had been building now dug into you, encouraging you to flee. You ran until you saw the brothel, inside to closed doors to entertain paying patrons while the rest was emptied to enjoy the celebration. 

Your lungs burned as you continued up the stairs, your hand following the railing that wrapped upwards. Your clumsy steps returned you to the room that was prepared and you closed the door, your backside barring against as you sunk to the floor, struggling to catch your breath. 

I have to leave, your mind tacked together your next actions, adrenaline flaring a white nonsense in your mind, I will find Gojo and the queen and I will release him from this damn errands, and then I will leave and never, ever return–

There was a knock on the door that vibrated through you, pinning you to the oak floor. It did not falter and you groaned to stand, wiping your face with your sleeve, preparing to greet Yuki, or perhaps Choso, wondering where the hell you had run off to. 

But instead, you opened to see Suguru. 

His chest was heaving, his arms spread open and posted on both sides of the door frame to hold himself up. His hair was disheveled, windswept, and red stained his pale skin in blotches. He looked at you, his eyes bright, his smirk spreading across his sharp jaw. “You are,” he said between breaths, “faster than you look.” 

Your eyes widened. “Suguru…” 

He pushed through, reaching to pull you in with the tide, and you allowed yourself to be swept away, melting against his chest. He tilted his chin to reclaim your mouth with vigor, the heat from his palms burning through your silk as one hand followed your lower back to pull you closer, his other following up the curve of your spine and holding onto the nape of your neck, devouring you. 

Your heart sang, screaming as he pulled the air from your lungs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate to be even closer, and he responded, his arms curling around your waist and lifting you enough for wide steps to walk you backwards until you felt the edge of the bed pressing into the back of your calves. 

Only then did Suguru break away from you, his mouth moving along your jawline back to the soft divot below your ear, his exhale tickling and his teeth nipping at your pulse. Your skin rose in response from a warmth that poured into your core, calling for him. 

“Suguru,” you breathed, taking in his sweat that mixed sinfully with the soap you gifted him, that heady scent that seized through you. 

“I’m here,” he murmured against your skin, pushing until you melted back into the mattress. He moved on top of you, his knee nudging your thighs apart to slot himself between. “I will not let you run away again.”

You blinked. He was teasing you, even now–! 

You opened your mouth to respond but he captured your lips again, his tongue curling to taste you, the sweetness from the chestnuts and wine. He found a rhythm that made you moan, and he pressed against you with a delicious weight that made your body burn. 

He smiled through the kiss as your fingers combed through his hair, pouring your passion into him. His fingers moved to peel away the top layer of silk until it puddled beneath you, pausing to admire how your curves pressed against the slip, how your nipples pebbled beneath. His tongue wet his lips. “Where do you want me to kiss you?” 

“Anywhere,” you reached for his collar, helping him pull his tunic over his head, the obsidian spill of his hair falling on his bare shoulders. “Everywhere,” you whispered with a kiss to his lips. 

Black swallowed the color of his eyes, his head dipping to place open-mouth kisses to your skin that was showing, pulling a heat that simmered to the surface. 

You writhed, you burned, you begged, “Suguru,” but he returned to swallow your sounds with another kiss that slow, searching, fluttering through your veins; your head was spinning. 

His fingers pulled at your hem to help you remove the silk slip. You were bare beneath him and his mouth moved over to worship your curves, a soft touch of his lips and tongue to taste. 

You gasped at the sensation and he pushed closer, coming up to find your lips while his fingers followed back to the divot between your thighs and slipping between your silken folds. Pleasure bloomed from his touch, his fingers searching until the softest sounds began to spill from your lips. 

He hummed into your mouth, his lips curling with his kiss. His touch was bold, sparking through you with his heedful circular motion against your bundle of nerves. 

It thrilled you. “Please, Suguru,” you gasped. 

“Not yet,” he murmured, his velvet voice tickling your skin. He kissed you again, his lips trailing beneath your jaw as his fingers continued to pull a pleasure that threatened to spill. You whined and Suguru shifted his weight, his hand moving with the craftful curl of his finger that pressed deep, sparking something that shimmered bright before your eyes. 

Your moan spilled loud and lewd from your kiss-swollen lips, your eyes glassy as he added another finger to the slick, sinful tandem, pumping in-and-out of you. It trilled the length of your spine, fluttering, pulling you towards a precipice that shuddered throughout. 

It was his kiss that followed that served as the catalyst, tipping you over to fall into the white-hot pleasure that wrenched the air from your lungs. He did not stop, but whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his fingers coaxing you through your peak while your heart stuttered against your chest, tears pearling in the corners of your eyes. 

Suguru pressed another kiss to your cheek, grounding you again, and you looked over to watch him retrieve his hand, his tongue cleaning his fingers and his smirk returning to his mouth. It was a salacious pulse that spilled onto the sheets, and you grabbed for him, pulling him close for your tangy taste that now stained his lips. 

Your fingers trembled to follow the smooth plains of his chest, tracing the scars that carved silver against his skin. Your touch stumbled down towards his heavy press against his slacks, and you paused, blushing at his size. 

He caught your elbow, he pulled you close. “We go with your pace,” he promised, kissing your lips, your cheek. “I am in no hurry.” 

You pushed him to lay back, helping to loosen the laces, and his thumbs hooked in the waistband to pull them lower. It was your turn to admire his chiseled chest and abdomen, the lines that cut into his hips. 

Suguru helped move you to straddle him, your plush thighs caging him to the bed and his length flushed, pressing upwards against his stomach. He pushed up to wrap his arm around your waist, the other pressed back to balance on the bed. He buried his face into your chest with soft kisses that tickled. 

You squirmed, your arousal spilling, and moved to lift your hips. He moved his other arm around to help line himself with your entrance, and you were slow, shaking to ease yourself onto him; Suguru molded into you, pressing against your seams.

He held onto you, his face pressing into your neck with a loan groan that reverberated throughout. You grasped at his shoulders, panting, adjusting to his girth. Suguru tilted his head up to look at you, the same careful consideration as always, and you kissed him.

It rekindled your pleasure, your boldness that burned for him, and you slowly rocked your hips against him. He groaned again, falling back onto the bed, his large hands dimpling to hold onto your hips. His neck bobbed as he watched you, a rose dusting on his cheeks that spilled onto his neck and chest; you relished his reaction when your thighs squeezed, your pace quickening.

His hands encouraged your movement, and his hips lifted to meet with your motion. You felt it building again, curling at the base of your spine, a flutter of your walls around him. His palm moved to the inside of your thigh, until his thumb could press into you with the same circular motion as before that allowed the stars to burst bright before your eyes. 

You nearly cried from the euphoria that twisted through you, pulsing and clenching tight to pull Suguru after, his brow furrowed with a guttural groan. Your head was empty and he pushed up to catch you, holding you until your heart settled, until your breathing was an exchange with his inhale to your exhale. 

“Move for me.” He pressed a kiss to your hairline, pulling away. You rolled onto your side to watch him pour water from the basin and wrung out a cloth, returning to clean the sticky spill between your thighs. 

You giggled with his concentration, his careful touch. He blew softly against your skin and it rose in response. “That tickles!” 

He was still flushed, his smile boyish. “I know.” 

He wiped himself off before he returned to the bed. Suguru then pulled you against his chest, the bare entanglement of limbs knitting into one another and holding you close like before, until your heartbeats found a familiar rhythm with one another, until your breathing was an intimate exchange. 

taglist: taglist: @sugurubabe @elliesndg @paprikaquinn @yeehawbrothers @witchbybirth @thenameswinter99

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[little-tyrant-gortash]

Oathbreaker

Pairing: fem!Tav x Enver Gortash, fem!Tav/Astarion

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Paladin Tav (Baldur's Gate), Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Drunk Sex, Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scars, Blood and Injury, Injury, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Torture, Psychological Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture

Word count: 1,905

Ao3 here.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19. ⬇

Chapter 20.

Chapter 19: The Test

As Astarion had left the ball while they were out in the balcony, Tav could somewhat relax a little for the rest of the evening. She still hadn't left Gortash's side as he was talking to the nobles, going through future plans of making Baldur's Gate better, listening in on the deals he made with them. It all seemed normal, and very, very boring for her.

Nevertheless, the finger food the servants served was great, and the wine also helped her to get past the panic Astarion caused. She took a particular liking to cheese and sweet wine, smiling at Gortash whenever he looked at her to check if she was alright. Her hand remained on his arm for most of the night, though.

Wrapping up the event and getting away at last was a bit of fresh air. As they walked down the corridor and started to climb up the stairs, Tav tripped and nearly fell. As Gortash steadied her with his hands, she giggled out loud.

"I think I had a bit too much wine", she admitted, feeling rather tipsy now that she had to walk back to his chambers with him.

"Indeed, darling", Gortash confirmed with a smile as they stopped walking.

He was careful not to consume too much from the stronger sort - he personally wanted to make sure she was safe -, but he said nothing when he saw that she did. After all, she needed it for her nerves, and it seemed it truly helped. He wished that their night went pleasantly; had he known about Astarion being so important to her, he would've removed him from the guest list.

"Do we need to bathe?" She asked, then hiccupped, then covered her mouth with her free hand. "Whoops." Another giggle, another hiccup. "Oh no", another hiccup.

Even drunk, she remained irresistible for him. He hoped against hope Bane wouldn't notice how his heart stirred for her, how he would've done the unthinkable if she wanted him to.

"No, we needn't bathe now. We'll do it in the morning."

"Oh thank you", she rested her head on his shoulder with a huge smile. And hiccupped. "Your Grace- how very merciful of you-"

"Can you walk back to our chambers, or should I carry you instead?"

"Our chambers?" She giggled as she got a hold of his arm, pulling it a little as she swayed on her feet. "I don't remember moving in~"

"Perhaps you should", Gortash half smiled, then reached under her legs and lifted her up in his arms, bridal style.

"Oh- but I don't have fancy clothes-"

"We'll have tailors make some", he cocked a brow as he glanced down at her, walking up the stairs.

"Yeah. You'd love to spend a fortune on me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"The Chosen of Bane who's taking everything – would give things to me? For free?" She murmured, moving his coat in a way that the golden sculptures on it wouldn't poke her face.

"Your company is enough compensation for me, my dear."

"Is that all I have to give? Myself?"

"Curious, isn't it?" He looked forward as he continued his way down a corridor. He felt her fumbling with the shirt over his heart. "If I know you're near, all is well and good."

"You sound like you love me", she purred, tickling him under his chin. Gortash nearly stopped walking, but instead, he just swallowed and tried to ignore what she just said. "Awww, you're blushing~"

"Tav", he warned her quietly.

"Hmm?" She fumbled with the cord on his shirt again. Working it open. "Am I in trouble?"

"Take a guess."

"No?"

"Take another guess."

She giggled just when they reached his chambers. He used his elbow to open the door, then as soon as they were inside the dark room, he used his foot to shut it behind them. He walked over to his bed, then placed her down on it gently. By then, she removed the cord from his shirt and when he leaned over her, she placed it just under his nose.

"Mustache you a question", she giggled again, making him purse his lips.

"Tav", he murmured, grabbing her wrists gently and pinning them above her head. "I had no clue the wine would make you behave like this."

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Good. Because I'm not planning to change anything for anyone."

"Why, were you asked to change by others before?"

Tav bit her lower lip as she moved her legs, wrapping them loosely around his waist.

"Plenty of times. I'm never good enough for anyone, I suppose."

"You're good enough for me."

"Really?"

"You'll always be good enough, Tav."

"With all of my flaws and mistakes?"

"Especially with all of your flaws and mistakes."

He leaned down to kiss her, and she reciprocated as a memory bubbled up in her mind. On that night, she was also drunk, and her partner advanced just like Gortash did now; but no matter how she complained that she wanted to go to sleep instead because she was tired and wasn't in the mood, he didn't listen.

Now as she was thinking about it, she wanted to test if Gortash would be the same. Until now, they had slight… problems keeping themselves away from each other whenever they were near each other, but the more she thought about it, the more important it became for her. She had to know if she could trust him in that regard. That if it ever came to it, in a more serious situation, he'd stop if she told him to.

The mere thought that there was a possibility that he wouldn't, made tears gather in her eyes. Her hands found his shoulders as soon as he released them to cup her face, and she pushed – just a little was enough, he pulled away instantly. She didn't even need to say anything. She didn't need to turn her head away. Her throat tightened when she saw his questioning look.

"Is something wrong?" He furrowed his brows when he saw her expression. At first, he couldn't depict what it was. Fear? Relief? Confusion? A mixture of all three? "Are you alright?"

"I'd… rather not…" Tav whispered, biting her lower lip, looking away. "Not… not now, if that's alright."

A heartbeat of unbearable tension building higher and higher within her chest – until he let out a soft, quiet ah, pecked her lips one last time, and moved away.

"Alright. I can understand", he half smiled at her when she looked after him, "I'm tired, too. Maybe tonight we should just go to sleep, hmm?"

Tav sat up as she watched him remove his belt and coat, her arms wrapped around herself in silence. She couldn't recall if they ever went to bed without devouring each other first, but Gortash didn't look like he'd mind not having sex at all. He demanded no explanation, he didn't require reasons and begging, he just… stopped. It was so easy. Natural.

It should've brought her relief and comfort, but instead, it brought her immense sadness. Sadness and pity, for herself. How each and every soul she met was telling her that he was bad, bad news, and how he straight failed to act like a monster with her. He did get under her skin in many, many ways, but never like that.

Never as others did.

She tried to keep silent as he got up on his feet to hang up his coat near the door, and could manage to silently sob, her shoulders shaking, her eyes shut tight; but it did not take long for his arms to wrap her in an embrace again.

"Alright, what's the matter?" Gortash murmured in her ear. She got a hold of his shirt on his chest and grabbed, hard, as she sobbed in his shoulder. "What happened? Just a few minutes ago you were acting silly and I thought… Tav, what is it?"

"Nothin', nothin', just… just that you… didn't act like you didn't hear me…"

Now, he pulled away, with a completely different look on his face. He cupped her cheeks and rubbed her tears away with his thumbs.

"Why would I do that? Why would I ignore anything you say?"

His heart rapidly beat against his ribs as he slowly realised. He hurt me, she told him earlier.

"He didn't do the same for you, did he?"

Tav's eyes darted away. Gortash focused on every little clue she gave, the way she trembled in his hold, the way she refused to maintain eye contact.

"Not him", she whispered, touching his hands which were still on her face. "Others."

She was lying, and he knew.

