#and his eyes slowly meet yours....intimately....LONGINGLY?!?!?!!

[mrsoharaa]

omfG can you imagine Miguel, this big, buff emotionally distress hunk of a bulldozer, picking out the prettiest flower (well he thinks is nice enough!) and putting it neatly into your hair??!

[affableramen]

Kinktober: Aphrodisiac | Pantalone | Neuvillette

Minors do not interact; nsfw explicit content 18+ only

Synopsis: what happens when a calm, collected man takes stimulants

⟢ Pantalone’s part tags: domestic sex, dirty language, unprotected sex, cumming inside, size kink

⟢ Neuvillette’s part tags: rough sex, mirror sex, slight domination, order giving, unprotected, pulling out

note: it should have been obvious by now but i only write consensual intimacy. also, i’m sorry this one did not include capitano, but he’s going to appear in another, not less spicy scenario. :)

You and your boyfriend Pantalone got your aphrodisiac chocolate on a business meeting organised by his business partners. He caught you red-handed, pleasuring yourself, though he was under the effect of stimulants too.

You and your husband Neuvillette were invited on a wedding to one of the government officials where he accidentally took a bite of arousing cake

⟢ Pantalone

“What… are… you… doing there… with your hands?”

Hearing his voice you almost jump on the chair. Although the room is dimly lit, the atmosphere is almost gloomy in the living room, nothing can escape Pantalone’s sharp eyes.

“N-nothing.” 

Pantalone slowly approaches you with his designed smirk. 

“If it isn’t you, masturbating in my own mansion, after the important meeting we just had.” 

You pull your hand from the middle of your thigh and sit straight immediately.

“Are you going to pretend like you didn’t do that just now?” 

Pantalone leans in. At such intimate closeness you hear his ragged breath. His usually pale face is flushed now. Apart from that, there is a slight shaking in his body, as if he is no less excited than you. 

“Why use hands… when you have the whole cock available?”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the embarrassment with scepticism. He teasingly caresses your neck, shoulder, sliding down to your chest. Wanting to feel his touch even more you involuntarily get up from the desk. In no time, Pantalone pins you to the nearest wall, his eyes are ones of a predator. He brushes his nose against your cheek, inhaling the scent he finds so sweet and seductive.

“So, why touch yourself when you can use my cock?” He places both of his hands on the wall, caging you between. His sharp look examines you in the dimly lit, gothic-styled room.

“He’s ready for you to use…”

“You sound like a drunk man.”

“The question is - am I drunk, really?”

You gently pull him in, grasping his shoulders as if letting him know you’re in need.

“You ate those chocolates too, didn't you?” 

“Oh yes… Seems like those weren't just chocolates.” He looks at you so hungrily, but so longingly at the same time.

“I think we both might have eaten aphrodisiac. Those businessmen sure wanted to have fun.”

“And they are quite effective too, considering the fact that I…” Pantalone gives his lip a shallow bite and exhales with need: “…desperately need to be inside you right now.” 

He takes your earlobe in his mouth and tastes it, which forces a heat rush through your body. 

“My balls are aching”, Pantalone lets out a shaky moan into your ear. You can see the strained fabric of his trousers wrap tightly around a well-formed bulge. “They need to be emptied.”

Seeing you eyeing him shamelessly, Pantalone cups your cheeks and says right into your lips. “Don’t just look. Touch me.”

Hearing this man begging for your touch does its magic on you. Once gotten an explicit invitation, you bring your hand to his leather belt, slightly lower and unzip him. Kissing you impatiently, Pantalone buries his moan inside your mouth. His trousers are pulled down and you successfully release the heavy-looking cock from the tight fabric of the black boxers. Obviously the cool façade of your boyfriend slowly melts once his hardness is freed from restraining formal suit.

Pantalone pulls out from the kiss and looks you up and down. You hold the eye contact with him, not allowing yourself to look down where he pushes your legs apart with his knee. You know, this kind of staring game between you that he enjoys doing during your intimate banters. 

“Let me check how well you were doing before I heartlessly interrupted your leisure.” 

His fingers find the waistband of your underwear and slip in carefully. You gulp impatiently when you feel his slender fingers work skillfully underneath the thin fabric.

“P-Pantalone-” your voice shakes, not knowing if you should give in to desires or let the damned stimulant subside. Everything feels so hot, all sensations appear increased. 

He starts drawing wet, slimy noises from your centre with his fingers. The movements quite rough, giving out his own impatient thoughts to have you.

“Goddamn… You’re soaking wet”, his breath hitches. He pulls the fingers out, denying you right on the edge when replacing the cool fingertips with a thick tip. He gives you a good rub first.

“Gonna slide it in… slowly…” 

GAH! The both of you let out a noise resembling a yell.

“That wasn't slowly, thank you very much”, you bark, grabbing Pantalone’s shoulders to hold onto something. Seeing you afraid to fall, Pantalone pulls your leg so it wraps around his waist. At the same time such friction provides you with a better angle.

“Listen to me, woman”, Pantalone hisses through teeth, while thrusting actively and sharply right from the start, not intending anywhere near to go nice and slow. “You’re not the only one who stupidly took those arousal chocolates. I had to… ngh!… satisfy my curiosity…”

“Satisfied?”

“You tell me.”

Your hole recognises the usual size and takes him with ease all way in, swallowing it to the base. 

“I swear- you’re taking this cock as if you own it.”

Breathlessly you manage to respond dryly:

“I do kinda own it…”

“Don’t get too cocky.”

His slim body presses you against the wall of the mansion making the friction between your bodies grow louder and more lewd. The thursts cause more noise with each moment as he pumps his length in and out. 

“It’s getting more difficult to control myself. Do you mind if I?”

“Go faster?”

“A lot faster than usual, to be precise.”

“Surely do, if you intend to break us.”

“Let me indulge my dirty desires once in a while. You’re going to like it, I promise,” he lets out a blissful sigh. “I’m going to fuck you into pieces.” 

“Not a fan of quickies, Pantalone.”

“Me neither. But there’s some charm in fucking you as if both of our lives depend on it right now.”

You stop talking. He gives you a particularly sharp thrust, and you feel your mind increasingly getting blank from the pushing. The man having you does his job excellently, hitting your weak spot with an angle that could almost be called perfect.

“Fuck, you're dripping.” Pantalone whispers as if warning you, but doesn’t stop in his motions, the slapping sounds of body against a body becomes only louder. “All I did was just…” gasp, “a few feeble thrusts… ngh!… and it’s all over your thighs…”

His monologue of self praise doesn't end while he’s balls deep inside you. You stay surprised that he’s still able to yap during such intense procedure.

“No one can satisfy you like I do. I fuck you just… heavenly. You know that, don't you?” he grips your hips tight as he keeps slamming into you roughly like never before. Like if he were not an exhausted older man for a moment of time. You immediately grab onto him tight, anxious to fall as his movements become more chaotic and unbearably tense. 

“I’m going to fucking explode.” Pantalone spits out breathlessly, his words mixing with raspy moans. “You're going to bear a child…” His desperate voice cracks so endearingly and it turns you on even more hearing him vulnerable like this.

You blame your brain for imagining these things before they even happen. Getting closer there too, you cannot keep your own emotions in track.

“Keep moaning like that and we'll never hear the end of our neighbours’ complaints”, his brings his hand to your lips, brushing over it. “Sh-h…”

You know that he’s nearing the peak and his body is desperately begging for release when he leans in and asks with a hoarse voice:

“Are you on a birth control?”

“Yeah”, you respond with the same hoarse voice, praying that you’ll keep your voice down till the very end because otherwise it might be too loud for the both of us to hide.

“Good for you… cause I won’t be able to- darling-” he tenses up, his eyes shut tight as he blows all his load in one go and falls dead silent.

You reach the peak after him, your body is left trembling but unlike Pantalone, you’re still able to stand. When Pantalone finishes, he pulls out, spilling the rest on the floor and weakly collapses against the wall. He’s panting heavily and his state cannot be described anywhere near to good. 

“Pantalone honey, are you alright?”

You ask, seeing him barely capable of keeping himself conscious. He doesn't respond, bending over the wall. Obviously he is not.

“Pantalone.”

“G-give me a moment…”

You inquire again, worriedly.

“No, seriously, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine!” the grumpy old man responds almost cracking his back from exertion. Gently, you place your hand on his back and pat it.

“Pantalone?”

“Isn't it selfish? Cumming before you. I guess we’ll need to compensate for that.”

You pull him close so that he can use you as a support. “The aphrodisiac must have raised your blood pressure. Let’s get you to the sofa.”

“I’m not usually feeble like this”, he keeps muttering, his pride wounded as you help him settle on the couch and take a seat as well. “I last.”

“I know that you do. But forget about that right now. Just breathe in and out”, you say, carefully pulling him into the hug. 

Still dizzy from over exerting, Pantalone lets out a sigh. “I could go all night.”

“Surely you could.”

“Just give me a moment, and I’ll make you cum again. Before myself.”

“Don't say it like that. You were great. Cumming earlier than me doesn’t make our sex worse, to your information you looked quite cute when you did.”

“Teasing me again? You know what happens when you rile me up? You are not able to walk the next day.”

Heavily breathing he reaches out to pull you into the kiss once more, although it’s sloppy and less rough.

“But I hope you know that I’m not done with you, not by a long shot.”

You hear a faint sigh from him as the both of you raise from the sofa to go upstairs and finally get the well-deserved rest.

“Going to deal with the nosy neighbours tomorrow again. That damned old couple always trying to put a sex ban on us.”

“I’ll just tell them someone had a little too much of viagra.”

“You little sh—”

⟢ Neuvillette

You’re sitting in the living room of your big lavishly-decorated house as you hear the entrance door slightly creaking at an opening.

“Honey?” you ask, knowing well it is your husband who’s returned at such hour. But to your biggest surprise, Neuvillette simply rushes through the vestibule, not even glorifying you with his glance.

“Good evening”, his voice is but an echo, and he himself looks no more than a ghost. 

“What the hell?” you think, realising that there should be a good damn reason for him to evade you like that. You put your book away, take your glasses off and quietly sneak out of the couch, following the judge’s steps. He goes upstairs, to your bedroom. But it’s not very late?- you think. Why would he go to sleep so early? Is he so exhausted?

When upstairs you realise that he doesn't aim for your shared bedroom, he goes to the guest room for whatever reason.

“Are you going to explain?” you catch him off guard. Neuvillette gives you a brief look but suddenly turns away, adjusting his tie. 

“I wish to sleep alone tonight.”

“Why? We are married, aren't we supposed to share the room like we always did?”

“I have… some matters at hand I’d prefer to solve alone.”

“Really…”

You look as Neuvillette disappears in the guest bedroom shutting the door right before your face.

As soon as he settles in and the noise of his presence subsides, you gently push the door to the room and enter.

Neuvillette, however, is not in the bedroom anymore. You look around, realising that he’s most obviously in the bathroom, attached to the room inside. 

“Are you feeling unwell? Are you ill?”

You ask through the door, not wanting to sound clingy but also feeling a sense of responsibility for your beloved one.

“Do you want me to bring you a glass of water? Or call the doctor?”

“No-” he responds stiffly from inside the bathroom. “There’s nothing you can do except for giving me some privacy.”

“That’s unusual of you. I don't want to sound clingy, but when you feel bad you usuaully turn to me right away.”

“This situation is different, darling.”

You find yourself dumbfounded as you’re standing right there only knowing that your husband's unwell but never getting an explicit answer.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re not acting funny at all. Spill the beans.”

“D-don’t call me that”, Neuvillette’s voice shakes and that little clue makes you finally realise that…

“Oh my God.”

Neuvillette’s side is suddenly completely silent as you make your suggestion.

“Please don't tell me you ate those cakes with aphrodisiac.” You try to keep cool but his answer just kills you.

“I confess…”

You rub your face with a hand desperately trying to find a solution because you were the one a lot smarter in this situation to avoid the dangerous cake. There was no aphrodisiac in you.

Neuvillette is a solitary and collected person who is also, ironically, quite calm in sex. And having him taken these stimulants… you understand how complicated he must be feeling right now. He must be completely smitten and embarrassed. Always so cool and restrained when suddenly feeling like a horny mess because of some stupid cake.

Attempting to comfort your husband you speak through the door, hoping that he’d listen.

“Neuvillette, come out, you’re going to be alright. Those are just silly stimulants. They won't harm you.”

“You don't understand. I need to be inside you right now. So badly…”

Hearing such filthy words slip off your husband’s tongue you feel something awakened in you. The heat courses through your body and you start aching for his touch, though probably less uncomfortably than he is for yours.

“Archons, you’re making me regret I didn't take a bite of that cake.”

Involuntarily, the flushed face of your aroused husband appears in your imagination and you start feeling just as aroused. 

“Why must we deny ourselves, then?”

Your words alone cause Neuvillette to forget his duties at once and give in into his desires. The door opens in front of you. He really looks flushed and messed up, but his voice remains one of a gentleman’s.

“You mean it?”

“Sure. Besides, it’s not like given the tight schedule of our work, we have been indulging ourselves often. I don't even remember the last time we used the bed for a different reason than sleeping.”

At that, Neuvillette completely unleashes the effects of the aphrodisiac. He starts stepping on you until you get pressed flush against the wall.

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you right now.”

“Show me.”

“Turn around”, his words not a request but a command. You raise an eyebrow at him but do as he says. “Bend over.”

You bend over, forcing your ass up which is an extremely rare position for the both of you. Neuvillette is a classy man who enjoys primarily missionary and needs your eye contact on him. But these stimulants… making him feral to the brim.

“Look at this ass…” he whispers quietly, probably hoping you won’t hear of it but you successfully do. You grip the wall with both of your hands, seeking balance as Neuvillette rolls your hair over his fist, pulling it dangerously. You swear, this is a new aide of him you’ve never known before.

The judge’s cool fingers spread you with skill and finesse, drawing content sighs and gasps from you from a while before he deems you ready to take him all. Still bent over to the wall, you feel Neuvillette press his blunt tip against your thigh, aiming to the entrance but teasing the soft flesh all over long before he finally sticks himself in.

The grip on your hips is tight, almost made of steel. For a moment you find yourself lacking the sensation of his hands entangled in your hair and attempt to ask him do more, but Neuvillette grabs it before you can open your mouth. You recognise the pleasant filling sensation inside you and turn your head to the side, wanting to see what's going on behind you. Luckily, your eyes bump into the long mirror, reflecting monsieur fervently taking you from behind. The face he makes is almost embarrassing to look at, but you find it extremely hot.

“Look at yourself, not me. Don’t you dare look at me.”

“You look awesome like this, Neuvillette.”

With hearing that, he goes rougher until the thrusts become evident in sound. Neuvillette’s butler knocks into the door to offer the dinner, but he quickly steps back hearing your soft moans and Neuvillette’s raspy grunts. Perhaps you should encourage him taking these stimulants more often?

With a loud groan Neuvillette pulls out right at the time, and everything gets spilled around. He wipes himself clean and helps you up, pulling flush to him so that you don't fall. 

Later at night you find yourself resting next to Neuvillette in the bed, with your eyes wide and breathing ragged. Your heart still pumping quickly after the adrenaline rush that coursed through your body just minutes ago.

 “Wow… Guess those stimulants were not such a bad idea after all. I should thank the chef.”

“I didn't even consider you liking me being so cruel with you.”

“I see nothing cruel with being a little fervent and passionate once in a while. Especially, willingly.”

Your husband turns to look at you, his fingers gently hide the hair strand behind your ear.

“If that makes you happy.”

[ruified]

I SAW YOUR EVENT AND I CAME RUNNINGGGGGGG 🏃‍♀️💨

so, may i please get a dazai x gn!reader (fem if more comfortable) with prompt 6; i reeeally think dazai would 100% want to be the first one to pull away; just to see your flustered face! ☺️🏃‍♀️💨

CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS BTW, YOU DESERVE ITTT

ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAY IF YOU CELEBRATE IT!!!

don’t pull away… 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒕 ᝰ.ᐟ

warnings: fluff, gn! reader . characters: dazai osamu . synopsis: you and dazai share a rather intimate moment after work . a/n: this was so cute to write ngl i hope you love it!! ALSO TYSM!!!

DAZAI was gazing at you rather longingly, despite himself, and the way the setting sun lit up your face in warm tones, complimenting your complexion perfectly. Your eyes reflected something so close to him, something he could have if he just made the right move, if he had the guts. He reached a steady hand out and brushed a few strands of hair from your face, fingertips making fleeting contact with your warm skin in a moment that felt like it could last forever. He offered you an affectionate smile. “My dear, you look so pretty in the sun like this…”

The blush that painted your cheeks in a pink made his heart race even more, pounding against his ribcage helplessly. You ran your finger behind your ear, flustered. “You really flatter me too much, Dazai.”

You turned back to face him and met his gaze immediately, his breath tickling your lips now in a way that made them tingle for something more—a kiss. You found yourself leaning towards him further, your legs hanging from the desk you were perched upon. You two were still at the agency, but work had ended, you had just stuck around to chat, no one else was here…

His thumb pulled down your bottom lip slightly, parting them like a flower spreading its petals in the sunlight. Your breath brushed against his nail, giving him the chills despite your warmth. His lips moved, he was speaking, but it took a moment to register, for you were simply captivated by his looks. “May I?” You nodded slowly, not out of hesitance, more so because you were slightly dazed.

Your lips met in a dizzying passion, his were slightly chapped yet still soft to you and oh-so intoxicating. You had forgotten to breathe beforehand and so you soon had to pull away, just as his tongue began pushing past your lips. He cupped your cheek before you could completely get away from him and whispered, “Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.”

As if his words were a line pulling you back in, your lips were against his once again before you knew it. Almost instantly, his tongue finally pushed past your lips and danced with yours. The kiss was warm and addicting, you just wouldn’t be the same after this. Finally, he pulled away and let you go, his eyes drifting open to meet your gaze once more, he smiled cheekily.

“You didn’t let me finish earlier, bella.”

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

For the fic writer asks: 23, 9, 6

Thank you so much for the ask!

23. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

There are a lot of scenes and fics i had fun writing, but how about this one? From VROS - Chapter 8: Sunlight

For a moment, they just stand there, silent tears travelling down Jonathan’s cheeks, as Dracula looks, almost longingly, into the distance, soaking in the last traces of the sun-warmed summer air.

“How?” Jonathan raps quietly, refusing to open his blue eyes.

He can feel Dracula shrug by his side. “I suppose you could throw yourself over. If the fall doesn’t kill you, the wolves will. Or I can simply snap your neck,” he lists matter-of-factly, as if they were talking about the weather.

The words feel like ice in his blood, so incredibly cold and nothing like the warmth of the sun he probably will never feel again on his skin. “And why?” Jonathan rasps dryly.

“Ah,” Dracula tilts his head to the side, nodding. “In order to become a proper un-dead, you have to die first, my dear Jonathan, before coming back. That is kinda the whole deal.”

Jonathan shivers again. The night is approaching quickly in the Transylvanian mountains, temperatures rapidly dropping now. “Do I have any choice?”