"I see", Enver whispered back, then held her close again. "It's alright, okay? You can say no to me, Tav. I promise. You can always say no."

She glanced back at him, uncertain.

"Why?"

Gortash closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

"Because I know how that feels", he whispered, just as he did when he showed her his scars on his back.

Later that night, when he had her tucked in, holding her close and she fell asleep in his arms, he was staring at the ceiling as he was thinking about his next steps. Astarion can not be allowed to be in her presence again – except for one last time, when Gortash severed their contact at last. Astarion did not need to die; he was a powerful ally with resources Gortash could use, and, of course, he had a tadpole in his head that would make him an obedient thrall.

If he did not travel with Tav anymore… he wondered how he had resisted the voice of the Absolute, but he thought little of such small details. What mattered was that Astarion was a thorn in his side and a shadow in her past that still kept her in terror; she couldn't be his formidable warrior if such a man could send her shivering into his arms.

Astarion needed one firm shove that put him back in his place, which would make him forget Tav and would stop him from pursuing anything with her in the future.

And there was but one thing Gortash could do to make it happen.

It'd be risky; Tav will surely hate it, she might as well turn against him if he went through with that plan, but the risk was worth it to him. He glanced down at her; she had her head tilted up slightly, as if she had been looking at his face before she fell asleep. He thought of the horrors she went through and how she still could find peace with him; how she, even infected, with her free will, chose him over everyone else she knew. There were so many who were better than him in so many regards; how could he even deserve her?

The thought drowned in his mind as fast as it came to the surface. Of course he deserved her. Of course she was his and his alone. After all, he was a Banite; he deserved the best of the best of everything. And he knew he'd be the best for her, too. Both of them suffered enough until now; they deserved each other.

And if anyone wanted to step between them, well… the Black Hand of Bane would crush them.

End notes: Did you know that if you fail a persuasion check, the narrator says that Astarion hears you when you tell him to stop biting you, but he doesn't, because he's past the point to care? Yeah. I had that in mind.

[tinyfantasminha]

Glorious Masquerade has got to be my favorite TWST event!!!! Love to see people hype it up!!! It just felt so extravagant and huge… literally EVERY character was serving. Idia in particular 👀 also I think part of why it was so good had to do with the timing, the fact it came right before chapter 7 and the contests of the event were actually REALLY pertinent in the main story…

I kinda doubt this year’s halloween event will be AS impressive but I hope it comes close to it. It has the potential!! But GM is so iconic. I’m really looking forward to the Pinocchio theme. Just think of Grim’s new little outfit 🥺

No cause I'm sure they timed the first release of book 7 right after masquerade so the event could foreshadow the main story, like how Rollo says Malleus is a villain that will bring calamity (I don't remember the exact words but it was something like that lol)

THIS EVENT WAS MOSTLY TAILORED TO MALLEUS AND IDIA AND IT SHOWS, I remember that before Rollo's motive was revealed, I was theorizing if Rollo was also inspired on musical-Frollo and not just the dsny Frollo, where he has a deceased younger brother. And I was like ''if that's the case, it makes even more sense why Idia would be the SSR; he's the only one who can trully relate and understand Rollo's pain'' AND I WAS RIGHT 👏👏👏 LET ME COOK

For that reason is why I think GloMas wouldn't work if it had a sequel like the first halloween event of it were a if/remix version like fairy gala but with the other rest of the cast; Malleus is simply too crucial for this event, Rollo's motive wouldn't make sense without him. I admit I'm a bit sad that we won't see the other boys in the masquerade outfits and them interacting with Rollo (I wanted to see Ace clown on Rollo </3) but honestly this is for the best... They're getting an entire new event with new characters just for themselves!! I'd say this is a better outcome than just repeating GloMas all over again with the other half of the cast, it just wouldn't be impactful.

I'm not emotionally attached to Pinnocchio as I am with THoND but I'm excited because this movie is DARK AS HELL, and it's PERFECT for a halloween event. Also I've been waiting years for new beastmen characters and we are getting a fOX BOY RIGHT OFF THE BAT....GRRRRRrrRR *foams at the mouth*

I can't wait for the trailer of the new event, if they really are wearing carnival inspired outfits I'm gonna be BALLISTIC!!! And let's hope every new halloween event from now on will be based in a dsny movie with new guest characters every time 😳 I'm hoping for a Peter Pan event next cause WE GOTTA SEE TWST CAPTAIN HOOK?!?!?

And yes, Grimmy's little outfit 🙏maybe his outfit will be similar to pinocchio's in those little italian clothes ORRR maybe jiminy cricket's black tailcoat 🥺🥺

[gascon-en-exil]

I have admittedly never played Dream Daddy, but I am a trans woman and I absolutely could never imagine being in a relationship with someone and just... never talking about the fact that I'm trans. Like numerous major life goals of mine pertain to the fact that I'm trans, and coming out has changed my life in irrevocable ways that I very often talk about with the people that I'm close with. Like apparently this character is a cosplayer (?) and I know so many people who discovered themselves through drag and cosplay, which in turn adds a layer of meaning and value to their art, like is that like not worth mentioning? The fact that it is only this awkward footnote in this character's life is so divorced from how it actually is to be trans.

"Cosplaying" may be underselling it. Damien is kind of closer to a full-time goth/vampire-flavored, Victorian era LARPer, to the point that his entire house is dedicated to the aesthetic. He's seen exactly once in-game out of costume, when the Dadsona comes across him in ordinary streetwear and Damien embarrassingly admits to being an IT guy who volunteers at an animal shelter. Ooh.

Not once does the game tie Damien's myriad special interests/fixations into his gender identity. It's even entirely possible to miss learning that he's trans; it's only revealed when he includes binders in a list of clothing he chooses specifically tailored to the Victorian aesthetic. Like all of the other love interests Damien is also a literal father, but never when discussing or talking to his teenage son does his gender identity ever come up, or even if Damien previously had another partner - which is more notable since most of the other dads are explicitly either divorced, widowed, or currently married. I'm fairly sure Damien being trans was so vague that it had to be confirmed by the developers on Twitter. I'd believe it. Technically the Dadsona can be trans as well, if you have him wear a binder when designing him, and you can also choose the gender of his deceased partner and whether his partner gave birth to their daughter or whether she was adopted...but absolutely none of that ever comes up in the game beyond the first scene.

I'm not trans, but I can understand the frustrated reaction people had to Damien - all the more so because like everything else in Dream Daddy he was hailed as a big leap forward for representation when the game came out. There's a fairly popular Tumblr post I've seen here and there explaining that some trans people want stories that depict the realistic experiences and the challenges that come with being trans, and others look for stories where trans characters simply are, and are always perceived and treated just like cis people of their gender with no further elaboration necessary. I get that division, but I suppose that in applying that same observation to being gay I prefer stories that feel at least somewhat tethered to reality. There are a fair number of gay dating sims - and Dream Daddy is one of these - where the main character is gay, every man he meets and finds attractive is also gay (very rarely bi), and no one whatsoever ever struggles with their sexuality or has it impact their lives in any way beyond who they date/sleep with. Most of those games take advantage of that handwave to offer an abundance of gratuitous porn if nothing else; Dream Daddy doesn't even have that much.

[divineandloved]

Daily Devotion - 11/13/2024

In what ways do you need to shift your expectations of others and deepen your faith in God? Familiarize yourself with God’s promises and reflect on them often.

How to shift expectations of others.

This phrase actually lingers in my head. To be honest I think I haven't figured it out yet. Or wait, I might know.. but I couldn't face to shift just yet.

Today, I encountered the words "HURT PEOPLE.. HURT PEOPLE" again. Just yesterday, I admitted that I am still in the process of healing, I am still hurting and my emotional wounds have yet to close.

Reading the story of how Joshua and his faith lead the descendants of the Israelites who were freed from Egypt's oppression many years ago and now to the promise land, I was reminded of how God never left their side. (Joshua 21: 43-45, ESV) Yes, they were wandering out in the wilderness for almost 40 years, yet God was with them all along. I was reminded that God never changed, it was the hearts of the people, their disbelief that lead them to wandering.

Just right now, the holy spirit reminded me that yes, I may decide to wander around my hurt feelings and frustrations of others for who knows how long, but I am assured that God is always with me. I might take time to overcome and shift expectations of others, but it will come to pass. His promises are always true and will be fulfilled, in the right time.

Father God, I know you see my heart right now. I know that you know that I am still tiptoeing around my feelings of hurt and frustrations, yet you still made me feel that your presence is here with me. Thank you for never leaving my side. Please guide me as I walk through this season of healing and forgiving other people who let me down constantly. Remind me daily of your love and mercy, so I can extend it also to people who needs it.

Thank you for your word. I am so amazed of how it is so blessed and tailor fitted to what you want me to learn and know. I worship a living and amazing God, a God who will lead his people to live righteously, through Christ Jesus. I will hold on to you when things get tough again and people tests my limits and boundaries, for I know that you are the ultimate promise keeper and you will deliver your people from the works of the enemy.

Thank you for this time tonight, thank you for the air I breathe, thank you for this moving hands that can type a post of gratitude to the God of the heavens, never changing, always there. Goodnight from your daughter, I look forward to talking with you again tomorrow. Amen :)

[seulgiology]

how are you

not gonna lie, I'm having the time of my life right now :) shit's been crazy and I'm learning to enjoy things the way they are while still adding my own flair.

I know you're probably wondering about the future of this blog and if specific posts will have their 2nd or 3rd part, but it's truly TRULY up in the air. I've been busy with my own endeavors, and so has Admin 2.

I am no longer as heavily invested in kpop and its glamour, nor do I take the time to witness my faves' personal growth on Youtube or through social media anymore.

It was a realization that hit me one day, I had my post notifications on for all of my biases (and other celebrities) and I was getting so bothered with my phone vibrating constantly throughout the day. I was asking myself "do I really care or is kpop culture telling me I should care?"

And I will not be taking any slander in how much of a chokehold I was in, this ain't the first time ya'll are going to hear about a K-pop stan finally admitting it was a phase and that yes, we were influenced and pressured into K-pop stan culture as YOUNG AND IMPRESSIONABLE TEENAGERS but that's not the conversation I'm bringing up (and some of yall choose to continue to participate, I'm talking bout the ones who realize this shit is not "fun and playful" anymore the more your mind matures and the deeper you are into Kpop and the culture).

And as a heavily invested BTS ARMY, CHESIRE (rip), NCTZEN, ONCE, REVELUV, BLINK, and many more, I just couldn't keep spending so much time on figures that are literally not adding anything substantial to my current life. K-pop evolved into a form of escapism for me and I was ready to live in the moment.

I got into the world of Korean culture and pop at one of the lowest moments in my life that I can consciously remember and recall. So of course I made this genre, this culture, part of my core happiness during a period of personal devastation.

Post notifications from my faves would come as often as bad news and unfavorable moments. Without even knowing, I waited for the good news from K-pop to put the bandaid over the mental pain I endured from my day-to-day. I eventually became more hopeful and positive BECAUSE I looked forward to something so simple and insignificant as a "Thank you JAKARTA 💜💜💜💜💜💜" I'm not even from that place and I was just as elated (and jealous ofc) for the fans that got to see them.

In the same way Rap/Hip-Hop can be a way of life as well as change your outlook on life, and Metal/Rock can be a way of life, K-pop can also be a way of life and change your outlook on life.

But when I realized I don't need a bandaid or balm anymore, K-pop stopped becoming a focal point. It's my guilty pleasure on Youtube when I'm h*gh and my 500 hr K-pop playlist is now used for the rainy days I rarely have.

The moment was like, "Oh, it's just Haechan that posted," when it used to be "OMG HAECHAN POSTED AISUHDUISGIUE." I used to see one K-pop-related thing, and happily jump into a wormhole of Youtube videos, stan Twitter posts, and heated discussions on album theories.

My love for K-pop turned into appreciation for the good music I liked, not strict devotion to the artist. Because that's the reality of almost all art forms. See it for how it is and it's just like everything else; just attach meaning to it and now it's something special.

I'm just a fan of K-pop nowadays lol. I used to be so annoyed at know-it-all 2nd gen stans as a new K-pop stan, but look at me now. A know-it-all 3rd gen fan who looks at 4th gen with distaste lmao. But it is what it is. And 4th gen is a little... anyways...

BUT NOW I KNOW HOW 2ND GENERATION FANS FELT WHEN 3RD GEN CAME AROUND. And it's just because I grew out of it, K-pop will always be tailored to younger audiences and I'm well past that.

I sometimes listen to the Kpop ON playlist on Spotify, without bias (pun is definitely intended), and occasionally see that stan Twitter is the exact way I left it (they say the game doesn't change, just the players). I still get a little excited to see which new groups are about to debut, groups that i miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight wanna do some light research on just to remember what it felt like to be introduced to the new personality.

Nowadays, my thought's on what I hear or see are like this:

"Are there any new survival shows? I probably won't watch it, but what are yall saying about it now"

"..."

"FUCK I FORGOT JIN'S GOING TO THE MILITARY"

"...Why is (random group) still dropping music..."

"NOT YOU TOO HOBI"

"I wonder if Joy is still with Crush"

"I wonder when Jennie is gonna go solo"

And I don't indulge in these thoughts too much because it isn't as imperative to me as they used to be. I treat those thoughts just like any other thought that doesn't require my immediate attention. I'll always love my k-pop phase, but I'll never forget my roots! 2018 me would probably cuss me the fuck out if she found out I still haven't listened to Jimin's new song or listened to NCT 127's latest repackage (please tell me I didn't miss another release).

In conclusion, I began treating K-pop like any other genre;

I'm gonna keep talking my shit.

If there's good music, I'll listen and might playlist it.

If there's not, I'll keep it pushing.

Any interesting news? Lemme see what it's about.

I am not invested enough to create fanfic anymore.

[spicyspiders]

make me perfect, make me your fantasy

Enzo x male reader

Stranger things cannot put a man like Enzo on screen and expect me not to thirst after him. This is pure smut. Also, I’d like to give a little warning for Enzo calling the reader a slut, twice. 

You were used to having nights in. Sometimes, those nights were the days you looked forward to, but having to spend your night inside with a grumpy bodyguard from Russia was not fun.

“Where are you going?” Enzo’s voice rumbled out. 

“You need a fucking bell,” you said after getting your heartbeat back under control. You couldn’t really be mad, he was a bodyguard after all, part of the job description was to be strong and silent. 

“Where are you going?” Enzo asked again, a blank expression on his face. 

“Out,” you responded, turning and heading to the hotel door. 