Dracula turns to him, looking down at his pitiful form. “Do you want me to decide, then?” he retorts.

Not quite what Jonathan was asking for or had in mind. But he just takes a deep breath, dragging in some air into his slowly failing lungs and body, which is shutting down quickly. Blood loss, fatigue and God knows what else Dracula has infected him with have taken quite a toll on him. And he can feel it, deep in his gut. It is time to go.

“If I do… come back… what will I be?” he asks quietly, his eyes slowly raising to meet the other man’s.

He can see the warmth in them, full and deep, and beautiful, and that realization frightens him. “Perfect,” Dracula breathes. “Perfect, and mine.”

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

It has to be TGN, despite of the 4 month hiatus i took this year. Maybe because it the one fic that is closest to the DS version of my beloved characters. Something about the narrative of Jonathan having stayed with his abuser for so long, only to realize in the end that it has been all for nothing is really important to me. Cannot wait to finish it with a climax in which he finally snaps and lets all his hurt, anger, pain show. This year has been a rough one for me as well and i have found myself sadly falling back into some rather bad mental spaces i thought i had overcome by now. Some aspects of Jonathan's struggles in that fic ring extremely close to me and feel really intimate to write, but also strangely cathartic. The fic has evolved from just a weird crossover, to a work that truly means a lot to me.

6. What ship(s) captured your heart?

Always Harkula. They are it for me. Some new ships i have written about were Jeanbriel from Empire of the Vampire and i also think i might write more Dracfield in next year. Always going back to my vamp masters x human-ish pets ;)

Ask game here

[madstronaut]

Reading: Cold Embrace by @obsidiangravity

- first off shoutout to my fellow niktosimps and general rarepair/not-so-popular character lovers, we out here campin happily (gripping our thighs till we bleed) and patiently in rarepair hell

- let me start my saying this fic basically scratches the itch for me in my ideal slowburn romance story and IT IS NOT EVEN FINISHED YET??? HELLO? 911 I’D LIKE TO REPORT A FUCKIN MASTERPIECE???

- I like to believe there’s a little unhinged perv in all of us simping for standoffish highly trained spetsnaz masked stonecold killers who slowly warm up and show their tender soft gooey heart but OH MY GOD obsy’s version of nikto is so well-written i can savor a re-read like this personal comfortfic many, many times and still feel the same giddiness, tenderness, tension, and anticipation I did the first time I read it through

- accidental bump into each other is also a fave meet-cute scenario of mine ❤️

- absolutely savored the awkward tension of reader and nikto wordlessly cleaning up the spilled beef stroganoff, very kevins-famous-chilli-esque iykyk

- every moment of eye contact, nikto noticing reader’s lips, reader picking up on his emotions through his eyes, noticing his BARE FOREARMS, omg cover them up slut???, SHARING COFFEE, the unsexy PTSD choking incident and his THUMB TRACING HER COLLARBONES afterwards while checking on her, touching her neck and then basically spooning and INTERLOCKING FINGERS because hypothermia - has me pulsing and blushing redder than reading the most explicit rawdogging scene PLEASE THE LEVEL OF EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT I HAVE TO THESE TWO GETTING INTIMATE IN EVERY WAY EXCEPT FOR ACTUAL SEX IS REACHING ‘I NEED TO BE MEDICATED’ LEVELS

- I love the reader’s journey in gradually learning how to pick up the tells/emotions from nikto through their eyes, as someone who’s learned and is still learning to do same I feel very seen, no pun intended lol

- also generally speaking, I am so drawn to the sense of compassion and understanding the reader has for someone like nikto and how easily she gives both in respecting his space and going out of her way to make him feel comfortable and included - buying him the dinner she ruined immediately, leaving his mask on even if it cost her the sparring match, offering to eat in her room so he can eat at a reasonable time with her, taking note of his habits and working around them, her thinking of his absence when the whole group is sharing meals - it reminds me of the people in my life who’ve been so patient, considerate, persevering, and kind with me and reminds me to strive to do the same for the people around me. <3 anyway I love fanfic and it’s made me a better human (sorry did I say better? one sec I think I misspelled hornier)

- did not realize nikto is wearing a flight suit til I read this fic which sent me down a rabbit hole of researching and googling soviet flight suits for a good hour or two (also shoutout to For All Mankind, obsessed with that show)

- me, taking notes on how to flirt with/recognize being flirted with spetsnaz masked men: “spill…their food, check…save them from sniper, check…gaze longingly at their lips, check…give pointers on how to improve by unwittingly insulting them, check…run them through training courses relentlessly at 3am, check…lend them your personal gun, still warm from your touch, check…get crush alone, respond to questions with terse 1-2 word answers, check…”

- “"You're quiet, I like that." His tone has a slight cheery lilt to it. The corners of his eyes relax.” NIKTO YOU ABSOLUTE HORNDOG YOU THAT IS SOME SOME HARDCORE NIKTO FLIRTING©️ IF I SAY SO

- dmitry bale is canonically an excellent chef who loves spilling tea™️ while cooking, you cannot change my mind. also canon, he is my babygirl malewife

- i love multiple unresolved threads fleshing out a good plot and the ??? that is nikolai and nikto’s relationship or lack thereof keeps me up at night speculating sometimes lol

- please dmitry’s dimpled smile comment <3 i would commit tax evasion to see his face - i see a lot of speculation online about what he may look like as it’s canon that he’s fraternal twins (so not identical) with maxim/minotaur. Sidenote i know a pair of fraternal twin sisters and they just look like straight up one copy of the mom, and one copy of the dad to me lol

- it is my sincere belief nikto has rubbed one or two or three out recalling sparring with reader ❤️ (and esp. her choosing not to unmask him) ok but to put my horniness aside briefly - nikto and reader don’t converse much until a little later in the story but the way their body language and actions to each other speak VOLUMES is so loud, their crushing on each other is literally screeching in my ear mansplaining baseball to me like that one meme

picturing from Nikto’s POV, I can’t imagine the emotions that must course through him when he realizes reader, well within her rights to rip his mask off, not only chooses not to but is close enough to her to feel her physically relaxing under him so he can win? nikto is apparently also a budding part-time magician for hiding that boner which was 10000% there in my head

- please god i want to see rodion find out about The Hypothermia Incident and eventually gloat (and get his ass beat) and attempt to take credit for wingmanning for nikto to get with reader

- chess as flirting is honestly the most russian thing i can think of tbh. on that note if you’re a fan of this pairing I highly recommend the movie Man From U.N.C.L.E. starring henry cavill/armie “cannibal” hammer/alicia vikander, I used to be a huuuuuge ilya/gaby fan (love me some classic spetsnaz spy x working class mechanic girl/enemies to lovers/pretend engagement❤️)

- sleepy nikto with a skewed mask hastily thrown on has me both incredibly tender and horny for him at the same time, i cannot explain it it’s just science

- ahem as a bonafide current dmitry simp, also daydreaming of an AU where reader went on this undercover mission with him instead; fanfic is simply the gift that keeps on giving when a good story can sprout endless AUs of AUs of AUs 

- also yes nikolai my feminist queen, empowering reader to take lead on the mission? or did he just say that so she could shut up and go on the mission? he may not be as close to nikto anymore but what else does he know of him (and nitko’s budding relationship with reader) to be pairing them together? *conspiracy theorizing intensifies*

- the minute i read about how cold the apartment was my lizard brain screamed SHAREBODYHEAT SHAREBED SHARECLOTHES YES YES YES YES and would not shut up and the absolute disappointment I felt when first reading that there were two separate beds had me laughing my ass off at myself till i cried

- i can physically feel the hearts bubbling out of reader’s eyes seeing nikto in normal clothes, tis a beautiful thing to witness

- when i tell you my soul left my body, fully died and had to call up my dnd party to use up some costly diamonds to cast resurrection on me to return to life when i read nikto calling reader “darling” tO mAiNtAiN cOvEr while talking to the babushka and the cackle that left my lungs after she retaliated by HOLDING HIS HAND? WHO FUCKING NEEDS SMUT WHEN SHIT LIKE THIS IS WRITTEN

- nikto’s snark and the emotional pain he feels hearing reader attempt to speak russian is what gets me out of bed these days

- “You roll your eyes but stiffly walk beside him, you can’t remember the last time a man, or anyone, held you this close. Eventually, you relaxed into his warmth, your body leaning into his. It’s starting to get colder so you’re secretly grateful for the heat.

And if you are going to be honest with yourself, it makes you feel protected.” i smile like an idiot every time i read these lines. again, smut who? i can run for days without food or water with this kind of fluff

- i like to imagine there is a little angel and devil on nikto’s shoulders shaking hands/highfiving whenever reader does/says shit like “You’re the first to head to bed again, but not before asking if he would like to join you” and record the memory in their book of Things Nikto Jerks Off To

- same as above, but for reader when Nikto proclaims her clothing is “pathetic, remove it” and then he takes off his own sweater telling her to “use mine later”

- i inhaled a metaphorical tub of popcorn while also holding my breath when reader found/went through nikto’s pills lol the absolute fear i felt at her being found out!! 

- once again the ease with which reader & nikto slips into the domesticity of shopping for clothes together speaks volumes to me <3 and yes, tell me ur single without telling me ur single, men with very limited wardrobes 

- I would like to advocate for a cash bonus and stock options for the activision writer who pitched giving Sputnik the Hyena as a companion to Nikto 

- I have also gone in search of strawberry scent/shampoo IRL only to discover it’s not really a popular scent; i sniffed some The Body Shop shower gel at a local store near my office and it wasn’t as appealing as I hoped it would be :/ truly tho i love when writers work in smellsnbells and scents into their stories in some way (must be the ABO fan/candle girlie in me)

anyway in conclusion: NIKTO SUPREMACY

The Challenge: Comment on every fanfic you read and enjoy in the month of January.

Every chapter. Every one shot. Every drabble. Every ficlet. Whether it’s on a personal website, a blog, or an archive. Whether you’ve read it a hundred times before or you’re reading it for the first time. Whether the fic was posted years ago or minutes ago. Whether you sign your name or leave your thoughts anonymously. Whether your comment is paragraphs in length or a few short words. Comment on every fanfic you read and enjoy in the month of January.

The Philosophy: Comments are what keep a fandom thriving and growing.

We don’t see comments as a transaction. They’re not a price paid for reading a fic. We see comments as an interaction, a way of building relationships. Comments are a courtesy, not a currency. [x]

Fandom is a relationship between dozens,hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of fans, and the only way for the greater fandom relationship to function, is for those fans to interact. One way to interact is by writing and reading fanfic. A writer prompts an interaction by posting their work; it is up to the reader to then acknowledge (or not acknowledge).

As one of our favorite blogs, @ao3commentoftheday​, said: [x]

“Comment if you can, but don’t be bullied or pressured into it. A comment should be written in the same spirit as the fic itself: wanting to reach out to other people who love the same fandom as you do. It’s not easy to do that, I know, and I don’t hold it against you at all if you can’t.”

The Only Rule: Be kind.

Be kind to your fandoms’ writers.

Please note that this challenge is to “comment on every fanfic you read and enjoy in the month of January.” As our fandom forebears were fond of saying, “Don’t like, don’t read.” For FaFiCoWriMo, we have taken that one step further by saying, “Don’t like, don’t comment.”

No matter how well-intentioned, critique is useless unless it comes from a place of trust. Unless you know an author personally and they have specifically asked for your critique, please keep it to yourself.

It costs zero of your currency and zero of your time to not be a jerk.

Be kind to yourself.

If you do find yourself unable to comment on every fic (for whatever reason), remember this: we forgive you, zero judgement. [x]

[peachsayshi]

WHO SAYS I LOVE YOU FIRST? (Pt. 1) (with: Gojo, Geto & Nanami)

minors and ageless blogs do not interact. 

a/n: wrote this on a whim! my requests are closed at the moment but I plan on opening them up when I finish what is in my queue - it’ll be requests for any hc’s or prompts related to any of the fics that I’m currently writing! I hope you enjoy these little drabbles x 

Gojo falls for you first, and he falls hard. He has to remind himself to take deep breaths before hitting the landing, but with every exhale three words reach the tip of his tongue. This happens during intimate moments when the two of you are staring longingly into each other’s eyes, when he manages to crack a smile on your face with one of his silly jokes, or when he comes home from a long day only to be welcomed in your arms. His chest hurts with how much he wants to say it, but instead he takes in the scent of your skin as he buries himself in the crook of your neck and swallows the secret. 

What if you didn’t say it back? He couldn’t face that possibility...but one night while you were both intertwined in each other’s arms, he feels your lips brush his cheek to leave a soft kiss. 

You whisper “I love you.”, while he pretends to sleep and his hand subconsciously squeezes your waist. His heart nearly beats right out of his chest, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he tries to compose all the nerves that begin to spark.

The next day he tells you he loves you and his whole world lights up when you smile against his lips before pulling him in for a kiss. 

Geto smiles as he looks up at you from underneath his lashes - you were still chattering away, your naked frame pressed up against his chest as you idly played with the strands of his long hair. You twirled them around your finger nonchalantly before threading your fingers through to comb back his layers, and a soft sigh escapes him as he loses himself to the moment.

How did he get this lucky? he wonders, with the pad of his index finger stroking up your spine then slowly trailing back down. You say a joke and he huffs out a small laugh, half listening to you while his thoughts began contemplating other things.

He could spend the rest of his life with you. The revelation warms his cheeks, and he blinks away the seconds as he feels you drag your finger down the bridge of his nose.

You ask him what’s on his mind, your pretty eyes innocent and full of intrigue. He rolls you onto your back, the intensity of gaze making your own irises sparkle. He tenderly kisses your neck, as he takes both your hands into his and interlaces his fingers.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he admits in between kisses, and you gasp quietly at his confession.

You barely whisper his name before his lips meet yours, his hands releasing you from his grip before caressing you in places that make you quiver, until he’s murmuring “I love you” against your ear with eager certainty as you unravel underneath him.

You and Nanami were so consumed by each other up this point that the two of you began moving to your own rhythms. Mornings were always in a rush, with the two of you dancing between the bathroom and the bedroom as you both got ready for the day. You handed him his tie as you reached for your stockings, and he would pause adjusting it to help you with the unruly zipper on your skirt. While you were busy applying your make up, Nanami headed towards the kitchen to prepare your mug of coffee and then put together a quick breakfast.

He sliced up the fresh loaf of bread that he baked over the weekend, before taking a quick glance at the clock. He would have to stop by the cafe next to the school to grab his own meal, but wanted to make sure you were all set before he left.

You sauntered into the kitchen and he caught you by surprise as he pulled you in for a kiss.

“I’m going to have to take a rain check on breakfast, I’m running late…” he grumbled, “I’m sorry - I’ll make it up to you. I love you, have a great day.”

Your eyes widen as he leaves another peck on your forehead before bolting out the door. You shouldn’t have been surprised by his statement, but you weren’t anticipating that the first time you would hear those words from your lover would be under such casual circumstances.

By the time Nanami realizes what he had let slip, he arrived at the school and Gojo kept teasing him about why he was blushing so furiously.

[opalesense]

Can I request Diluc going off on a long journey with the traveler and his s/o gives him a fat smooch goodbye in front of everyone and he’s like 👁👄👁 all embarrassed

one goodbye kiss

diluc & gn!reader

1k words • ~6 min. read

summary: you accidentally fluster diluc in the middle of the tavern by giving him a goodbye kiss before he sets off on his travels.

warnings: none!

notes: HAHAHA THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE??! also i’m really sorry i took so long to respond ghdhhsg my mind has been in nsfw land lately... but thank you for requesting, take a kiss from me before you get a kiss from diluc <3

“WE’LL BE BACK IN A FEW WEEKS,” Diluc reiterated to Charles, who was only informed of the winery owner’s last minute leave just mere moments ago. Charles, quite literally in the middle of a shift tonight, wiped down the counter with a sigh. He gave Charles a pat on the back and look of reassurance. “If you ever need anything, just let Elzer know. I’m sure he can find people to cover my shifts while I’m gone.”

 “Come now, Diluc,” Kaeya set his mug down after taking a long swig, “Why don’t you entrust your dear old brother to cover your shifts? You know I’m here almost every night anyway. And you shouldn’t doubt my mixing skills, either.”

 Diluc could only scoff and shake his head at Kaeya. Readjusting his leather sack that carried most of his belongings necessary for travel, he made his way across the other side of the counter in swift steps. He snatched Kaeya’s bottle of wine away from him, earning a pout from the blue haired brother. “That’s your sixth bottle of the day. You’re here almost every night to drink, not work. Nice try, though.”

 “Hey, I was drinking that too, you know,” Rosaria pitched in as well, furrowing her eyebrows as Diluc handed the bottle to Charles, who put it back on the shelf behind the bar.

 “How come the so called ‘protectors’ of Mondstadt get drunk almost every night instead of patrolling the city for danger? Tell me, who’s out there watching the streets right now? Surely it’s a Knight’s duty, at the very least, to do their job sober,” Diluc crossed his arms as he threw out casual criticism at the two drunken night owls.

 Rosaria fidgeted with the blade in her hand and scowled, “I’m not even a Knight, dumbass!”

 “Hey, we have to get going soon and hopefully we’ll be at Liyue by sunrise,” the traveller interrupted the banter and lightened the mood a bit. “Diluc, don’t you want to give a nice goodbye? We’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, after all.”

 Diluc sighed and softened his gaze. The traveller was right. He had learned over the years that goodbyes were always the hardest, and he never wanted the his potential last goodbyes to end in bitterness. It would break his heart to think that someone’s last memories of him could be unpleasant, and he couldn’t stand anymore heartbreak.

 “Fine,” he uncrossed his arms and reached a hand out to Kaeya’s shoulder, giving him a firm pat. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

 “I’ll try,” Kaeya let go of his pout and replaced it with a slight grin, aware of Diluc’s genuine concern laying underneath his lack of words to show for it. Nonetheless, he appreciated his attempts at reconciliation, no matter how small it was.

 “And you,” he turned to face Rosaria, who was playing with the blade effortlessly, “don’t let this idiot go overboard.”

 She simply responded by rolling her eyes. “I’m not his babysitter, but I’ll do you a favour just this once.”

 Diluc then turned to face you. His stern scowl was immediately replaced with a soft grin, his eyes lighting up once he had a good look of your face. You stood up and took a step closer to him, falling into his arms in a desperate, intimate embrace. He sighed as he wrapped his warm hands around you, caressing your back and allowing this moment to plant a seed in his memory that he could carry with him during his travels. He closed his eyes for a moment, tuning out the ambient sounds of the tavern, forgetting about his responsibilities and simply enjoying your presence.

 Alas, all good things come to an end and he knew he couldn’t keep the traveller waiting. His eyes fluttered open as he slowly loosened his grip on you, allowing you to lean back a little and meet his eyes with yours. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, smoothing over his freckled skin with your thumbs and staring longingly into his deep red eyes.

 “I’m going to miss you so much,” you whispered. He studied your face for a few seconds, distracted by the way you glimmered in the dim light of the tavern.