Enzo, in all of his strong, silent bodyguardness, followed after you. When you opened the door, he immediately pushed it closed. “Your father told you not to leave,” he said, his voice close to your ear. 

Your father’s issues weren’t your own. You gave in to his pleas to travel with him as he went on his political press tour, you just didn’t expect it to involve traveling with a new bodyguard and sleeping in a new hotel each week. You didn’t even get to stay in the presidential suite, instead you got to stay in a typical two bed suite.

“Let go, Enzo,” you said, you could feel your anger rising. You pulled the door open again, but Enzo was quick to close it. He was close enough to feel the heat that radiated off his skin. 

“For you to go out,” he turned you around and pressed you on the door, “dressed like that?” He let out a chuckle. 

It was a standard club outfit: a button down paired with a pair of tight pants and a sleek pair of shoes. You liked your outfit, so when he insulted it, you let out a scoff, “like you’re dressed any better?”

You actually liked the way Enzo was dressed. Actually a lot more than you would admit to him. Your father made sure his employees would look nice, and Enzo was no exception dressed in his tailored suit. 

One of the first things you noticed about him was how attracted you were to him. Something else you also noticed was how badly you wanted to see what his body looked like under the suit. Through his suit, you could tell that he was fucking shredded. In fact, one of your favorite past-times was watching the way his muscles would flex under his suit. 

“I am dressed fine,” he smirked, and you looked away. 

“And how am I dressed?” You asked.

Enzo lifted his hand to your neck, one of his large hands nearly encompassing the entirety of your neck. He made a slow path down your neck to the skin of your exposed chest. You left a few buttons opened on the top with the exact purpose of being touched, but you thought it would be by a random guy you would pick up in the club, not by your bodyguard. 

Enzo pressed forward with his hips, pressing you into the door. You gasped as his full weight was pressed onto you, “like a slut,” Enzo’s deep voice was a rich rumble from his chest onto yours, “you want cock?” He growled, “I give you mine,” Enzo dived down, pressing his lips to yours. 

You barely had time to register that Enzo was kissing you before he was biting your bottom lip and forcing his tongue inside. You both groaned when your tongues came into contact. In a few steps without breaking your fevered lip-lock, you stumbled to the beds. 

When the kiss ended, you both were panting, and Enzo gave you no time to recover as he pushed you done onto the bed. 

“Take your clothes off before I rip them off,” he said in a gruff voice. 

You weren’t sure if your hands were shaking from nervousness or excitement, but you did what he said. You looked up at Enzo when you were down to your underwear. You tried to reach up and help him with his own, but he pushed you back down. 

“All of it,” he said, sending a glance to your underwear. 

You pushed your underwear down slowly, getting distracted by watching as Enzo’s skin came into view. 

He was, in fact, as shredded as you thought. From the short time you knew Enzo, he was always so calculated and meticulous, but now, as he took his clothes off, he threw them into the same pile you had created. His chest was big and broad, a light dusting of hair in the middle of his upper chest that was like a line your eyes could follow. 

Follow they did. Down is chest and stomach to his legs. His thighs were as broad as his chest, looking strong. They also looked like a good seat too. Maybe Enzo would-

Your train of thought was abruptly stopped as he pulled his underwear off. You only had a few seconds to look between his legs before he was joining you on the bed. What you saw made you nervous, but you had no time to dwell as Enzo descended upon you and pressed his lips to yours. 

As you kissed, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your arms went around his neck, pulling him down so his full, naked, weight was on top of you. You kissed and ground your hips together until all you could do was pant into Enzo’s mouth as your hard cock pressed to his, smearing your precome together. 

Enzo was the one to pull away first. He chuckled darkly at your whimper of dismay. You had to unwrap your legs from his waist, and before he got off the bed to grab what he needed, he ran his hands down your legs. In a flash, he was back, holding lube and a condom. 

You spread your legs invitingly, your hard cock resting against your stomach. 

Enzo got between your legs and leaned down to your ear, “you’re truly a slut,” he whispered in your ear, “spreading your legs for me like this,” he used one hand to spread your legs wider and used the other to press a dry finger to your hole. 

“Enzo,” you whimpered out. 

Enzo shushed you softly, “Hush, now. I’ll give you what you need,” he said, his words making you shiver. 

The noise of the lube opening was loud in your ears, and a second after the sound, a wet, thick finger was pressed to your hole. As he eased the digit inside, Enzo pressed his lips to yours, this time in a softer kiss. He stretched you slowly, adding another thick finger to the first when you bit his lip softly. When the third was added, a light sheen of sweat covered the both of you. 

You didn’t realize your eyes were closed during the entire process of being stretched until Enzo pulled his fingers out of you. He pulled back, his body glistening until the soft light of the lamp that illuminated the hotel room. 

Your fingers itched to reach out and help him as he rolled the condom down his thick cock. When the condom was on, Enzo looked up and began to put lube on his cock, not taking his eyes off you. His gaze was warm and intense, making you excited for what was about to come. 

Just like when you were kissing earlier, you wrapped your legs around him when he got close again. He teased you, using one hand to rub the head of his cock against your hole, while the other pressed into the space beside your head to hold himself up. You tightened your legs across his waist, and impatient look crossing over your face that had Enzo letting out a snicker. 

He pushed inside slowly, letting you get used to the size like he had done with his fingers. His cock felt much longer and thicker than his fingers. You gasped out, trying not to let it show that the press of his cock was creating a painful burn. 

Enzo didn’t stop until he was fully bottomed out, but he pressed soft kisses all over your face in comfort. 

“I feel so full,” you gasped out, throwing your head back into the pillow below it. While you adjusted, Enzo ravaged your neck. Sucking, biting, and licking a series of bruises into the column of your neck. 

Under the pain, your erection had started to flag, but when Enzo, began to pull out, it twitched against your stomach. 

Enzo pulled back to hold himself above you with his arms. You looked down your naked body to watch his cock disappear back inside you. He was slow to start a rhythm, but it grew faster and faster with each moan you let out when his cock would press to your prostate. 

When he leaned down to kiss you, he thrust his tongue into your mouth, like he was trying to fuck your mouth with his tongue. It was overwhelming, trying to focus on kiss while the intense pleasure from his cock racked your body. 

Enzo didn’t let you rest, however. He watched you for a few moments as you panted after the kiss ended. A second later he was pulling all the way out and flopping onto his back beside you, roughly manhandling you until you straddled him. 

You knew what he wanted you to do, and Enzo placed both hands on your hips to assist you as your reached back to guide his cock back inside you. Somehow, his cock felt bigger this way, but you pressed down. Down until your ass pressed against his balls. 

“Full?” Enzo asked, he wasn’t looking at your face, but instead your stomach. He took one of his hands from your waist to place it on your stomach. 

You pushed his hand away before putting both hands on his chest. You established a rough rhythm, taking please for yourself. As you bounced on his cock, you ran your hands over his muscular chest, letting out loud moans each time you felt his cock brush your prostate. 

Enzo chased your pleasure with his own. He tightened his grip around your hips, likely leaving a bruise that would show tomorrow, and thrust up to match when you would fall back down. 

You knew you were being loud in vocalizing your pleasure, but right now it felt like you were screaming. Your orgasm took you by surprise, punching though you, making you shoot your release all over the body below you. 

Enzo followed soon after you clenched down on his cock, coming with a long, drawn out groan that sounded close to your name. 

You collapsed down on top of him, wet, sticky, and filthy. As Enzo’s cock softened inside of you, he wrapped both around you, manhandling you again so his softening cock would fall free. He dumped you softly down beside him, pressing soft pecks to your lips before getting up to leave. 

Sated and sleepy, you drifted off before he returned with a wet cloth to clean you, missing the soft look he gave you as he ran the cloth gently over your skin. 

[whoacanada]

(Hey, look! That Zimbits AU where Jack goes into PR after retiring from the NHL and NHL!Bitty comes looking for advice about coming out!)

“Your ten-o-clock, remember?” April gestures to the conference room with her pen. “The cutie the Hurricanes coughed up for Pride Night outreach? He’s here.”

Jack tugs down the blinds with a cautious finger and zeroes in on the handsome blonde sitting awkwardly at one end of their large conference table, conspicuously alone. “There’s always suits for outreach talks,” Jack hazards, looking back at his receptionist over his shoulder. “They never send players alone.”

“It’s what we’ve got on the books. Eric Bittle, Carolina Hurricanes. No plus ones.” April whispers, checking her calendar. “Well? Get in there, Boss; and buckle up, he’s got an accent.”

.

Eric Bittle looks up, his dark brown eyes wide and unfairly attractive as Jack extends his hand, Bittle rising to take it. Everything about Bittle is polished and perfected; suit tailored, hair coiffed so neatly Jack would posit he’d gone in to have it trimmed before he’d arrived this morning. He’s pulled together so tightly, in fact, that Jack can’t find any loose threads, and if he remembers his time in The Show correctly, no loose threads means Mr. Bittle’s probably hiding something.

“Eric? I’m Jack Zimmermann. It’s great to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Bittle chuckles, and Jack’s heart would skip a beat if he wasn’t so certain there’s a huge piece of context still missing from this meeting. “It’s still very nice to meet you in person.”

“So, tell me about Pride Night,” Jack pops the button on his suit jacket and settles down across the table. “What, exactly are the ‘Canes thinking about doing that involves you coming to see us?”

Bittle bites his lip briefly, gaze darting off before coming back to settle on Jack, and Jack is reminded of so many media training sessions it’s like he’s back in Vegas again.

“I may have, ah, fudged the reason for my visit a bit. Yes, we have Pride Night coming up, yes I’m the designated sacrifice, but I’m more here on personal business.”

Jack eases the tip of his pen from the legal pad, recognizing an off-the-record admission is coming. “How personal?” He questions. “Are we talking potential legal trouble or just potential social trouble? Or no trouble at all.”

“I’m gay.” Bittle says plainly. “Whatever trouble that may be. My team knows it, my family knows it, and I want to come out — I need to come out — and I can’t mess it up.”

Jack is grateful for his game face, reaching for the coffee carafe near him to couch his surprise and no small measure of his excitement. “Oh, you mean like I did?” Jack jokes, earning a soft smile.

“No active player has come out since you retired,” Eric skirts Jack’s comment, taking the mug before gingerly amending, “Not voluntarily, at least. I’d like to break that streak. Given your experience, and what you do now, it seemed like the smart move to come speak with you.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit my behavior didn’t lend itself to much confidence with the public at large, but that’s why I’m where I am today. Making sure people like you can learn from my mistakes.”

“And you made a lot of mistakes,” Bittle murmurs, taking the mug from Jack gingerly, glances back out the window as he takes a sip, and Jack fights a smile when he realizes what’s happening.

“Are you . . . chirping me?”

“Makes me less nervous,” Bittle admits, apologetic. “But that was rude, I’m sorry.”

Bittle’s eyes are bright. His smile is bright. Everything about him is warm, inviting. Jack might be biased, though, he’s always had a soft spot for compact blondes.

“Don’t apologize.” Jack leans back in his chair, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “You might be the only one in the whole league right now that doesn’t need to apologize.”

“I think I need to have a partner,” Eric clears his throat. “I can’t come out without a reason, otherwise what’s the point.”

“That answers one of my first questions, gives us a place to start. Yes, a boyfriend gets you points, but not in the way you’re thinking. If you come out with a guy on your arm, the story becomes maintaining the relationship, not that you have one or that you are ‘out’ at all. The scandal is the relationship falling apart, or you flirting with a fan when you have your partner at home, that kind of drama.”

“And if I just say, ‘hello, I am a homosexual’ people will think I’m promiscuous, or just trying to get laid.”

“Maybe. Are you?”

Bittle’s expression turns indignant, lips twisting into a judgmental frown that reminds Jack of his grandmother before a scolding.

“What kind of question is that? Yes, of course, but they don’t need to know that. But that doesn’t — You know, you gave me hope?”

Jack doesn’t quite startle, he’s well beyond the jumpyness of his youth, but he has no clue where this conversation is about to go.

“When you came out, when you were drafted, your cup season . . . every time you succeeded, beat the odds, it made me think, maybe, I could do it, too. I could be a professional athlete, I could play hockey, and it didn’t matter who I wanted to be with.”

Jack knows there’s a ‘but’ coming, he can feel it; so he gets there first.

“But . . . then I overdosed.”

“Then you retired.” Eric corrects. “Two years before I signed with Carolina, and you just gave up. I was going to be the first out NCAA men’s hockey captain, you ‘retired’ in scandal, and suddenly the trustees didn’t want the attention. Back to square one.”

“Eric, I wasn’t well.” Jack defends gently, knowing Bittle isn’t trying to be cruel.

“You let them get to you! You were supposed to be untouchable. I needed you to be untouchable.”

“Eric.”

“I’m sorry,” Bittle looks down at his hands, the table, anywhere but Jack. “I genuinely didn’t intend for any of this to come up so quickly, you’ve been nothing but charming and here I am dumping all my baggage on you like we’ve been talking for years . . . ”

“It’s actually alright. I’ve made peace with what happened to me, what I put myself through, and I wasn’t kidding that I’m very intent on making sure I can help others avoid the same pitfalls. So, what do you need from me right now?” Jack asks, genuinely curious. “An apology? A hug? You wouldn’t be the first to ask.”

“I want . . .” Bittle huffs, closing his eyes and evening his breathing. “I want dinner.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve loved the idea of you since I was sixteen, but now I actually need your advice on how to do this without losing my mind, and I can’t plan my future from a boardroom, so, I want you to take me to dinner. I want to hash this out like two normal, well functioning adult men. Also, maybe alcohol.”

“Speak for yourself on the well-functioning part,” Jack chirps himself, “but I think dinner can be arranged. I assure you, you’ll have my full support moving forward. The firm’s, as well.”

Bittle’s lips quirk, holding Jack’s gaze. He caught the slip, and now there’s nothing to do but own it. They lapse into a gentle silence. Jack sipping his coffee, Bittle doing the same. Jack isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, the puck is at the end of his stick. He flashes a smile. Bittle blushes.

“So,” Jack begins. “Do you like Burmese?”

____

They part ways and April’s eyes are huge with suspicion. “Should we discuss fees?” she asks. “Do we need to start billing? Sounds like it went well.”

“Nah, we’ll talk later about payment,” Jack replies, folding his jacket over his arm, hiding the slip of paper with Bittle’s personal number and trying not to stare as the forward walks away. “I have a strong feeling I might be handling this pro bono.”