 “I’ll miss you too, my dear–“

 Suddenly you pressed your lips against his, taking his breath away in a kiss that had him take a step back in the sheer impulsivity of it. His eyes widened as he kissed you back, panic settling in as he realized you two were not alone at home like usual. In fact, you were kissing him in front of his travel companion, brother, friend, coworker, and all the patrons currently in the tavern. He grabbed your waist instinctively, wanting to pry you off of him, but knowing that his return home was never guaranteed, he allowed you to continue kissing him and held your waist lovingly instead.

 But soon enough, you pulled your face away and giggled at the sight – his face was priceless! The poor man, usually perceived as grumpy and stern according to most citizens of Mondstadt, stood there helplessly with a crimson blush rivalling his own hair color. With eyes widened, lips quivering, and forehead slightly dampened with nervous sweat, you cooed at his innocent expression, and apologized profusely for the sudden action with sweet whispers as you pulled him in for another hug again.

 “I just... couldn’t hold back, you know?” you admitted, “Sorry, dear...”

 “It’s... it’s okay, my love,” he stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact with Kaeya and Rosaria, who were already trying to hold back their laughs. But they just couldn’t do it, no matter how hard they tried to maintain normalcy, the two troublemakers giggled profusely.

 “You two better shut it before I make you shut it,” Diluc held out his hand, still holding you closely, and summoned a bright flame to spook them. And sure enough, that was enough to keep their lips sealed for the rest of the night. Though, that didn’t stop them from exchanging teasing glances with each other, and that surely didn’t stop the rest of the people in the room to talk amongst the people of Mondstadt the next morning about how cute of a lad Diluc was at the tavern, all because of one goodbye kiss.

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

How they Kiss

Warren Lipka

- His kisses are always hard and sloppy, very desperate as if he can’t get enough of you. Grabbing anywhere he can, trying to pull you impossibly closer. Pressing his body so close to yours and yet it’s never enough. His lips are rough, but the way they feel against your own soft ones is heavenly. Will kiss you anywhere and in front of anyone

-He’s always smiling when he’s kissing you, a smirk against the outline of your mouth, very proud of himself for getting you to make out with him. But a tug of his long hair will put him in his place. He whines at the touch and let’s your take control.

-He always tastes like smoke, it always lingers no matter how many mints he’d forced down before y’all’s makeout session.

-His kisses can also be gentle, still sloppy but not as forceful. When he’s high he has this laziness to him, his kisses are soft and almost nonexistent. He also likes to shotgun with you. He’s thinks it’s the hottest thing when you lean towards him and let him transfer the smoke into your mouth and watch you breath it in, before letting it out with a soft sigh and a small smile. It does something to him, it feels so intimate and he only ever wants to do it when you two are alone.

Colin Zabel

- Colin’s kisses are very soft and hesitant, he never wants to push you to do more than you’re comfortable with. He never knows where to put his hands when you guys kiss, they always hang awkwardly at his side, you have to take his hands in your own and place them on your waist

- After a while he’ll gain a little confidence and move his hands up to cup your face, his soft touches, like butterfly kisses against your skin. Is very submissive when you guys kiss, likes to let you be in control. Is more comfortable letting you do what you want, very rarely is he the one to initiate the kiss.

-Even if he really wants to kiss you he just kinda stares longingly at you, and waits till you understand what he wants, smiling shyly as you move closer and connect your lips to his.

-He is one of those guys that will kiss your cheek before leaving for work, very old fashioned in that way. Will become a blushing mess if you turn your face when he goes to kiss your cheek and ends up kissing your lips instead.

-Prefers to kiss you in privacy, likes the intimacy that comes with kissing you when you two are all alone, will keep pda in public to a minimum. Will absolutely fall apart if you kiss him in front of Mare or in his office in front of his coworkers, will be red for the rest of the day. Just smiling and not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Peter Maximoff

- Very very nervous and quick, has a hard time slowly down. Like he’ll be running by and just stop really quickly to kiss you on the cheek, then will immediately try to leave. Cause if he stays he’s going to be a mess and end up second guessing himself. If you stop him from getting away and kiss him on the lips he will probably die of happiness.

-His hands are always shaky, always unsure of himself, that confidence he always has completely disappears when he kisses you. He doesn’t want to mess up. Very shy, won’t ever meet your eyes, always looks down. Especially if you guys haven’t been dating that long. If you guys have be together for longer he will be a little more confident. Cracking jokes in between kisses and making you laugh.

- After every kiss he’s smiling, like huge wide smiles that never fade, you can never hide it from anyone that you guys were kissing cause his smile gives you away.

-Very goofy and very silly when you guys makeout, it never feels awkward with him, it’s always very comfortable and relaxed. Loves it when you run your hands through his hair, he preens at your gentle touches and the way your brush his hair back from his face.

- His lips are always soft and sweet, he always tastes like twinkies or some random sweet snack. Loves it when you guys drink different colored slurpees and then make out. Like he’ll get cherry and you’ll get blueberry, then make out to make purple. After making out he’ll make you stick your tongue out with him and admire the purple color you guys made. Is literally the sweetest thing.

What I wouldn’t give to makeout with them-

Let me know if y’all would like me to do a part 2 and with which Evan Peters characters! 💕

[jordanstrophe]

War of Royalty

Yay! It's done!

CW: Slavery, medieval whump, whipping and branding referenced, noncon stripping (again, nonsexual)  taken in by royalty, whumpee thinking fluff is punishment, intimate caretaker, forcefully carried, begging 

Masterlist

The king held a golden goblet in the palm of his hand, occasionally glancing from the ambassador to the boy at his right hand. He was visibly trembling as all eyes at the banquet were glued on him, tracing his scars, staring at the healing whip marks curling over his shoulders. The king however, just kept looking longingly into his face. 

“Are you not hungry, Eden?” He asked, nodding towards his overfilled untouched plate. “No! It’s n-not that, your majesty, It’s just... sh-should I not be serving you? I should be refilling your wine, or washing plates.” Eden tucked his head waiting for the hand to dig in his hair or a strike to the back of the head... But alas, he just laughed.

“Nonsense! I want you here.” He raised his goblet before bringing it to his lips. Eden hoped his red cheeks weren’t as visible as they felt. “Then tell me, what's something about you? What hobbies have you dabbled in?” He asked. “I... used to set up picnics in the field for my master when he was tired.” Eden let a smile creep across his face at the once happy memory. 

“A picnic mm? That sounds delightful.” He painted a grin on his face before waving the guard over. “What on earth is a picnic?” He whispered. “Ahh, it’s like a feast.. but outside and on the ground, my lord. It’s quite dreadful.” The guard whispered back. “A feast... In the ground, eh?...” The king muttered to himself, stroking a hand through his beard. 

He then noticed half the table was more indulged in the boy than their own plate as Eden had sunk further into his seat. The king took a breath, before leaning towards the guard. “Then set up this picnic for the boy and I.” He spoked. “Wh-what? My lord, that’s far too dangerous! We would have to set up a wall of guards protecting you!” He protested. The king slowly cranked his head till they made eye contact. 

“Then do it.” He hissed. 

-

Eden’s legs trembled as he was walked down the corridor on the king's arm. “Your majesty, why are we leaving early?” Eden asked. "That’s a surprise.” He smiled, unaware that his words only pierced more fear into the boy's heart. 

The gates leading the courtyard swung open, revealing a sea of guards fully armored in a perfect circle around the hill. Their backs were to the center as they faced outwards, their swords centered with their body at their feet. Eden instantly tensed in horror, knowing this process all too well; the stake in the ground, the crowd gathering to watch the whipping, the cheering and laughter at his every cry.  

“Y-your majesty wait!" Eden begged, crumbling to his knees while pressing his forehead to his feet, mumbling pleas and apologies. “Calm yourself, boy. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He soothed, but it was like his lips were running without him. “Eden! Look at me.” The king finally commanded, his voice raising to a level he had never heard before. He then snapped his fingers as two guards stepped aside, revealing an embroidered blanket with full plates in the center.

“wha-?” Eden shyly looked up at the king. “You’re not taking me to get whipped?” He blinked. “Ah-of course not! Why would you think that?” The king couldn’t hold back a laugh as he grabbed Eden’s elbow. “I thought you might like some privacy. I could use some as well after all these war meetings over sea. I just got home! I want to relax for a night.” His arm tightly wound around the boy's arms, practically pinning them to his sides.

He plopped him down on the blanket across from him, struggling to get comfortable, although it wasn't half as miserable as the king was expecting.  Eden's eyes kept nervously glancing at the wall of guards, but his chin was tilted back. "Don't look at them, look at me." The king smiled, handing him sliced fruit from the plate. Eden accepted it as he huffed a sweet, real smile.

-

“My lord, did you enjoy the banquet?” Madeline asked, bowing before refilling his glass once more. “A bouquet is business for a king my dear, but the picnic with the boy was quite nice. I just wish he wasn’t so frightened, he expects a slap across the face every time I look at him.” He puzzled. 

“He’s quite well behaved, is he not? I think we were all expecting a handful with all those scars, especially that burn on his chest.” She said as she fixed the last winkle on his bed. 

“... What burn on his chest?”

There was deafening silence in the room as the servant's face drained from all color. 

-

The gates slammed open as two guards held each of the boy's arms, dragging him into the throne room. “Please wait! What's going on?!” Eden cried, his feet could hardly touch the ground as his toes grazed the carpet. His tearful eyes found the king sitting on his throne, his face painted with dread as he rested his chin on his hand. He didn’t look up when the guards held the slave before him. 

“Wh-what’s happening?” Eden panicked, seeing the woman from earlier, her face staring at the floor red with guilt. 

“Strip him.” The king muttered, his eyes averting Eden's horrified gaze. 

“-what?” He gasped, his pupils dilated before two hands ripped the clothes off his back, it’s tattered white pieces falling around his feet. He let out a choking cry, turning his head from the countless eyes that widened. The room instantly erupted with anger when the brand became visible; the brand of an illegal trade set up by his previous master. 

“This is treason!”

“An insult to our kingdom!”

“Who did this to the boy? I’ll have their head!”

“SILENCE!” The king ordered. The room fell silent aside from Eden’s crying. 

He rose from his throne, approaching until his hand reached the boy's cheek. “Look at me.” He spoke, feeling him tremble in the palm of his hand. 

“I can’t.” Eden rasped, hiding his face within the king's hand. He choked on a sob when he was suddenly pulled into the king's chest, the guard's grasp disappearing as he was held by nothing but the king's gentle embrace.

“Who did this to you?” He gently whispered in his ear, curling a hand in Eden’s hair. 

“I-... I can’t!” He sobbed, burying his face into the fur of the king’s robes. He felt him sigh a long, disappointed sigh. Then, the comfort was taken away, falling back into the harsh grasp of the guard's cold metal hands. 

“Return Eden to his chambers, let him rest for the night.” His hand lingered on his cheek for a moment as he blindly leaned into it, before it slipped away. "Send the four horsemen! I want whoever owned this slave to be found immediately! Turn every stone on its back! Tear the city apart if you have to!” He hissed, swinging his cloak around before collapsing back in his throne. 

“I want their head for what they've done to this boy...” 

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!~ @tears-and-lilies  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @starnight-whump  @bumpthumpwhump @whumpcreations @myst-in-the-mirror @heathenville (ahhh, If I forgot a tag, I am so very sorry, give me a poke and I’ll fix it right away)

[ficsnroses]

Closer - John Wick x Reader (nsfw)

summary : john makes you squirt for the first time. 

warnings : smut, oral sex [female receiving]. unprotected sex. fluff. x f! reader. 3k.

notes : requested! “john gives reader multiple orgasms and she ends up squirting from his cock”. I hope you like it nonnie. I missed posting/writing these past couple of weeks:) feedback and comments appreciated. hope everyones well! ily xo

He works her body, as if a note. A tune, a melody,

the song of her whimpering moans melting into his tongue; through wine stained lips meddling with his thinner, bourbon kissed rims. He swallows as many whimpers as he may, his lips on hers working as if the pick on the most exquisite of guitars. Contrasting with her silky skin’s softness, a trimmed beard scratches; grazes salaciously along her skin, his love drunk mouth tasting her lithe exposed features, finding her neck, he sucks soft love bites into the sweetest of her spots as she melts in his arms.

His arms; the only place she’d ever wanted to be.

At mercy to his ministrations, she writes under him, his name falling her lips in a soft cry, hands frantically tangling in messy cocoa locks; the smell of his smoky cologne stipples, lingering faintly to her floral skin;

Bodies moulding together as one piece; exactly how they were ordained to be.

His lips trail lower, deep purple stained marks embedding their way into Y/N’s skin from his hungering lips, and she softly smiles, her lips curling into the gentlest of grins, watching the way he loves her so well, leaving not an inch of her skin untouched; not a graze unkissed.

What she’d always longed; a someone who loves her more, more than his words could say.

John’s love comes from touch; it comes from the way he holds her so tight to his chest under glistening AM stars, from the ways his lips dawdle longer on her skin, after a kiss concludes.

John is a lover like no other; he fucks hard, yet at the same time, makes her feel loved more than anything, anyone in his world. Tonight, he’d made it clear; she came first. Her pleasure; a symphony he’d dwell in tonight, his favourite sound.

Thick, durable hands had palmed her pussy intense, massaged her, touched her exactly where she’d needed him. He plays her body as if an instrument from the heavens; his hands work as picks, his fingers brush velvet skin and silky holds. They dance, they dance, they dance, on her skin; lips explore, the taste of affluent wine and cologne splotched skin.

Sometimes she finds it tough to believe, he’s real; he’s hers.

Thick fingers dip, collecting the sap of her sweet arousal. They touch, they move, they please. The pleasures he gives flutter over her form, the orgasms delightfully rich. They come slow, slow, as waves; little, small, crashing against the ocean shore. They come in building, rising on the tide, just as that sweet spot hits; the peak. It hits, it torrents, but it never really leaves. The waves crash still, slighter, shorter,

they wait.

They crave for the next high; they yearn for the next surge.

He watches her smile, soft moans and sealed eyes, the same way people watch evening ocean waves; never tiring of staring at them.

She waits for her next tide; his next symphony in her core.

“Mmmmm,” He moans, spreading the petals of her sweet, honeyed cunt. The scent of her sex yearning heat encased his senses; a fragrance, a sight he’d stored, locked away in the depths of his mind for longing nights spent absent from his love; nights where he’d think dearly of her, wishing her supple body and satin could take care of him the way she does oh so well. Sturdy fingers hold open delicate folds, and his lips kiss a feverish, light kiss to her sensitive clit, freshly groomed coffee beard glistening already with the mist of her need. “All mine.” He sighs, breathing into her pussy as he kisses sweet, light feathery pecks along her soaking pleats. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.” He smiles, smirking up, catching a delectable view of her dewy skin; a thick swallow in her throat, brittle fingers threading through his lengthy chocolate locks nestled in her womanhood. “Can’t believe your body is all mine,” Mindlessly, kisses dot lightly along the insides of her thighs from his appreciative lips, marking her skin as his; marking her as

his,

and only,

�� his.

For among the endless sea of souls that walk the horizon, he was the only one, who was allowed to work her this way; the only man allowed to touch, feel, taste her this way.

Through quiet whimpers and shuddering breaths, she whines for him, small fingers,

dainty, graceful fingers, reaching,

always reaching for him.

Through thick, velvet soft locks, she tugs his chocolate mane gently, the feel of callous, thick hands exploring the silky skin of her exposed thighs graciously, the feel of his lips worshipping her skin sending butterflies afloat inside. “John..” She mewls, feeling the graze of his smiling lips curling against her skin. Each letter, each syllable of his name falls elegantly off her lips, the sounds of his name,

John Wick’s name. A name that hadn’t heard of kindness before her, hadn’t been recited in an epiphany of love before her. And now that she’s here, she’s his, the sound of his name, is his favourite sound.

She is his favourite sound. “John,” She cries, whimpers, spills, over, and over. His lustrous gaze slowly roves to her eyes, smiling, as a callous hand travels to meet hers on the silken, frenzied white sheets of their bed. In a gentle grip, he holds her smaller, far more delicate hand in his, squeezing with reassurance as his body moves up, lips meeting hers in a love sodden kiss. Meddling with hers, his lips brush her so sweetly, so lovingly that she falls further staring into his hazel globes, her hand clutching, fitting against his that holds hers as if a puzzle piece.

“Patience, baby.” He smiles into her skin, lips traveling to the dip of her neck to leave a gentle marked bruise, shades of purple washing over where his lips made love to her skin. Her nude form was perfectly enticing, the swell of her breasts, bare and exposed with shaded, pebbled nipples perking just for him. He buries a kiss into the valley of her chest, small, wet kisses scattering to her breasts, breath temptingly warm as a trail of delicate kisses dot down her stomach, diving down in anticipation of pleasing her so well.

Hearing his favourite sound soon; the sound of her writhing, softening, unravelling underneath him.

With his lips hovering over her cunt, his fingers spread her, lazily smoothing over her bundle as stifling moans flood his ears, the nectar of her urging arousal meeting his tongue in a swift wash of her sweetness, he licks a long stride up her delectable fruit, with fingers of his lone hand reaching up to thread with hers again to her side. His thumb soothes gentle grazes over the skin of her palm, his spare resting to her thigh as he delves into her, alternating between sweet kisses to her petals, and gentle, wet strokes to the pearl of her clit buried between.

Flattening, John’s tongue alternates between fast and slow flicks of affection, sucking longingly on her sensitive nerves, allowing the drip of his tongue to blend with her wetness. “Mmmm, baby you’re soaked” He smiles, a deep moan vibrates through the pit of his mouth, the sounds of his mouth slicking, his nose brushing against her folds as she gushes underneath him causing jolts of warm pleasure blissfully swallowing her whole. “John…fuck!” She cries, quivering, whimpering as he sends her further into oblivion. Her clit throbs, the feel of him sucking eagerly on her moist, gushing folds, lapping her creamy glisten as he builds her climax further with each motion. Feeble legs sprawl further for him, her hand holding dearly to his through a squeeze painfully tight, yet he finds himself with little care.

In this moment, her body is all that matters, her pleasure all that feats.

He leaves her a disorderly mess, the vessel of his lips spreading her slick gleam of soaking arousal all over her womanhood, the creamy build up of need drenching the inside of her legs as she whines for him; glistening with peppered moist, his beard sheens with her dripping nectar, his tongue speeding movement when she moans his name louder than before, a routine signal of her proximity to release he’d become much familiar with through plentiful sessions of love making they’d shared.

Her body tenses and toes curl, figure falling limp after an arch of her back when his hot breath on her pussy laps her so generously, so skillfully a wave of pleasure crashes over her body, the feel of how amazing the nirvana of release feels practically ascends her soul to see the stars for a brief moment as his lips never leave her cunt; gliding over her intimate parts as he gently guides her down from bliss. The moans, the whimpers she’d let out cause his cock to raise, busting for a desperate need to be buried inside the haven he’d just pleased, built; to be burrowed inside her warm, wet, velvety walls.