[bangtansmauyeondan]

This might be asking too much but I wanna know what the best man and man of honor speeches would be like🤔 lol I already know there would be a lot of roasting from them🤣🤣

MOONSTRUCK Drabble 1 | To the Newlyweds

Hi, I just want you guys to know that I DID NOT SURVIVE 220416 PTD Vegas Seokjin and it’s my ghost that’s typing this right now. Anyway! Enjoy this short drabble. If you want to see more from the 🌙 couple, please DO NOT HESITATE to send in an Ask! Also this is unedited so if you see a typo, no you didn’t. 😂

Moonstruck Series Masterlist

TAGLIST: @bts-reveries @tan-dulset @persphonesorchid @joonjoonsmiles @jayhope88 @thatbangtanjagiya @anaceciliaxr @justinetingball @halesandy @yoongleskitten @onemanbandarmi @juju-227592 @ephyra1230 @somelazysundays @ygbubs @timelessruins @teamtardis-notdead @sugakookies0613 @pinkseokchim @taestefully-in-luv

•••••••••••••••

“Now we’d like to call on the Best Man in front to propose a toast for the newlyweds,” Hoseok grinned and gestured for Taehyung to come up to the front. You could see Jin’s fond and warm smile as he watched his brother come up to the stage. Taehyung looked dashing in his black suit and tie, tailored to perfection. You rubbed your husband’s back as you smiled up at him while you waited for Taehyung to start.

“Good evening, everyone! Our parents– our family and friends who are here today to celebrate with Jin hyung and Yn noona,” he gestured for everyone to clap, and they did, including you and Jin, before he continued. “My name is Taehyung, and you’ve got no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to today. You know, as a younger brother, I am so used to following hyung around. I’m always the one living in his shadow,” Taehyung pouted, which earned some coos and aww’s from the guests. “But today…” he puffed out his chest proudly. “He has, at long last, admitted that I am, in fact, THE BEST MAN.” He broke into his boxy smile as the guests erupted in laughter.

“Hyung… Noona… congratulations on your marriage,” Taehyung patted his chest and sighed. “I am genuinely, truly happy for you both. You two are the– and forgive me for the lack of better word – most stupid people in the world.” Your shocked face caused Jin to laugh even more. “I mean, if you two have figured this out years and years ago, we could have saved so much time and money. Aish…” Taehyung shook his head playfully. “In all honesty though, I knew all along that you two were end game. I���” Taehyung’s words were cut off when the guests started cheering on their seats. “Yeah, right? Anyway, hyung, tonight, you are the luckiest man alive. You will leave here tonight having gained a wife who is warm, selfless, loving, and caring. I know she makes you the happiest and you deserve all that happiness, hyung.”

Jin pulled a few tissues from the nearby box of Kleenex and handed them to you. Taehyung’s words were sincere and God help you but you love him to bits like your own little brother, and hearing those kind words about you straight from his mouth just prompted the waterworks to fall freely.

“Yn noona, everyone here who knows you well can attest that you’re not only beautiful and intelligent, but you are also one of the most wonderful people to ever walk on earth,” Taehyung smiled and another round of applause from the guests were heard. “You deserve everything that you have in life right now, and then more, including the perfect husband,” Taehyung let his words linger before he continued. “Lucky for you, hyung, you married her before she found one.” Your sniffles turned into laughter as Jin and the other guests doubled over laughing in their seats as well.

“Kidding aside, I really want to make this light and short, because you two already know that I love you. And whatever I say here, I know that you love me,” Taehyung giggled. “But let me leave everyone with a quote that Jungkook and I found in YN noona’s diary when she grounded us from playing the PlayStation a million years ago. It’s by Maya Angelou and it says ‘Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.’ Hyung and Noona have always been the rainbow in each other’s clouds and now that you’re married, make bigger and brighter rainbows, not just for each other but for your future family as well. I love you, guys.” Taehyung raised his champagne flute, “To the newlyweds!”

Taehyung handed the microphone to Hoseok, who accepted it after sipping his champagne. “Thanks, hyung. It’s Jungkook’s turn!”

“That was a lovely speech from THE best man! Now, may we call on the Man of Honor, the brother of the bride, to make a toast.”

“You okay?” Jin whispered to you before planting a kiss on your temple.

“I need more tissues, babe,” you glanced at Jungkook as he made his way to the front. “Oh my god, I’m gonna cry and he hasn’t even opened his mouth!” Jin chuckled and handed you the Kleenex box itself before planting another kiss on your temple.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Jungkook and I'm the bride’s brother,” Jungkook shyly scrunched up his nose and smiled at the guests. “Yah… why did I start that off so formally?” he laughed.

“If you know our family well, you know that my sister and I have always been very close. Growing up, I have always looked up to her – I still do. But you see, our dynamics go like this: she’s the caring older sister and I am the baby brother. She protects me from the monsters under my bed, but she won’t let me protect her…” Jin squeezed your hand when he heard you sniff. “But when Jin hyung came into our lives when we were little, I knew that I no longer had to worry about protecting my sister. Because Jin hyung would.” Jungkook cleared his throat as the tears started welling up in his eyes as well. “Hyung… today is an eventful day for you, but it also is for me. Today is the day when I would completely hand my sister over to you, to love and to take care of.”

With one hand on his chest and the other one holding yours, Jin nodded at Jungkook reassuringly, a silent promise that he would do just that.

“I better finish this before I start crying harder than the bride!” Jungkook exclaimed, which made the guests laugh. He looked back at Hoseok, who gave him an encouraging smile to continue. “Jin hyung! You’re the only person that my sister goes soft for. You make her laugh, you make her happy, you make her be the better version of herself.” Jungkook smiled at Jin sincerely. “I couldn’t have asked for a better brother in law than you.”

“Ahh! Thank you! Thank you, Jungkook-ah!” Jin’s tears were also threatening to fall, but he was quick to wipe them away.

“Hyung… My sister is the strongest. You know that right?”

“Yep!” Jin raised a thumb up.

“Noona, please do me a favor and lay one of your hands, palm flat down on the table,” your brother smiled at you sweetly. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint what’s going on in his brain. You pulled your hand from Jin’s hold to lay it flat on the table, like what Jungkkok asked you to do. “Perfect… now Jin hyung, please put your hand on top of hers on the table, too.” Jin followed suit, soothing your skin with his thumb as you made the contact. “Feels good, right?” Jungkook grinned.

Confused, you and Jin looked at each other. In your peripheral vision, you could see Taehyung, Rain, Miya and Jimin already laughing their asses off.

“Now, hyung…” Jungkook continued. “I want you to savor this moment right now, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Because this will be the first and last time in your marriage…” Jungkook let a few seconds pass, eyeing the guests who seemed to be waiting on the edge of their seats too. Jungkook continued, “The first and last time in your marriage that you’re gonna have the upperhand.”

Hoseok let out an obnoxious laugh behind him as the room erupted in laughter.

“Anyway, please make each other happy and make lots of babies! I love you both!” Jungkook raised his champagne flute, “To the newlyweds!”

Amidst the cheers and the sound of clinking glasses, Jin gently placed a hand behind your neck and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips.

[proserpina-magnus]

Hiii it’s me, the regulus simp again- back with another Regulus x fem!reader requestt where the reader has always wanted to play the piano, and the slytherin common room just happens to have one and Regulus just happens to know how to play the piano and she hears him playing so she comes to listen and she has synesthesia so she describes to him what she sees (like colors etc) andd maybe some ultra fluff where he tries to teach her to play it💖💖✨✨ also hope your day is going well and you’re drinking water and getting enough vitamin D because you’re important <3

I LOVED WRITING THIS, IT WAS SO CUTE. LITERALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING THIS ( it made me feel better after writing the angst fic ). Also, I hope you are eating and staying healthy and safe! xoxo.

One where he teaches you how to play the Piano

Word count: 2619

[ Warning: fem!reader, fluff, strangers to lovers, first kiss, some sexual tension (not really though), hand holding, petnames such as “love” and “pretty lady/girl” ]

You pressed your ear to the door, hearing the angelic music come from the piano in the Slytherin common room. You tried your best to stay away, but you somehow always made your way to listen outside the door.

The person who played always came to the piano after supper on Wednesday nights, occasionally they would come to play on the weekends as well. You never caught a glimpse of the person, you always ran off before they noticed you were there.

Here you were, ear pressing so close to the slightly opened room as you listened to the sweetest melody you have ever heard. Your brain fogged with clarity, it felt like paradise.

A smile tugged on your face, but it quickly fell when the door leaned forward and you came tumbling into the almost empty common room.

The walls were made of bricks, making you wonder what it would feel like to slide your fingers along the creases. Your knees hit the floor, hands extended as you hear a slight cracking noise. You cringe at this simple scenario you have fallen into, how could you have possibly been so naive and fall right through the door?

The piano came to a stop when you fell, the musician taking a look towards the intruder. You stare at the ground with wide eyes, feeling too embarrassed to look up at them.

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep and delicate, much how you imagined it would sound. You look up, realizing his voice wasn't the only thing delicate about him. His face was shaped like a god, high cheekbones with thinning plain lips. You took a moment to stare at his beauty, never knowing a person could look so lovely.

"Excuse me?" He repeated himself, standing from the oak bench. His hand came into view, you took his long fingers into yours, feeling him pull you up. His hand was cold to the touch, but it only reminded you of the snowy owls you see flying.

"I'm sorry, it's just you play the piano so well, I guess I got distracted and fell... through the door," you explained, embarrassed. You took your hand from his, looking around the space accompanying you both. Everyone was out for a Hogsmeade trip, but you had stayed because you heard the piano.

"Oh," he responded, you look back up towards him, noticing his taller height. You looked over his outfit, seeing his well-tailored fit. His shoes were sparkling, making you look at your own dusted ones.

"Do you play the piano?" The musician asked, trying to get you to stay and talk for a few more minutes. You looked back up, shaking your head sadly.

"I wish, I just never gotten the opportunity to learn," you tell him, looking towards the piano left unoccupied. He watched you, making you look up towards him.

"What is your name?" He asked, taking a step back to give you some room. You fiddled with your skirt.

" [ name ] [ last name ], and you?" You asked, your eyes continuing to look towards the empty piano. He followed your gaze, a small smile on his lips.

"I'm Regulus Black, would you like me to teach you how to play the piano?" Regulus asked, tilting his body to invite you towards the piano. You instantly took a step with him, both of you walking towards the bench. He sat first, patting the spot beside him.

"Will you?" You asked, an excited tone in your voice. He patted the seat again, giving you another small smile.

" Of course, I always have time for a pretty lady," Regulus replied, his words making your stomach flutter. You sank down onto the oak bench, your eyes never leaving his.

"I'm a complete amateur, I don't even know the chords," You reason with him, blinking your eyes as you look towards the piano keys.

"That's alright, we all start somewhere," Regulus says, his fingers placing themselves against the white keys, pressing them together to make an angelic sound. You're reminded of a viridian green from the nice tone.

"Here, place your fingers against these keys," Regulus explains, letting you raise your hands before taking your fingers and placing them against the keys. You eagerly press the key, a sage green colour filling your mind.

Regulus watched you with tender eyes, seeing as you got so fascinated with the small chord. You instantly pressed another one, trying to follow the same melodies he had showed you.

Your spine tingled when a horrible chord was pressed, making the melody remind you of the colour cinnamon brown. You scrunched your shoulders, pulling your fingers back.

"Hey, you've almost got it and I haven't even taught you yet, don't give up now," Regulus effused, his fingers gently grabbing yours as he placed them back over the keys.

He dragged your fingers through keys, playing the melody through you. You’re reminded of the viridian green again, seeing new colours flash through with each key being played.

"Your turn now," Regulus says, his fingers rest over yours for a while longer than normal, before tearing them away to place them on his knees. You give him a look, only being met with a comfortable expression.

You tap the keys slowly, remembering the colours and placements. Before you know it, you've completed a slowed version of the melody. Your heart jumps, excited to get it right.

"Yes, that's good! Your learning quicker than I thought, are you sure you've never played before?" He asked, leaning his head to the side. You watched his hair tilt with his head, gentle curls framing his face. You snap out of it, answering his question.

"I see colours, with each note. It's hard to explain, but when I hear things I get reminded of objects or colours, does that make sense?" You ask, feeling slightly exposed to admit your thought process. Regulus pressed his lips together, analyzing you. You feel stupid, but that feeling flows away with his next words.

"You have synesthesia?" Regulus concluded, but he asked it more like a question. You nodded your head, a small smile on your face.

"Yeah. You're familiar with the term?" You asked him, tilting your head back to the piano. Regulus kept looking at you, interpreting his final thoughts. Nothing terrible could ever possibly come from a person like her, Regulus concluded.

“I am. I heard a Professor mention it once, always stuck with me after,” Regulus explained, just as he finished talking, someone walked into the common room. You both turned your head to look, not realizing you had been infatuated with his eyes.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Slytherin teased, his eyes switching between the two of you in a suggested way. You turn your head slightly, a blush against your cheeks.

“Yes, you are,” Regulus stated plainly, flashing his eyes towards you. His hand came to your back, holding it gently. You couldn’t have flushed red any faster, your face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh,” The boy said, not expecting that response.

“It’s alright,” you chimed in, but the boy only waved his hand and walked towards the steps to the boy's dormitory. You felt foolish, you didn’t want to upset the boy.

“Don’t worry about him, he was teasing me, you’ve done nothing wrong, my love,” Regulus responded, turning his body back to face the piano, but he kept his gaze on you.

“You know him?” You perked up, looking up towards his eyes. He gave a smile, finding your embarrassed state adoring.

“Yes, he’s one of my dorm mates,” Regulus told you, leaning closer. His hand rubbed your lower back softly, soothing you.

“Oh, well that makes me feel better,” you retorted, eyes turning towards the piano. You placed your hands back onto the keys, giving him a side look. “May we continue?”

“Of course,” Regulus replied, his hand leaving your back. You felt cold without his hand but shook it off as you started to play the melody again. This time, you played it a bit quicker. You still missed some important keys, but Regulus just responded with a faint, “don’t worry, I know you’ll get it soon,”

“Can you explain what colours you see each note you play? He asked after you finished playing a slowed version of the melody. You nodded, moving your fingers to the first key.

“The thinner notes remind me of warm colours and the deeper notes are cold colours. For instance, this one reminds me of a pale yellow,” you say, pressing the higher sounding key. A ping sounded through the room before you moved your fingers to the second note.

“This one is... like a blue sky kind of colour,” You go on, explaining colour after colour. Before you know it, you reach the end of the melody.