Laboured, her quickened breath huffs, blowing steam from the way he’d just given her a second orgasm within a matter of minutes; John was a lover she’d thank the sky for as long as she’d be.

She’d fallen in love with him the same as falling asleep; slowly, then all at once. His love, his generosity, his kindness. She fell in love with a man who deserved the world.

The sex he’d give her was an added, blissful bonus.

“You got another in you for me, baby?” The baritone of his gruff voice rings, the poke of his dangerously erect cock springing felt against her stomach. Slow, sensual, inquisitive hands roam her body, his thinner lips trailing up, leaving unhindered kisses and strewn wet pecks over her nude glory, a light sheen of dewy sweat visible on her flustered cheeks. Through stifling breathes, her brittle fingers reach for him again, desperate to feel him near; so near, that they’d be one.

She yearns for his cock; the flowers that fall his lips leave her hungry, tender sighs and draws of his body closer failing to fulfil that aching crave, deeper between her legs. “J-John,” She quivers, eyes fluttering in a sensitive roll when she feels his hands on her hips, his lips revering the succulent perk of her breasts again. His breath is warm, tantalizing; a hitch brews in her throat, the built up halt of a long so deep, she swears. She swears, she won’t be able to hold off much longer without him.

Without him sheathed deep inside her, exactly his cock belonged.

His lips continue adoring her silky skin; with the bulk of his body positioned above, held by toned biceps holding her close, she feels the weight of his meaty cock brushing her cunt each time he moves, beads of syrupy pre cum peppering her skin from his rosy thick tip. Each vein in his member throbs, shaft copious; erect, ready for her taking.  “John,” She manages, her words lost on his lips when they meet in a searing kiss. His bites of affection litter her chin, her jaw, ceasing only when pleading eyes swallow a lump in her throat, smaller hands finding cupped to his head in desperate plea. “Fuck me.” She copes, the throb between her feeble legs intensifying. “Take care of me like you do, baby.”

Chuckling quietly, a gentle smirk washes his dark features, lips curling to a smile as he leaves a final kiss wet on her lips. With his heavy cock in hand, he guides, lining the head of his manhood into her cunt, tender moans and breathless sighs meddling through skin on skin when his hips roll at a frustratingly leisured pace.

He sinks in, a mere shallow bob of his cock inside her, before rolling out. She clings to him, fingernails drawing into the rosy fleshed skin of his back, whimpering when his head finds refuge sheathed between the soft spot of her shoulders and neck. Rolling, she begs him to go faster through impatient moans, the stretch of him inside igniting that familiar burn she’d become so used to over the years, surrendering herself to him. Lax moans flee both their lips, John’s gruff tone allowing shudders out his throat to the feel of his heavenly love clenching around him, sheltering the entirety of his dick so well. Bulging veins pulse against her walls, with each thrust, he plummets, burying, rummaging deeper and deeper inside her; steady rhythm maintained by his jerks.

He sinks in inch by inch; with each heavy thrust, with each nibble of his lips to her delicate neck. The ache inside her grows; moans proving imperative, yelping tenderly by the second.

He knew exactly what he was doing to her. “Fuck, sweetheart.” John praises, eyes piercing shut to a relish of her sensuous body; the way she feels delectably warm, feminine curves and dewy skin shimmering under the gentle illuminating light washing the room. She wails between loud, broken breaths, clutching fistfuls of pearly white sheets gathered in a sea around their bodies, a hand caging to her mouth, muffling loud, lewd moans that fall without care. John sinks in deeper, and deeper, until rolled thrusts hit her end, assaulting that plush, cushy spot inside her that makes each nerve tingle; John’s name reciting off her tongue in desperate prayer. “You feel…” He groans, clutching her body tighter. “..so…so good, sweetheart”. His deep grunts rummage between her skin, demanding thrusts burying inside her with each movement, her body shivering with need, feeling the pulse of his swollen cock thickly caged inside. Within moments, John’s pace proves threateningly skilful, big, warm, beautiful. “So good, kitten.” He praises, stippling lone kisses and wet traces of his love generously on her skin with each dive into her welcoming haven.

The sound of skin slapping skin floods the room; copious balls smacking against her wanton pussy with each forceful plunge, a string of incoherent moans flood his lips. She feels enchantingly, delectably divine, the feel of her walls milking his cock a trance of its own. Leisurely whining, she whimpers, and whimpers; he drills, and drills, and drills into her, jaw tightening, teeth gritting to the feel of nestling within her; his favourite place to be. His erection is stiff, splitting her whole as his veiny bulk pounds in relentlessly, the love kissed words of praise that mist in the air sending her into a frenzy of its own. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby,” He encourages, stocky digit finding its way massaging to her sensitive clit.

He rolls his hips hastily, pumping relentlessly, fingers dipping into slick folds encouragingly. The sheen of her milky arousal coats; soaks her core, she mewls to the feel of him touching her so sinfully, head dropping to his shoulder helplessly. “Don’t…don’t stop, John.” She cries, feeling a wave of dewy tears vulnerably falling the corners of her eyes to the mere feeling of how well he fucks her, how well he makes love to her. Tasting the salt of her honey drop tears brewing a sear on melting lips, he captures her moans in his thinner ones, her sex stirred hair strewn messily over cotton pillows, the creak of the bed frame thrashing to his demanding pace.

Bouncing relentlessly, her breasts move to his speed, caged cries and whines falling each time his full base pounds her whole, thunderous cock glistening with her juices, gliding effortlessly with their cocktail of releases meddling. With her limbs a squirming mess under him, she whinges, tone stifling, planting her hands on his broad shoulders, figure jolting with each thrust he impends in.

He savours each moan; he grunts when she tightens her walls for him, her pussy moulds just for him. His humid breath singes her skin, foreheads touching as they gaze intently into each others eyes, gasping through sensual motion. “Listen to the sounds you’re making.” He smiles, the sounds of her pussy gushing with pleasure from his dick fucking her so well practically grit her teeth, eyes stinging, a blackout on the horizon. With a yawning angle, John’s cock hits her end deeper, and she trembles, shivering, feeling herself drip for him, gushing. She tenses, and moans, and whimpers, and whimpers-

“John!” She cries, desperately holding him close, fingernails clawing into his rosy skin. “John, please, don’t stop baby, please,” her words merely evaporate as they leave her lips.

His sizeable cock buries inside repeatedly, assaulting that velvety spot he works oh so well; the feel is far too much, the intimacy is far too great. The throb of his manhood inside pairs deliciously with hers, his tone husky, his praise loving, his moans soft;

Tears fall, dewy and warm. She feels her core tighten, the burning stretch incomparable, groaning needily in his neck as he thrust faster and faster, faster, harder, deeper, messier-

A burst of warm release gushes, wet, spurting, coating his cock with her warm, syrupy saccharine.

She feels a mess, eyes watering, skin slick with beads of exertion, flushed and hot; uncaged, uncontrolled whimpers and pleads falling her mouth without permission. Through legs spread open wide, John’s cock devouring her cunt for his taking, pace never faltering, her gush of release triggers a forceful, dangerously intense orgasm, swallowing her whole. “That’s it sweetheart,” John acclaims through peppered, feverish kisses to her skin, continuing his drill of hips into her wet pussy. “Look at how you drip for me,”

He smirks, nibbling her neck, watching the way she moans lifelessly, shuddering despondently. With his dense, sturdy hand planting to her mid, his aggressive roll of hips collides hastily with her womanhood, senselessly, the curve of his shaft massages her sore, aching walls, leaving her delicate after release, chasing his own.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he feels his orgasm close, cock twitching through deep groans and mumbled moans, the warm, flooding plethora of creamy wetness she’d created for him sending shockwaves of warmth snapping at each vein in his cock, each nerve in his body longs for her. Within seconds, she holds tight to his biceps, burying her face in his shoulder when he spills his plentiful seed inside her through white, silky ribbons; hot, succulent strings of his glossy cum coating the insides of her walls, adding to the milky wet haven she’d held just for him.

Her pussy aches around him in the aftermath, tender, sore. Drenched, dripping, dripping.

She feels full, tainted with his quality, luscious cum buried deep, deep inside. In the heat of the aftermath, his member remains resting inside her lush walls, the euphoria of heat enveloping them adding to mellow rides off a soaring high shared together. Pink parted lips labour steadier exhales than moments prior, her chest heaving; his forehead finding connected to hers as his eyes flutter closed to the feel of being confined inside the woman of his dreams.

Nothing made them feel closer; nothing else compared to feeling this close to him. His soul soaks every ounce of her; her eyes drink in every ounce of him-

Her epiphany comes; she’d follow him to the ends of the earth, for the sun, and her stars live in his eyes.

His lips move feather light, gentle kisses peppered across her features. His callous palms held guns, knives, all things gruel. But they’d also held her; his beacon of life, he’d hold dearly for as long as the horizon allows. All things good live within her eyes.

         Her eyes, her eyes.

A soft kiss embeds to her temple, a gentler one to her cheek, a softer one to her chin. “Everyday I look at you,” He sighs, her face still cupped between weary hands. “And I think, she looks beautiful. And everyday, a moment passes where I think, now, she looks even prettier.” A quiet chuckle falls his words, meddling with gentle sighs, heavy huffs periodically. “I just had my moment for today.” He smiles, thumb grazing her bottom lip in dear affection; the smiles he wore were all it took for her to flutter.

Stray strands fall ruffled, a muddled mess through checked tears and sweltering cheeks. Heat exudes her skin; warmth sticks to her satin form. “You…you just made me squirt.” She mumbles, disarrayed, sex gratified with a blank stare to the gray ceiling above, the stretch of his cock inside being sure to leave her cunt sore for days to come. “I didn’t even know I could squirt?” As jumbled eyes find his once again, she wears a smile, complimenting his. “You continue to surprise me, Mr Wick.” Giggling, petite hands roam his firm, broad shoulders adorned to his muscled back. His faint freckles shine on his skin in this hour; the dim PM light filtering a hue.