“What does this note remind you of?” Regulus asked, pressing one of the deeper notes. You look at his dark green tie, wiggling your fingers to hold the thin material. You tug at his tie gently, signalling him to look towards it.

“It sounds like this colour,” You contort, smiling as you let go of his tie and use your palm to make it neat again. Regulus coughs from the back of his throat, shifting in his seat. You realize how insane you must be, touching the tie of a guy you just met.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you,” You say sheepishly. You look up towards Regulus, but he’s turned his head, you see the faint glow of a red on his cheeks. He brings his hand to hold his face, hiding it swiftly to try and calm himself.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles into his hand, he shivers before steadying himself. Regulus turns his head back, keeping his eyes away from yours.

A growing awkward silence fills the room, looking away from each other. You grab the oak bench cushions, pressing your feeling into it through your hands. You rock back slightly, but you feel him move closer to you, his arm brushed against yours.

“Do you think you’ve perfected the melody yet?” Regulus asked his sweaty hands on his knees. He rubbed his thighs, trying to wipe the sweat away. He felt like a nervous wreck.

“I think so,” you say, moving your hands as you place them against the starting keys. You wait for a second, before pressing the keys. You go on with the melody, getting each key right. Your fingers move over the white ivory keys, the viridian green filling your mind again.

“You’re so pretty,” Regulus lets the words slip out, his eyes filled with this type of adoration as he watches you. You snap your head to look towards him, gulping slightly. The melody falls short, your fingers stopping.

“I’m sorry, I should have said that,” Regulus quickly covers up, his ears red as he can’t keep his darkened eyes from yours.

“Not that you aren’t pretty, because you most definitely are! I just shouldn’t have told you, we’ve just met and I don’t want to be a creep,” Regulus goes onto explain, feeling embarrassed himself as he fumbled over his words.

“That’s okay! I don’t mind, I think you’re pretty as well,” You replied, looking over his sculpted features again. Regulus gave you a slanted look, he has never been called pretty before.

“I mean... handsome, you’re just really mesmerizing is what I mean,” you stumble over your words, feeling your ears start to heat up, the tips red.

“Thank you,” He responded, his body leaning closer to yours. He shakes out of it before he can lean any closer, your breath slipping from the shared moment. He turned back to the piano, placing his ring clasped fingers against the keys.

“Shall I teach you another melody?” Regulus asked, looking over. You nodded, sitting back into the backless bench. You watched as he looked towards the keys, eyes closed slightly. His eyelashes fell perfectly over his cheeks as he played the new melody.

Your mind flooded with the colour deep sea blue, the chords sounded so mellow. Once the melody came to an end, he turned to look towards you.

“It’s your turn now,” Regulus states, your fingers coming to replace his. You feel uncertain, you had been distracted by Regulus's beauty, you hadn’t watched his hand placement.

You press the first key, a deep sound flowing through you. The pleasant sounds didn't last long because you had played the wrong key, making the melody uneven. You give a sheepish look towards Regulus.

“It’s alright, let me take you through the placements again,” Regulus comforts quickly, his hands coming to rest over yours. He directs your fingers back to the starting keys. Regulus moves his body, tilting it weirdly.

“Here, let’s stand up,” He says, helping you stand before pushing the bench back to give you both room. His body comes behind yours, his hands placing yours back over the piano keys.

“Is this okay?” Regulus asks his whispers sending tingles through your spine. You nod slightly, your body leaning back into his. “Yes,”

Regulus starts to help you press the keys, taking you through the beautiful melody again. His hand are much bigger than yours, covering them from view. His cheek brushes against your hair, almost nuzzling closer to you.

When the melody ends, he stays still. You both don’t move, his hands over yours, his breath fanning over your ear in a calming way. Your heart beats faster, turning around slightly. Your lips part, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Can I kiss you?” Regulus whispered, his eyes switching between your eyes to your lips. You nod quickly, words getting stuck in your throat.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, watching as you close your eyes shut. You felt your face boil, feeling a nervous nausea wash over you.

His knuckle brushed your warm cheek, before his fingers cupping your jaw softly. You leaned up on your toes, your hand on his chest. Regulus pulled himself down, his lips meeting yours.

You leaned further on your toes, pressing yourself closer. It felt so new, being in this secret moment together made you pull him closer, wanting it to last forever.

He felt rich, the placement of his cold hands, the way his lips tasted like mint. you grabbed his coat, fingers squeezing around the fabric. You leaned back down, breaking the kiss. You let your eyes fall looking at his shiny shoes.

“Hey, look at me pretty girl,” Regulus said with a gentle voice, his fingers lifting your jaw. Your eyes met his again, your stomach filling with butterflies. He had a grin on his face, his once pale cheeks filled with colour.

“Would you like to go on a date with me? There is a wonderful restaurant just outside of Hogsmeade, I would like to converse with you more,” Regulus invited you. You nodded your head, feeling foolish once again for not using your words.

“I would love to,” you choked out, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling and neither could Regulus.

Regulus frowned when he took a look at his watch, he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I have to go, I’m meeting up with a professor,” Regulus said sadly, holding you close before letting you slip away from his hands. “I’ll see you on our date?”

“of course,” you agreed, watching as he gave a small gorgeous smile before slipping out of the Slytherin common room.

You sat on the nearby couch, resting your head in your hands as you let out a satisfied squeal. This day, could not have gone any better.

[fandomlit]

neutral, chap. 2 (dream smp x reader)

series summary (in game!au) when an exiled tommy finally rebels against a manipulative dream, he finds safety in neutral territory, a place owned and guarded by you. staying in your safe haven opens up the younger one’s eyes to your way of life, while also revealing your deeper past before neutral; a past that involved a war for your love.

chapter summary tommy learns a little bit more about your relationship with dream before spending his day with ghostbur, exploring neutral territory and learning of the war that sparked its creation.

warning mentions of war, violence, and injuries

previous | series masterlist | next

gif cred belongs to @chillcrafting

“you have a package, y/n!” ghostbur called out just as you placed tommy’s breakfast in front of him. the ghoul’s words went completely ignored by tommy, whose gaze was solely focused on the beautiful stack of pancakes placed in front of him.

y/n smiled to herself. “you can bring it in, bur. i know who it’s from.” she shuffled syrup and butter over to tommy just as ghostbur came in with the fateful package.

tommy was already half way through scarfing down the stack of pancakes when y/n managed to open the package, ghostbur gazing over her shoulder. she took out a note set atop of the contents.

she read aloud, “y/n, i’m sorry i haven’t properly stopped by in a while. my work requires much of my undivided attention right now, which i’m sure you understand. please work your magic for me with the clothes included, and i will be sure to drop by for them and a meal soon. there are a few extra gifts included for you. i hope tommy isn’t burdening you. signed dream.”

“i’m not a burden!” tommy spoke offendedly through a mouthful of pancakes.

“you’re right, tommy,” y/n hummed, handing him a napkin to wipe some syrup off of his chin. “you’re perfect company.” tommy smiled to himself as he finished off his stack of pancakes. y/n sighed to herself, “clay really knows how to ruin a good piece of clothing..”

“so you and dream are close, y/n?” tommy grumbled, picking up his glass of milk.

she shrugged. “as close as you can be with someone you barely see.” she placed his battered clothes to the side, sighing again when she saw the rest of the contents of the box. tommy didn’t realize this, continuing with his questions.

“i remember that he respected your territory when he stepped into it,” he recalled. “he was going to kill me, but then he realized he was in neutral.”

y/n nodded. “when i made claimed this territory as neutral, i made a deal with everyone: i would mend and tailor anything you needed as long as you respected my territory as neutral.” she held up a box of diamonds and a smaller box of netherite to tommy’s view, making his mouth drop open with surprise. y/n held out another napkin to him for the milk that had sputtered out of his open mouth while ghostbur laughed into his hand. “clay is the only one who still tries to pay me.”

“with netherite?!” tommy exclaimed, letting out a surprised laugh.

y/n shrugged, seemingly not phased by the generous gift. “the nether..” she shook her head, placing the valuable materials onto the table, “is not a place i like to go. and most of this will probably be going toward dream’s armor, anyway.” she sighed, placing the gifts back into the box and laying the tattered shirts on top of them. “trust me, he’s still too kind for his own good with these sorts of materials.”

“how much netherite does that man have?” ghostbur scoffed, looking at how much was contained in the box.

“probably quadruple that amount,” y/n chuckled. “he has far too much free time.”

“and he doesn’t even spend it with you,” ghostbur sighed, shaking his head with a goofy smile.

“i know!” y/n spoke sarcastically before laughing out. she closed the box and set it under the table. “i’ll deal with that later. do you want any more pancakes, tommy?”

“no, i’m stuffed,” the teen yawned. “but thank you.”

she nodded. “well, then how about ghostbur shows you around the territory today?”

the boys perked up immediately. “really?”

“yeah,” she laughed, taking tommy’s empty plate. “you two can take the day to explore and have fun. go be a kid, kid.”

tommy excitedly looked up to his ghost friend. “fancy a game of ultimate tag?”

“you’re gonna get crushed,” ghostbur laughed before they both ran out of the house, laughing. y/n smiled.

“oh! i should make them lunch..”

...

“how big is this place?” tommy laughed after a few rounds of tag. they had found their way to a pond in a forested area, tommy deciding his knee needed a break after all of their running. 

“it’s bigger than you think,” ghostbur assured, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from the water as they sat along the small shore. “y/n claimed the territory before l’manberg, so there really wasn’t any need for a turf war of any sorts for what she settled.”

“how long has she lived here?” tommy questioned.

ghostbur shrugged. “almost two years, i think. she’s made quite the life for herself since.” more to himself, he muttered, “god, has it really been that long since it happened?”

“since what happened?” tommy asked, leaning closer to his friend with sparkling, curious eyes.

ghostbur sighed, “i’ll admit, i don’t remember too much.. but i know there was a fight. one of the first wars of our time, and it was all over y/n.”

“they were fighting for her?” tommy spoke with confusion. “she’s not an object.”

“very good, tommy,” ghostbur prided, patting his friend on the shoulder. “you’re right, she’s not. that’s why y/n left her original home and sought to create neutral territory; to end the fighting and create a place where peace could reign. in exchange, she’d offer her goods and services.”

“so they were fighting over her for her skills,” tommy understood. ghostbur made a face. “..or not?”

“both sides obviously wanted her skills, but i think y/n tends to neglect the fact that they were all madly in love with her,” ghostbur sighed, shaking his head.

tommy raised his eyebrows. “a crime of passion, eh?” he joked, making them both laugh out before he asked, “who was it?”

“let me think,” ghostbur sighed, tapping his chin. “i know one was dream, but the other.. i think it was-”

“boys! lunch is ready when you are!”

tommy turned back to ghostbur. “well? who?”

ghostbur shook his head. “sorry, tommy, i don’t remember that far. that’s as much as i can tell you.”

tommy couldn’t help but fel disappointed, but he knew he couldn’t blame his friend. “that’s alright, ghostbur. let’s go get lunch before y/n comes looking for us.”

...

after lunch and an insistent rematch of tag, ghostbur and tommy made their way to the organized garden area.

“y/n grows anything you can imagine,” ghostbur bragged as tommy marveled as the fluorescent, beautifully natural area. “she’s been to nearly every biome to complete her garden.”

“you can grow cocoa?!” tommy exclaimed when he finally spotted y/n, who was swinging an axe at a low jungle tree.

“y/n found a way,” ghostbur shrugged, guiding tommy over to her. “hey, y/n!”

“hi, boys,” she smiled, plucking off the plant she had loosened from the tree. “was lunch good? im sorry i didn’t stay and chat.”

“it was delicious,” ghostbur complimented, tommy nodding in agreement as his mind drifted back to the mouth watering coleslaw and toasted sandwiches she had prepared.

“that’s good!” she smiled, placing the cocoa plant on the ground. “you boys may want to step back.” they did as told as y/n swung her axe over her head, splitting the cocoa clean in half and revealing the delicious beans inside of it. “voila!”

ghostbur clapped politely. “thank you,” y/n laughed, dropping her axe and picking up the split plant. “would you boys like a sample?”

“sure,” tommy shrugged, stepping forward with ghostbur. he picked out a few beans before popping them into his mouth. breaking through the semi-tough shell, the delicious, dark taste flooded his taste buds and made him nearly moan, as y/n’s food often did. he and ghostbur shared a look of satisfaction before he voiced, “oh, y/n.. they’re perfect.”

“that’s good,” she laughed before nudging her bucket closer to her and scooping the seeds out into it. “how has your day around the territory been?”

“entertaining,” tommy spoke before asking, “how did you get into gardening, y/n?”

y/n gave ghostbur a knowing smile before she answered the younger boy’s question, “i was tired of eating only meat and bread. gardening was a way to expand my diet to more than just carbs and proteins. also, it’s very calming.” they followed when she hiked up her bucket and moved to the next jungle tree.

“is it?” tommy questioned.

she affirmed with a nod. “it’s nice to be able to spend a day tending to things you made. the fruits of your own harvest are the sweetest, they say.” they watched as she knocked down another cocoa plant.

“they are,” tommy nodded solemnly, his mind drifting to a sadder, more familiar place. “that’s why i miss l’manberg.”

y/n was barely surprised by the boy’s open confession. she tossed her axe down again, going to place a hand on tommy’s shoulder. “i know you do, tommy, and i know it’s rough right now. but what we’re playing here is a waiting game; we’re waiting for a safe opportunity to get you home, and in the meantime, i’ll take care of you, kid.”

tommy offered you another nod and a smile. “we?”

y/n gave him a kind grin. “im going to help you as best as i can from where i am. and i know that’s not much from me, but i know that everyone deserves a home that they love. and you can’t get there alone, kid.”

“you’re right about that,” tommy sighed before looking into her kind eyes. “thank you, y/n. your help means a lot.”

she squeezed his shoulder. “of course, tommy. you and ghostbur go explore some more; try to keep your mind on the things you can control.” she picked her axe back up.

tommy looked to the pitying ghoul beside him before looking back to y/n, a new thought fresh in his mind. “can you teach me how to cook?”

y/n grinned as she lifted her axe over her head again. “of course i can, tommy.”

tommy smiled as she cracked open the plant. he looked back to ghostbur. “wanna go for a swim?” the ghost shot him a fearful look. “im kidding! im kidding, let’s go use some pigs for target practice.” they both began to walk off, chatting and giggling before tommy turned and called, “y/n!” she looked up attentively. “what’s for dinner?”

she smiled. “i was thinking ribs!”

tommy’s mouth watered at the thought. “oh my god, i can’t wait to learn how to cook..”

tag list!! @vanhakirja @victory-is-here @inkyynki @airiour @sylum @kiritokunuwu @221bee-slytherin @bllatrixcarpnter @soullesstaco @stxrryb1tch​ comment below or message me if you would like to be added <3

[erensangel444]

i see the love in her eyes

please dni if not 18+ thank u!

jean x reader x connie

modern!au

the title is inspired by swimming pools by kendrick lamar

this blurb is jean + connie x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions, if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this blurb has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

i saw a tiktok talking about being sandwiched between these two while swimming pools by kendrick lamar is playing: [@armins.sea.shell420] and y’all know a bitch jumped at the opportunity😁

a/n: i have so much love for jean and connie, they are my favorite duo. this fic is appreciation for them, JEAN AND CONNIE SUPREMACY! also two aot episodes tomorrow!!(that’s if i finish writing this fic right now, it’s currently 3:43 AM)

edit: it is now 5:17 AM and i need to go to bed, be back later:D 

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain explicit language), alcohol consumption, smut: light public sex, slapping(very slight, only once, consensual), oral(fem and male!receiving), degradation + praise, unprotected sex w/ creampie, voyeurism, threesome.

word count: 3.8k words

summary: somehow, on a friday night, you found yourself in sigma phi’s frat house, sipping on a smirnoff ice. it’d be nice to have someone to keep you company. two’s a party, but three’s a riot.

i was in the dark room, loud tunes, looking to make a vow soon...

you don’t know why you let ymir and historia convince you to come to the party tonight. one; you hated frat houses, and two; you knew they’d leave you mid-way through to go makeout against some wall. yet, you fell victim to historia’s sweet smile and ymir’s threatening glare.

so, you obliged. you put on the tightest bodycon dress in your closet, applied a subtle gloss to your lips, sighing through the entire ordeal. the frat house was packed, as it was almost every friday night. clearly the party had already started, the dude hurling his guts out on the front porch a telltale sign. disgusting.

sliding through the mass of sweaty bodies, cringing at the shirt that you brushed up against that was slightly too damp, you finally made your way into the kitchen, grabbing a smirnoff out of a bucket filled with ice. 

upon trying to make your way out of a kitchen, a guy offered to give you a sip of svedka that was ‘just up in my room’. you firmly declined, pushing past him and making your way out of the kitchen.

you made your way back over to ymir and historia, hanging towards the wall, distancing yourselves from the mosh pit in the center of the room. eventually historia and ymir left to ‘go to the bathroom real quick’, your eyes rolling at the obvious lie.

though sometimes the way they were so in love bothered you, it was also adorable. at this moment, it bothered you immensely, their love being the cause of you leaning on a wall, all alone. 

“hey,” you heard a voice from beside you, turning at the noise. “jean, hey,” you said softly, attempting to mask your enthusiasm. jean was in your psychology 101 class, and whenever that class was on your roster, you couldn’t help but look forward to it. 

during lectures you’d catch yourself staring at jean for too long, your thoughts starting to drift into a not-so-class-appropriate place. the slew of dirty thoughts would cause you to look around the room at your classmates, worried that they knew what you were thinking.

could anyone really blame you though? anyone who knew jean could admit that he was nothing short of gorgeous. you were once partnered up with him for a project in class, and you couldn’t help but stare at his fingers as he moved the pencil across his page. seeing those same fingers wrapped around a beer bottle...how you wished they were inside of you.

you stopped yourself at the thought, looking up to meet jean’s eyes. “are you here with anyone?” jean asked, a soft smile on his face as he brought the beer bottle up to his lips. “i came with ymir and historia,” you started, “that should be enough of an explanation on why i’m all alone now,”. 

jean laughed, ymir and historia’s obsession with one another being wide-spread knowledge across campus. his laugh made you smile, you wanted to make him laugh more. “yeah i came with a friend too, he’s probably passed out in the backyard by now though,”. you laughed softly at that, jean grinning at the fact that you liked his simple joke.

the song had shifted to mo bamba, the mosh-pit in the center of the room growing more intense. you and jean eyed the movement for a moment, before turning back to one another.

one simple question about psychology class had drifted into a playful argument about the love triangle in the vampire diaries. “delena, always,” you rolled your eyes, smiling at jean. “put some respect on my boy stefan,” jean sighed, mocking exasperation.

before you could continue, a figure landed beside you and jean. “man, i’ve been looking for you!” the stranger yelled, his hand on jean’s shoulder. “i’ve been here,” jean said plainly, scoffing, but smiling at who you presumed to be his friend. 

“so what girl talk is going on over here,” the boy said. you noted his appearance, he was similar to jean in height, a little shorter than him, but he was very similar in how good he looked. you forcefully shifted your brain back to the conversation at hand as jean spoke, “you sound like a fuckin’ douche when you say shit like that,” jean huffed, “what girl talk, meh meh” he continued, mocking his friend.

jean’s friend hit him in the shoulder, jean hitting him back. “why don’t you introduce me, jean? talking to a pretty girl all by yourself, didn’t even think to tell me,” the boy said, your cheeks heating up at his words. jean glared at him before mumbling, “i swear to fuckin-” “what was that?” his friend interuppted, jean’s glare intensifying.

“this is y/n, she’s in my psych class,” jean said, his eyes burning holes into your face. “y/n! nice to meet you, i’m connie,” jean’s friend said. connie, it was nice to put a name to the face. 

“if we’re gonna have a proper friendship, it needs an amazing start,” connie announced, before yelling out “shots!”

connie’s fists slammed down on the counter, once, twice, three times, before you grabbed your shot glass, bringing the glass up to your lips before swallowing the liquid down. 

“woo!” jean yelped as you chuckled, the alcohol giving a subtle tingle in your throat. “two down, twenty more to go,” connie cheered. “twenty?” you joked, “you’re on your own for that one,” connie grinned at you. 

“one more!” you offered, jean smiling at you as he grabbed the tequila, sloppily pouring it into all three shot glasses. “speech! speech!” connie joked, his eyes yet to leave you. “to getting absolutely fucking wasted,” you grinned. “amen to that,” the shot glasses lightly clinking against one another. 

and, that was what you did, got wasted. you weren’t at a blackout-level, you still had your wits about you, but you couldn’t seem to find the will to care, or the will to force yourself outside of the group of sweaty bodies as you bounced up and down to the beat of the song.

somewhere in between the shots, connie showing you how he could tie a cherry stem with his tongue, and jean almost falling off of his barstool, the three of you had navigated your way back into the main room.

the previous song, the one you had been dancing to, slowly changed into something slower. you recognized the tune to be swimming pools, your rapid movements slowing as your body became rigid for a moment.

the rigidness of your figure increased as you felt hands on your hips, yet the stiffness flushed from your body as you turned around to be met by jean’s face. something new had glossed over his eyes, something you recognized but had never seen on him. you liked it.

“hey,” connie interrupted, “don’t leave me out,” his hands drifting to your hips, sitting directly below jean’s. you gasped slightly, your eyes widening as you looked at connie. you turned back to look at jean, the lust behind his stare yet to leave. neither of them seemed too bothered by the other, so you went with it. 

why you babysitting only two or three shots...

you threw your head back into the junction of jean’s neck and shoulder, reeling at the feeling of jean pressing against your backside, connie against your front. you felt a hand on your chin, your vision shifting from the ceiling to connie’s face in front of you. “should look at me instead,” he rasped, “wanna see how pretty you look for me, for us,” his words adding fuel to the fire burning inside of you. 

pour up, drank, head shot, drank...

you began to grind harder against jean’s hips, a soft groan sounding from behind you. “fuck,” you sighed, both jean and connie audibly showing the effect the word falling from your mouth had on them, the desperation laced within the simple word causing their pants to grow tighter. 

“we gotta go,” jean spoke from behind you, connie nodding in agreement. “ya wanna go, wanna come back with us?” connie asked, his fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your bare thigh. you nodded enthusiastically, a small ‘yes’ falling from your lips.

hearing your confirmation, jean pushed connie to head towards the entrance, his hand holding on to your wrist. connie already had his phone out, the uber screen lighting up his device.

“connie?” the uber driver asked, connie nodding for a moment too long before jean opened up the backseat car door, holding it open for you to get inside. you thanked him, connie jogging behind the car to enter on the other side.

the uber was set up like a taxi, the front seat separated from the back, the partition open. “i’ve got water back there if you guys needed,” the driver offered, smiling through the rear view before flipping the car into ignition.

you all muttered out a thanks, the arousal thrumming inside of your bodies consuming all rationale and thoughts. feeling two hands on each respective thigh, your eyes immediately drifted down to your legs.

jean’s hand was gripping at your right thigh, connie’s fingers gently tracing up and down your left. you looked up at both of them, the two already sharing a knowing look. their hands began to trail further up your thigh, your bottom lip now held between your teeth. 

jean touched you first, his pointer finger eliciting feather-light touches on your panty-clad entrance. connie’s hand began to move more intently on your thigh, gripping at the skin before letting go and rubbing soft circles into the area. 

jean pulled your panties to the side, running a finger through the slick of your arousal before sighing airily. “everything alright?” the driver asked, eyeing you through the rear view mirror. all three of your heads shot up, jean’s hand moving up towards your clit.

he was going to be the death of you. “yep, all good,” you hummed. jean removed his thumb from your clit and you held back from whimpering at the loss of contact.

connie placed a soft kiss on your neck, before moving up to your ear and whispering, “yeah, is everything alright?” his hand on your thigh shifting to your center. you turned to jean who’s thumb was in his mouth as he leaned against the window, eyeing you as connie ran two fingers through your slit.

removing his fingers, connie brought them up to his mouth, licking at them as he stared at you, not daring to break eye contact. the lewdness made you blush, your panties becoming wetter. 

“taste good huh?” jean spoke to connie looking right past you. “so good,” connie sighed. “want more, feel like i can’t fuckin’ wait anymore,” jean whispered, his eyes back on you.

“5 minutes!” the uber driver, unknowingly, interrupted. jean let out a thanks, his hand falling back to your thigh, connie’s hand resuming the tracing of patterns against your skin.

as soon as jean unlocked the door to his apartment, it was like unlocking the door to a world of pleasure. lips locked onto your neck, nipping at your jaw. jean grabbed your head, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before softly leading you towards the bed, your knees buckling as they met the mattress.

jean pulled away as you laid on the bed, tugging off his shirt. connie had beat him to the punch, already shirtless, his fingers toying with the button of his pants. jean knelt down on the floor, his face level with your cloth covered center.

you shut your eyes in anticipation, hearing shuffling behind you, the sound being connie moving to the other side of the bed. jean ran a finger over the wet patch of your panties, a soft whimper sounding throughout the room. 

“connie lean up on the headboard,” jean said plainly. connie got on to the bed, sliding back until his back met the wooden headboard. jean grabbed at your hips, sitting you between connie’s legs as he positioned himself to lay flat on the bed, in between your legs.

“i think she’s wearing too much, don’t you think so jean?” connie spoke, jean humming out an agreement, his hands playing with the hem of your panties as connie’s reached for the bottom of your dress that had rolled up on your hips. you lifted your arms up, connie pulling the dress off of your body and throwing it across the room.

too preoccupied with helping connie remove the clothing from your body, you hadn’t realize jean was tugging your panties down your thighs until you felt his finger run through your slit, throwing your head back into connie’s shoulder at the feeling.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” jean sighed, his fingers toying with the arousal collected at your center. you whimpered at his words, jean��s fingers finding purchase on your clit, rubbing soft circles on the bundle. you pushed back into connie’s figure, his bulge pushing against your back.

“she’s so sensitive,” connie teased, his hands falling down to your breasts, flicking at your nipples. “i know,” jean whispered, looking up at you with a smirk. “can i finally get a taste now?” jean asked, his eyes yet to break contact with yours. you nodded, your mouth wide open as you watched jean’s mouth attach to your center, sucking at your clit.

with his eyes still locked with yours, jean sucked harshly at your clit, his fingers toying with your entrance. “fuck!” you moaned airily, connie’s hand grabbing at your breasts rougher now. “you like it?” connie whispered in your ear, “is he making you feel good?”. his hand grabbed at your chin, turning you to look back at him, your neck craning. 

he kissed you softly, lightly moaning at the initial contact. eventually the kiss became more passionate, in tune with jean’s intensity on your center. his fingers had slipped into you, curling and hitting that sweet spot, his tongue licking relentlessly at your bundle of nerves. 

connie pulled away from you, one of his hands drifting back down to your breast and delivering a harsh slap. you moaned loudly, reeling at the harsh contact on your skin. “so-so close!” you whimpered, jeans finger’s moving faster inside of you, his words muffled by your clit, “yeah, gonna cum for us? you like getting hit?”. “such a little slut,” connie continued, “come on, show us,”.

their words mixed with jean’s tongue and fingers sent you over the edge, your orgasm sending shock waves to your system. jean continued softly licking at your clit until your hands tugged at his hair harder, your hips squirming. 

as jean pulled away, you noted the arousal on the bottom half of his cheeks, and on the tip of his nose, the sight making you blush profusely. before you embarrassment could consume you, connie’s voice sounded throughout the room, “i get to be inside of her first!” softly lifting you and setting you beside him. “like hell you do!” jean stood up from the bed, pushing at connie’s shoulder.

the sight in front of you made you laugh softly, both connie and jean turning towards you. jean’s expression became sheepish, his hand rubbing at his neck while connie just grinned at you. he grabbed at your ankles before flipping you over, ass up. “on all fours,” he stated, positioning himself behind you.

connie continued talking, the head of his cock rubbing at your slit, “why don’t ya help out jean too, he could use it, he’s got a stick up his ass or something i swear t-” “hey!”. connie laughed at jean’s response, his laughter quickly shifting into a groan as he pushed inside of you. 

you bit your lip, the stretch of connie’s cock giving a slight burn to your entrance. before you could focus on the pain, and the slight pleasure that accompanied it, jean’s cock was in front of you. 

you looked up at jean, his eyes glazed over, his expression so different from the one at the party. you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, licking at the tip, soft whimpers flowing from your mouth as connie began to thrust in and out of you. 

jean threw his head back as you wrapped your lips around his cock, bobbing your head on his length. “god da-oh!” connie moaned from behind you, pushing inside of you rougher now, a harshness accompanying his thrust. “so-so big!” you moaned at the feeling of connie inside of you, his cock brushing against your walls. 

you diverted your attention back to jean, your hands meandering their way to his balls. jean was moaning now, the soft whimpers from before gone. connie’s pleasure was audible from behind you, loud grunts and groans sounding alongside the sound of skin on skin. 

suddenly, a hand barreled down onto your ass, roughly hitting the skin. you lurched forward at the feeling, taking jean’s cock deeper inside of your mouth, gagging once at the intrusion before pulling away. jean was looking down at you, his jaw slack as his thumb rubbed at your cheek. “fuck, spank her again,” jean said without breaking eye contact with you.

you braced yourself for the pain, the pain that you welcomed, the sound of connie’s hand on your skin resonating throughout the room. “oh!” you moaned, your hand pausing in moving up and down jean’s length. “gonna- gonna cum!” connie moaned, his hips staggering behind you. 

your hand drifted down to your clit, rubbing quick circles, as you were eager for orgasm. “need you to cum first, please you gotta, i need to-” connie began rumbling, his rant cut short by your loud moan as you came, your walls clenching around him causing connie to groan loudly.

he pulled out abruptly, the peak of your orgasm dying down. you turned back to look at him, your eyes meeting his before looking down at his hand jerking off his cock. you looked back up at him, whimpering out a soft ‘please’, connie’s eyebrows furrowing and his mouth widening into an o as he came, the white liquid painting your lower back. “f-fuck,” he sighed, panting behind you. 

you sat on your knees on the bed, looking up at jean as connie laid down on the bed. “you good bro?” jean joked, causing you to laugh before lying down next to connie and catching your breath. 

“gimme,” connie panted, “give me a few minutes, fuck, feel like i just ran a 5k”. both you and jean laughed as you stood up from the bed, standing next to jean. you reached for the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss. you whimpered into his lips, and as you pulled away a string of saliva connected your lips to his. 

“on second thought,” connie interrupted the stare between you and jean, “that was hot, and i can definitely go for another one,” you grinned down at connie, before pushing jean softly on to the bed, his feet still on the hardwood floor.

“wanna take care of you,” you said softly to jean, your hand tracing over his chest. “i’m all yours,” jean said breathlessly. you smiled down at him, your hand at the base of his cock as you positioned the tip of your entrance.

sliding down his length slowly, you whined at the stretch. reaching the base, you paused for a moment, panting into jean’s shoulder. you could feel jean’s breath on your neck, his hand on your ass, gripping at the skin. 

“gonna make you feel so good,” you asserted, beginning to lightly bounce up and down jean’s cock. “you l-look so pretty,” jean sighed, his eyes drifting from your breasts to your face. his words made you bounce faster, reveling in the brush of his skin against your clit and the feel of his cock pushing deep inside of you. 

jean pulled you in for a kiss, the pair of you moaning into it. you pulled away at the sound of a moan behind you, looking over jean’s shoulder to see connie leaning against the headboard, his hand leisurely stroking his cock. you moaned at the sight, connie’s eyes opening and meeting yours as he smiled at you. 

“you like it huh?” connie spoke, his voice deep, “like knowing you already got me hard again,” you threw your head back at the feel of jean’s cock and connie’s words. “moaning so pretty, jean feel good inside of you? huh? like him deep inside of you?” you whimpered, grinding on jean’s cock. 

“g-gonna cum!” you yelped. jean took your word’s as initiative, thrusting up into you, his hands gripping at your hips roughly. he manhandled you on his cock, lifting you up and down his length until you reached that point of no return, your orgasm washing over you as you came on his cock. 

“f-fuck!” jean all but shouted, thrusting up into you faster now. “c-can i cum inside?” jean asked, his eyes so wide as he peered up at you. “w-wanna fill you up!” “please!” you moaned in reply, your pleasure increasing tenfold due to the overstimulation. 

“g-god i’m gonna-” jean moaned loudly, his movements staggering. “oh gon-ah!” jean groaned, his cum shooting inside you, the liquid warm. he panted into your shoulder as you clung to his figure.  you looked back to see connie’s stomach coated in cum, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“fuck,” you sighed, reluctant to move away from jean, reveling in the warmth from his body. you lifted yourself off of jean’s cock, reluctantly nonetheless, wincing at the pain from the stretch and the sensitivity due to your previous orgasms.

connie held his hand out for jean, his fist clenched. jean rolled his eyes at him,  “you’re ruining it, connie,” but fist bumped him nonetheless. jean began to rub softly at your skin, his finger nails tracing over your stomach. “shower?” jean offered as you nodded softly.

after pushing jean and connie out of the bathroom so you could pee, the three of you packed into jean’s shower. jean’s shower head was a wide one that hung from the ceiling, the water cascading over your bodies. steam quickly filled the bathroom, sloppy kisses being shared between the three of you, numerous kisses being littered on your body.

once back in jean’s room, he threw you a shirt, connie throwing on a pair of sweats that he had left at jean’s a while back. once in bed, you sighed, comfortable in between the two boys, content with where you were. 

“connie,” jean broke the soft silence, “if your feet touch me one more time, i’m gonna fuckin kill you,” 

fin

i hope you guys enjoyed this fic!! jean and connie are my favs<3 actual heart eyes for them. this is out later than i had initially planned, so i apologize for that :(

thank you for reading!! love u so much and you’re doing amazing:-)

edit: LMAO Y'ALL- i forgot to put tags and i was wondering why the fic was getting like no notes and then i was like oh😀

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

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

“Would you like me to show you around?”

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

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

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

“What sort of business?”

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

“Flowers?”

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

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

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

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

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

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

“Um,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

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

“I heard,”

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

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

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

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

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

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

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

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

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

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

Gorgeous.

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

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

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

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

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian

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

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

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

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

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

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

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

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

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

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

Elain giggled.

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

“Only just.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting.

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

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

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You are welcome, by the way,”

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

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

He shouldn’t have asked her.

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

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

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

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

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use you?”

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

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

“I am not a flower expert,”

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

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

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

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

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

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

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

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

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

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

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

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

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

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

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

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

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

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

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

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

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

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

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

“I can take an Uber,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

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

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The third.”

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

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

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

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

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

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

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

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

Elain

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

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

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

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

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

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

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

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

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

She wanted to cry.

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

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

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

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

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

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

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

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

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

“Why?”

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

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

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

He sat up and rolled his neck.

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

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

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

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

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

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

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

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

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

She blinked at him.

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

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

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

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

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

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

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

“Cass?” she smiled.

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

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

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

He then asked, “coffee?”

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

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

“This is what you drink?”

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

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

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

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

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

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

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

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

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-uh.”

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

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

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

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

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

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

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

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

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

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

“So confident, ombre?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now

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

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

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

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

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

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

 Azriel

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

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

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

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

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

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

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

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

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

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

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

Well, they liked it.

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

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

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

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

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

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

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

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

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

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

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

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

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

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

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

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

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

 Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Now

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

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

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

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

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

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

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

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

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

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

“Naughty.”

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

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

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

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

“Like it? I love it!”

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

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

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

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

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

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

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

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

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

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

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please what?”

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

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

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

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

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

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

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

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

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

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

He stilled, waiting for more.

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

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

[sinswithpleasure]

The Playgirl (ft. LOONA’s Yves) [Part 3] [Female Reader]

—————

I’m back with part 3!

I know I said I’d start mentioning Yves being futa here, but welp, I doubt it’d be out until Part 6-8?

If you prefer, this is also on AO3 and AFF!

Thanks to @existslikepristin​ and @ggidolsmuts​ for editing / beta reading!

—————

Another month passes.

Yves has been improving a lot, and you're teaching her more than just math. Even on weekends, she requests tutoring, and both of you work on projects or study together, be it at Seoul U's cafe or in empty classrooms.

Two months since you began tutoring her, about one month since you took up her deal. Something in Yves shifts—when she began studying, it was out of just competitive spirit. Now, she seems to truly like what she's doing, and you can't help but to let yourself enjoy the sight of this Yves. She turns up to school a little more regularly, though she still comes to terrorize people. She doesn't go out to parties as much, choosing instead to hang with you. The attention you get from her feels like too much and not enough at the same time. 

Other than being your student, Yves becomes somewhat of a regular fixture in your life. She still frustrates you—her semi-regular absences from school are met with your nagging and her regular dismissal, her constant nonchalance about how she carries herself still annoys you, and she still constantly flirts with you. That last point is also part of the reason why she is kind of a welcome presence in your life. If she isn't present in school, she will be seen leaning against a wall after class, leather jacket over her shoulders, your favourite mocha frappe in her hands. If she doesn't turn up for a tutoring session, she drops a call and apologizes, then makes it up to you with your favourite dessert next session. On the regular, she always has a compliment or a greasy remark tailored for you on hand, both making you groan and internally panic simultaneously.

It doesn't help that she keeps getting prettier, at least to you. Every day, her empty desk taunts you. Sometimes, you wish she was next to you, lollipop in her mouth, gazing at you and flirting with you. Your heart skips a beat when she pushes herself off the wall to wrap an arm around your shoulder, waving the frappe in front of your face with a "Hey, babygirl" . You look forward to the text exchanges with her every night, where both of you can text for hours. You adore her lip bites when she is focused on something, her soft "Assa!" when she gets something right.

Perhaps your crush on her is starting to get out of hand, but you don't want it to end. 

-----

Your phone rings. Caller ID: yves 💘

"Yo, babygirl."

"Don't—ah, nevermind."

"The cafe's closed today. Wanna come over to my place?"

"What?"

"My place. Come over."

"Oh, um…"

"Text me your address. I'll pick you up."

"Okay."

When Yves hangs up, you panic. Her place? You'll get to see how she lives? Her private space? What?! You fire off a text to Yves, then you carry on panicking.

[yves💘 has sent a message:]

Gotchu

I'll see you in 15, babygirl

Can't wait ;)

-----

Yves's place is cozy. For someone so punk rock, her place looks so homely, so full of life. However, Yves lives alone. Weird, considering there's a lot of stuff that is placed neatly on tables and shelves, too much for one person to use. 

"Welcome to my humble abode, babygirl." Yves curtsies, flashing you her dazzling smile. You place your bag down on the couch in her living room, rummaging to find what you need.

"Hey, would you mind if I went for a shower first? I've had a busy morning."

"Oh, no, sure. Go ahead."

"Right, thanks babe."

Yves leaves. In the meantime, you wander around her living room, glancing at the items on her shelves. A vintage tea set, a back scratcher, and an old camera? Those look pretty cool. Beneath that, another shelf holds a few old DVD cases, each of some old music from the 70s and 80s. Also, are those cassette tapes? You pick each one up, getting a feel of them in your hands. Damn, these are cool.

You wander along the hallways. When you pass by the bathroom, you can hear the water running. Suddenly, you’re hit with intrusive thoughts, all of them about Yves.

Your crush. Just a handful of metres away from you. Undressing. Naked. Under the shower. Water running down her bare skin, maybe over those chiseled abs of hers? Her naked chest, her legs?

You return to her couch, collapsing on it, trying to fight the dirtier thoughts in your head.

You sink your face in your hands, groaning at the thought of a naked Yves. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last, but it sucks to be thinking of something inappropriate when the time isn't right. The gulps of water you inhale don't quench the correct thirst, but at least it does something.

"Hey baby."

Yves's voice makes you jump. The cutest girl ever greets your eyes, with a look that you never thought she'd rock. That same girl has her head bowed, a sheepish smile on her face, her hand moving to tuck some hair behind her ear.

She looks gorgeous.

Her wet hair, formerly slicked back, now falls over her forehead, forming cute bangs. Her  leather jackets and crop tops are traded for a cozy oversized long-sleeved sweater that engulfs her body, giving her sweater paws. Yves pairs that with sweatpants, and a cute pair of bunny slippers. 

She looks so cute and all you want to do is to mash her lips with yours.

You gasp, freezing. Yves walks over to you, planting her books on the table, refusing to meet your eyes. She grins when she finally looks at you though.

"How do I look?"

"Ah, um, er…" You stammer, unable to process the sight of the punk rock, cool, bad girl Yves now looking like a girly, adorable cutie. This wasn't Yves, this was just Ha Sooyoung. 

"You… you look, er, good," you breathe.

Yves halts, red starting to colour her ears. She looks away, seemingly wiping at her face with one of her sleeves.

"Thank you." Her voice is tiny, tinier than usual. You want to hug her but you control yourself, settling to admire how she looks instead. She looks so pretty, so fucking pretty, and you wonder why she doesn't look like this on the regular. Maybe she's letting you see her more private, intimate side. Maybe she somehow found out you quite like this style. Whatever the reason is, it's working. How do you even continue to function today, now that you've seen Yves look like this?

You love this Yves— no, this is Ha Sooyoung, you hastily remind yourself. She looks so domestic, so cute, so… girlfriend? You want to glomp her, and that urge is increasingly hard to control.

"Let's begin."

"O-Okay."

Both of you slip into your roles as teacher and student. For Yves, it’s seamless, but for you, you struggle to do so. The student herself is a distraction.

The session begins.

-----

"Stay for dinner, babe?"

Yves rises from her chair, walking over to her kitchen. She begins pulling stuff out of her fridge and cabinets, setting them on the table. 

"Oh, sure."

You sink yourself on a dining chair as Yves ties an apron around her neck. She begins work on chopping up some garlic and onions, and you let yourself just… look at her. 

She looks so cool, so domestic, so beautiful as she works on whatever it is. You can't help but fall harder for her, and you let yourself gaze lovingly stare at her.

"You're staring, babygirl."

"Ummfhhhdgh!" You stammer, hastily looking away to pretend you weren't. You drum your fingers on the table, shifting around on your seat to distract yourself from Yves's eyes. 

"Uh-uh, you don't get to hide now." Yves tilts your chin up with her finger, her eyes locked onto yours, her lips inches from yours. This is the umpteenth time Yves has had you in kissing range, and you wish she'd finish the job. 

"You look starstruck, babe. Am I that pretty?"

"Y-Yes." 

Yves chuckles, stroking your cheek with her thumb. 

"God, you're so cute. I'd kiss you right now, but we both know we'd do more than that."

"Wha—?"

"I've seen the way you look at me. I know what you're thinking. If we kiss…" Yves trails off, moving to finish her sentence next to your ear. 

"If we kiss, we both know we won't just be kissing at the end of the night."

When Yves finishes her sentence, you feel her soft lips press against your cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her lips turn up in her signature cocky smirk. You’ve got the urge to kiss it off her face, but you pause, refusing to give in to her. She is right—if you kissed her, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from jumping her.

-----

Dinner is a relatively quiet affair, with Yves winking at you when you catch eyes with her, and you becoming more flustered each time. All you can think of is about how Yves essentially admitted she knows you want her as much as she wants you, and that thought is enough to fuel your imagination for the night. 

When Yves drops you off in front of your apartment, she gets off her bike, wrapping her arms around your waist from the back.

"Huh?!"

"Goodnight babygirl," Yves whispers next to your ear, her breath causing you to shudder, "I'll be thinking of you tonight."

That settles it. The fire between your legs needs some dousing. You can't help but turn to look at Yves with the utmost shock, meeting her knowing grin. Yves waves, putting her helmet back on and riding off into the night. 

-----

The cold shower you take after reaching home does nothing for you. Yves's words still ring deep in your ear.

If we kiss, we both know we won't just be kissing at the end of the night.

I'll be thinking of you tonight.

Your body feels warm—too warm for the oversized T-shirt and boyshorts you have on. The thought of having Yves pin you against a wall, her lips on yours, tongue swiping at your lips to gain access is way too much for you, and soon enough, you imagine Yves pinning you to her bed, stripping you and teasing you with her touch. These thoughts lead you to lie atop your bed, your shirt pulled up to expose your chest, your boyshorts stripped off to let your hand circle your clit freely. 

"Oh, fuck…"

In your head, Yves has her fingers on you, touching you the same way you touch yourself now. Her fingers mirror the way yours do—rubbing directly over the hood covering your clit, before swiping between your slit to wet her fingers. 

"So wet, babygirl. All for me too."

"Oh, oh shit!"

Yves plunges her fingers deep within you, thrusting freely. Your free hand kneads your left breast, teasing your nipple to drive you crazier. 

"Fuck, Yves, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Yes, babygirl. That's what I want to hear. Moan my name. Let the world know how wet you are for me."

The dirty sounds of your fingers thrusting deep into yourself only fuels your lust even further. The image in your head morphs from Yves fingering you to her between your legs, her panties pushed aside to expose her pussy. Yves pushes her pussy against yours, grinding against you, flexing her abs with each movement of her hips. In the physical world, you strip yourself of the shirt, grabbing a pillow and straddling it. 

"How does my pussy feel against yours, babygirl? I told you I'd make you love me."

You grind harshly on the pillow. The haze of pleasure is all you can process—how loud you moan doesn't matter anymore. 

"Fuck, yes, Yves, Yves, Yves, fuck, Sooyoung, Sooyoung, I'm gonna come, Sooyoung, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!"

With a squeal, you grind harder on the pillow, feeling waves of pleasure wash over your body as slick spills out of your clenching hole. Sweat runs down your forehead, your back, down your chest. In your head, Yves comes just as you do, her body writhing in pleasure as slick flows out of her. 

You collapse on the bed, letting the afterglow of your orgasm wash over you. Yves still doesn't leave your head, but you don't really hate that. You're way beyond trying to hide that you want to fuck her, or that you want her to make you hers anyway.

[tomtenadia]

Till food do us part - Rowaelin one shot

Good evening everyone.

I am back with a quick Rowaelin oneshot. This short fic came to me last week while I was in my hotel in Inveress getting ready to check out. Once on the train back to Aberdeen I had two hours and a half and I wrote this.

It’s a simple story and  just pure undiluted Rowaelin domestic fluff. I think I had to compensate for the angst in ALB. There’s no angst, just our two lovebirds being their adorable selves. 

The title is ridiculous. It took me more time to choose it than to write the whole fic. And it’s still bad. Sorry, I hate choosing titles.

Ach well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy.

Word count: 2.5k 

Aelin was in the kitchen all alone, in front of her on the counter she had all the pots and pans she would require to prepare her meal. At one side she had her cooking book and on the opposite side she had lined up all the ingredients needed. 

That was meant to be a special night and she wanted everything to be perfect. And because of that she had been nervous. She was not good at cooking like her boyfriend so for her to prepare a full meal from scratch was a monumental task. She just hoped not to burn down the house. He had been teaching her slowly, starting with very simple things but that evening, no matter what she was going to cook for him.

The plan was to prepare everything a part from the dessert which she had bought from the local bakery. Although her boyfriend was not a fan of sugary stuff, the night called for dessert. 

She and Rowan had been together for five years. They worked for the same company but on different floors and departments. She was in marketing, Rowan was part of the legal team and was one of the company’s lawyers.

They had a bit of a turbulent start. They met in the cafeteria and Rowan had the bad habit of being always a bit of ahead of her in the queue and always take the last portion of the food she wanted. Far too many times she had ended up eating food she did not want because of him. She had even tried to go to lunch at a different times but the man was always there. Her own personal hell. So after a whole month of that she had decided to take matter in her own hands and slowly plan her revenge. Rowan was a creature of habit, so she spent a few weeks studying him and his routine. Aelin had learned he loved to eat alone. He had friends but the lunch hour was his time to wind down and he did not want any drama or any shop talk. That would make her plan much easier. Eventually she hatched her plan. She started swapping the content of the salt and pepper shakers or even replacing them with other stuff. Aelin had also started making his table sticky or cluttering with empty trays. He still had no idea it was her but she enjoyed watching him muttering and probably cursing whoever did that to him. She had quickly learned that the man was hard to tick off completely. She would notice some small signs of irritation but that’s all the reaction she got, so she decided it was time to go big. 

And her final plan came into existence the day the cafeteria served mac and cheese and he took the last portion from her. She was fuming. If she could not have mac and cheese so wouldn’t he. 

She waited for him to make his way back to his table and then she walked straight into him. Their trays smashing against each others and the food landing on his shirt. She had muttered a weak sorry and had fled with a grin on her face.

She had later found out that she had made him late for an important meeting and caught hell from his boss Lorcan.

Until one day he started to retaliate. Apparently, she had found out, he knew all long it was her messing with his meals.

And so a long series of pranks had begun between them, most of them taking place in the cafeteria since that was the place they used to share the most.

However, sometimes along the way, Aelin realised pranking him was not fun anymore and that pesky feelings had started to take root in her.

Until one day he showed up in her office with two portions of mac and cheese from Emrys and a peace offering. They had the lunch in the privacy of her office, they talked and she realised very quickly that he was quite a fascinating man. Also, she would have lied to herself if she had ignored the fact that the man was hotness incarnated. He was tall and had a healthy muscular build. He would always wear impeccable tailored suits which made his backside very prominent and more than once her eyes had wandered. He had the most beautiful pine green eyes and she adored his silver hair.

Soon she had to admit that she had a crush on him. And then some.

And when Rowan finally asked her out she could not believe her ears. The sexiest man in the company wanted to go out with her. So she said yes.

Fast forward five years and Aelin was now cooking for their fifth anniversary and as a joke she had put mac and cheese on the menu. It was their dish and their own joke as well.

Aelin had a look at the clock and realised she had half an hour tops before he came back home.

While preparing mac and cheese she took a sip from the glass of wine at her side. She had bought two bottles of Rowan’s favourite wine and she had started the celebrations a bit earlier.

In the oven in the meantime, the pork roast and the potatoes were cooking and she was busy checking the food that she almost missed the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“I am home,” shouted a happy voice.

“Kitchen.” She shouted back.

When she stood she saw him in leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, his arms at his chest and a strange grin on his face “you are cooking?” He asked surprised, raising an eye brow in a question.

Aelin grabbed a glass of wine, took a step closer to him and gave it to him “Happy anniversary, buzzard.” And she went to him for a kiss he did not deny it to her.

“Oh, so you waited five years for your final revenge and win with food poisoning.” Still leaning against the doorframe he took a sip of wine and looked at her with a smirk.

Aelin just glared at him “I can cook.”

“Aelin, I love you, but cooking is definitely not your strongest asset.”

She waved her wooden spoon in his face “I’ll show you.”

Rowan chuckled happily and stooped for a kiss “happy anniversary, menace.”

Aelin moved another step in his direction “now go,” and she patted his chest “get changed and let me finish.”

Half an hour later the dining table was all set, with some candles on to set the romantic mood and a new bottle of win in the middle. Everything looked perfect and she was chuffed.

“This looks lovely,” his voice reached her as he re entered the room and his arms wound around her waist.

“I hope it’s good as well.” She said while pulling back from the embrace and pushing him to his seat. 

“Let me help,” he offered but Aelin pushed him again.

“No, just sit down.”

Quickly she went to get the appetisers: she had prepared raw smoked salmon on oatcakes with cream cheese and chives. They had that at a party and they loved it and realised it was something easy to make and almost impossible for her to mess it up. The only thing she had to do was to assemble the ingredients in a nice display.

Rowan in the meantime poured some wine for both and made happy noises at the wine.

“Fancy,” he added, commenting on the appetiser.

“Easy mostly. I took inspiration from the last party we went to.”

Rowan took one of the oatcakes and she relaxed when she saw him smile. Oh well, at least if the rest of the meal was a disaster they could eat oatcakes and salmon.

“Did you have a good day at work?” She asked, she had a day off and she hadn’t seen him since the morning when he left for work.

“It’s the end of the month and as you can imagine Lorcan has been his unpleasant self.”

“I need these reports on the desk by the end of yesterday?” She said, imitating the man’s voice.

Rowan chuckled and took another oatcake “that’s the gist.”

Once the appetisers were over, Aelin stood and went to get the next course. That was the surprise and the dish that meant the most.

She brought the oven dish to the dining table.

“You made mac and cheese.” Rowan’s tone was full of love.

“I did.” She took his plate and was ready to serve him his portion. It looked great and for a moment she had hoped. The recipe was for the baked version and the crust at the top looked golden and crunchy. Then she dipped the spatula to cut it and terror took her. It was runny. 

“No, no, no, no, no…” she panicked.

“What happened?” Rowan stood and moved at her side.

“It happened that I should not be allowed to cook.” She sat on the chair and sniffled.

“I am sure it’s not that bad…”

“Ro,” Aelin almost shouted in frustration at his tone “you can drink it with a straw, mac and cheese is supposed to be creamy.”

He looked over “I think you put too much milk,” and with his hand he brushed her lower back in support.

Aelin started sobbing “I messed up the main dish. It was meant to be like the one we shared in my office.”

Rowan was about to reply when he smelled smoke “is something burning?”

“Holy fuck,” Aelin stood abruptly and ran to the kitchen and when she opened the oven a cloud of smoke engulfed her. The roast and the potatoes where charcoal. She sat dejected in front of the oven  and Rowan joined and sat at her side “you have the most useless girlfriend ever.”  

He brushed her hair off her face “ I do not.” A gentle kiss on her lips “my girl is brilliant, fearless, intelligent and very, very hot.” She gave him a wet chuckle. Gods, she loved him.

“I ruined our anniversary.”

Rowan stood and offered her his hand “you did not.” She took it and stood in front of him.

“We are going to Emrys, he does some amazing mac and cheese.”

“Fine,” she conceded.

Rowan cupped her face, refusing to let her be sad. He knew Aelin was not good at cooking and he had tried to teach her but once on her own she seemed to struggle. 

But as the boyfriend madly in love with her he was more than happy to cook for both, everyday, forever.

Aelin did not seem convinced and still pouted at her mess. Rowan noticed that and cupped her face in his hand and kissed het tenderly “Hey, it was a lovely gesture and I am proud of you.” He took her hand in his, “now let’s go.”

They got changed and not long after they were walking to Emrys. Rowan’s arm on around her shoulder.

Aelin looked up at him and noticed a strange light in his eyes and a small grin. Whatever it was, he did not seem bothered by her fiasco.

Once they reached Emrys froze and cursed the evening that was turning into pure hell “it’s Monday, they are close. We are two idiots.” But all Rowan did was to push her toward the front door.

“Ro, they are closed.”

“Shush,” he said gently placing his hand on her lower back.

A moment later Emrys’ smiling face appeared on the door “hello Rowan, come in, it’s all ready.” Said the man stepping aside to let them in.

Aelin was stunned. speechless. He had an evening planned.

She turned to him “did you know I was going to mess up so you had a plan b?” Her tone full with irritation at his lack of trust in her.

Rowan looked at her, his eyes dancing with mirth “I didn’t even know you were going to cook. I booked all of this over a week ago.” He told her “I knew our anniversary would fall on a Monday, so I asked Emrys and Malakai if it was okay to use the place for our dinner.”

She stood on her tiptoes “I love you.” And kissed him. Rowan took her hand and walked inside the main room of the restaurant and Aelin again was stunned. The whole room had been decorated with white fairy lights, the table had candles and there were kingsflames in a vase as well.

“Happy anniversary, Fireheart.” And pulled her to his chest “I hope you’ll love this.”

“It’s perfect,” she said to him, feeling teary.

They sat down and Malakai brought wine “Emrys is just finishing up the last few things, it should not be too long.” Explained the man while pouring the wine.

He came back a moment later and brought back freshly baked pitta bread and hummus “just as a starter.”

Aelin attacked the appetisers, realising she was starving.

Once the appetiser was out of the way Rowan took her hand.

“I am glad I burned dinner, this is so much better.”

They had gone to Emrys for their first date which turned out to be their favourite restaurant and slowly their weekly dinner treat. It had become their place pretty quickly.

She was talking to Rowan when she noticed Emrys walking to them with a large oven dish and when Aelin looked, she saw mac and cheese. And it looked incredible.

“Of course,” said Rowan at her expression and poured more wine. It was a good thing they walked. Emrys plated their dinner and then walked away with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Go on, tuck in,” Rowan said to her once he noticed her eager expression.

Aelin did so and almost moaned savagely. It was divine.

After a few bites Rowan put the fork down and took her hand again, brushing his thumb on the top of it “thank you for walking into me that day in the cafeteria.” He told her, his green eyes on her “I know we had our ups and downs but these five years with you have been incredible.” He stood and took her hand inviting her to follow him. She stood with him and Rowan pulled Aelin to his chest. She wanted to complain she was eating, but whatever he was doing it seemed important.

Violin music spread in the room and Aelin recognised one of her favourite pieces of classical music. He swayed gently as if to dance, placed her hand on his shoulder and held her, his hand on her lower back.

“And I hope we’ll have many more together.” Aelin looked up at him and nodded, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. He kissed her with passion and then he pulled back a little “Aelin, my fireheart, will you do me the honour of joining me in the next adventure of our life and become my wife?”

Aelin sobbed loudly “only if you promise to keep cooking for me.”

Rowan laughed “Always.”

She threw her arms around his neck “yes, yes I will marry you.”

Rowan placed the ring on her finger then lifted her in his arms and kissed her. 

He would cook for her, make her happy until his last day.

To whatever end.