With his cock buried inside, she tightens around him yet again, yearning to feel him closer than they’d already been. A baritone rings, chuckling, the aroma of sex florals in the free air. A kiss finds her lips, melting, melting, melting, again.

“You continue to surprise me, Mrs. Wick.” He adds, foreheads connecting, once again, and his hold on her body never falters-

soiled sheets below, long forgotten.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[nikethestatue]

Just Breathe

Of Fawns and Shadows

Chapter 7 I know it’s been 3 weeks, but this is almost 60 pages and 23,000 words!

Summary:

The twins teach Elain something about the brothers, and Illyrian males

Elain flexes her magical muscle

We learn much more about Azrie’s background and his mother

Some Prythian history is explained 

Elain pleasures Azriel in a variety of ways that he enjoys

Heavy NSFW elements 

This is a long chapter, but also is a set up for many things that will happen in the future, hints are dropping like bombs!

Tell me what you think. I love reading comments and reactions.

Just Breathe

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

Pabo Neruda

 Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night. 

Yesterday, after the four of them woke up after their impromptu nap, Azriel took her back to the orphanage and stupidly, she almost cried. They stood at the gates, swathed in his shadows to keep the two of them from prying eyes. 

He stroked her hair, then her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones, as he murmured endearments to her. 

“Do you want me to come to the River House for dinner tonight?” he asked, hoping to placate her before she unraveled in front of him. But she shook her head stubbornly and pressed her lips to the inside of his palm. 

“They are leaving tomorrow,” he reminded her, and then leaned in and gently kissed her neck. “And you should wear a scarf,” he chuckled.

“I think that I left it at the House,” she looked around, suddenly feeling lost. 

She was returning to the real world, at least for tonight, and it’s not where she wanted to be. She didn’t want to live her regular boring life. She wasn’t interested in going back home after her time with the children, then possibly meeting with city planners, while Feyre and Rhys smiled at her politely, their expressions telling--they were indulging the strange sister who had her singular interests. In exchange for their tolerance, she cooked and baked, and looked after their estate, now that Feyre was busy with their boy. How did she, Elain, become the odd, spinster sister? She didn’t know. 

Up until two days ago, she was utterly miserable. Every day, she’d wake up hating her life, the monotony of it all, while cursing herself for being so selfish and ungrateful. She was living a comfortable, well-tended life where she lacked nothing, where she had people who cared for her, where she could make herself useful, and where she wasn’t burdened by societal expectations. Despite all that, inside, she was hollow. Only her children brought a spark of joy into her life, her children, and the shy, pointless glimpses at Azriel, whenever she managed to lay her eyes on him. Her damn bond pushed and pressured, though over the past few years she’s become accustomed to it, to its tug, its phantom presence which floated inside of her. 

She held Azriel’s hand in hers, unwilling to let go. He kept stroking her face, his thumb on her lips, under her eyes, over her chin and nose.

“Don’t be sad, emani,” he begged. “I hate leaving you like this.”

She wasn’t going to lie to him and say that she was just fine. She wasn’t. 

She wanted her life with him, where it was the two of them and happiness. Was she envious of Cassian and Nesta? Of their wild, passionate, maddening devotion to each other? Perhaps. But she didn’t want what they had. She wanted her own.

“Ahh, I want to come in,” muttered Azriel, looking longingly at the crazily-painted building.

She chuckled sadly, “If you do, they won’t let you go.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be let go.”

He looked down at her, into her sad eyes the colour of amber and then leaned to kiss her hair.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised.

She kissed his hand and then he watched her walk inside the gates.

Something empty and cold settled inside his stomach.

It was late when Elain was walking home. She opted to eat dinner with the children, and then they all had story time and finally, she helped with nighttime rituals of bathing, dressing, tucking and hugging. 

Lex floated next to her, its presence suddenly a comfort to her. She never thought about, never considered that she was unsafe here, in Velaris, but when she turned around, she noticed a trail of shadows. To an untrained eye, they were just that--shadows that spread over walls of the buildings, the cobblestones beneath, stretching and moving the way all shadows did. But now, they were her friends. Her protectors. They were not just an empty, thoughtless, natural entity, but a mysterious sentient thing that cared for her, because its master cared for her. 

“Lex, what do you like?” she asked, surprising herself. She wasn’t intent on having a conversation with a shadow.

“I like stars,” said Lex simply. 

“Stars? That’s beautiful, Lex. But why?”

“Because that’s where I am from. Stardust. The song of the wind and stars created us. Here, we were born at dusk. There were so many of us once before, free to roam and live at dusk, amidst the oncoming darkness and the fading light. Now, there are very few left,”

“Where did the shadows go?” 

“Dusk left and the shadows left with it. Only a few remain now. The master and those who serve him.”

“Are you talking about Azriel?” she was confused. Lex was prone to wax lyrical and talk too much, or too little. 

“Yes, lord Azriel. My master. The last master of all shadows.”

“Hmm,”

“So I am here, with you and my master. Until maybe we return to the dusk with my master. Maybe with you too.”

Elain had no idea what Lex was rambling about, so she let it drop.

With the shadows slithering behind her, she felt safe, protected even, so she walked slower than usual, taking in the evening sights and sounds. Envious again. Envious of all this life around her. Life that bubbled and spilled on the sidewalks; laughing Fae stumbling from bars and public houses, distinguished couples out on their evening walk, lovers holding each other’s gazes and bodies, not seeing and not caring about anyone else. But she...she was invisible. Not because of the shadows, but because that’s what she’d become. Elain the Beautiful. Kingslayer. She now trudged quietly and lonesomely down the streets, wondering when in the world she became a shadow herself? A shadow of her former self, an invisible entity that no one paid attention to? 

The human Elain did not want this sort of life--she enjoyed the balls and the outings, she enjoyed attention and beautiful things, lovely gowns, male company and compliments. And the Fae Elain wasn’t sure if that changed very much--he still liked parties and balls, and nice dresses and dancing. She didn’t want to be quiet and lonesome and obscure. She wanted to glow and sparkle and love and live with adventures and travels.

She felt a beast of wonder prowling under her skin. A beast that wanted to unleash and see the world turned, and reforged. She felt the beast, but feared it--it was her new Fae self, this untamed wild thing that the Cauldron gifted her. She didn’t know what it was, and why it was there, but it beckoned and seduced her with its presence and the thoughts that she had. 

By the time she got home, Feyre and Rhys already retired for the night and she walked to her suite. She sat down on her bed, looking around. 

“Go to sleep, Lex,” she said.

“I am not tired.”

“Then do whatever you want,” she plopped down on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Why are you sad?” inquired Lex.

“You are the shadow, you tell me,” she muttered, annoyed.

“You are in love with the master.”

“Very astute observation,” she said tartly. 

“Master is not rude like you,” noted Lex. 

She threatened, “I am going to ask the master for a different shadow.”

“No you won’t. I am going to sleep.”

For something that shouldn’t have had emotions, Lex sure seemed like he was angry. 

There was a knock on the door just as soon as Elain changed and put on her robe. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to talk to Feyre, but she hid her grimace and said ‘come in”.

To her great relief, it wasn’t her sister who stood at the door, but the grinning wraiths. What’s more, Cerridwen held a bottle of brandy and a glass, while Nuala held two glasses, which she raised as a peace offering and an invitation.

Elain burst out laughing.

“You seemed in a right mood tonight,” grumbled Cerridwen, as she pushed past Elain and made her way to the small sitting room. 

“So we came to cheer you up!” Nuala followed her sister.

...Thirty minutes later, the three of them were deep into the bottle, buzzed and laughing.

“Aww,” Elain rubbed her temples. “I am not used to drinking every night! I got drunk yesterday,”

They snickered and Nuala winked, “we know!”

Elain blushed, remembering that one of them had been to Azriel’s house to deliver her clothes and toiletries. They knew where she spent the night.

“So,” Cerridwen, stretched out on the sofa, was sipping her drink slowly. Among the three of them, she was an expert at holding her liquor. “Did all that pining between the two of you amount to anything?” she inquired bluntly.

Elain blushed and mumbled about being given a shadow.

Cerridwen rolled her dark eyes and shook her head, “Honey, that’s not what I wanted to hear. Is he any good? As good as they say he is?”

Confused, Elain nodded, “he is good. He is very nice.”

Cerridwen bubbled her lips, shaking her head. Nuala smiled into her glass and said, “Elain, what my sister is so rudely trying to ascertain is whether you’ve made love. I am going to go with a ‘no’, but,”

“No!” exclaimed Elain, blushing profusely.

The three of them had discussed males, and bedding them, without going into explicit details, but this was different. While Cerridwen preferred women, but also enjoyed discussing males and their ‘shortcomings’, Nuala was, used to be, Azriel’s lover. 

“Elain, I don’t care,” assured her Nuala, seeing the panicked discomfort on Elain’s face. She waved her hand, “it’s in the past. Whatever happened,”

“So you can go and jump his bones!” encouraged Cerridwen, raising her glass in a salute.

Still hot, from embarrassment and alcohol, Elain murmured, “it’s not like that...We haven’t,”

“Well, why not?” shrugged Cerridwen. “With those wings of his, he ought to know what he is doing,”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “His wings? what do the wings have to do with anything?”

The twins exchanged meaningful glances, and Nuala laid her head on Elain’s lap, saying, “El, there is still much that you don’t know…”

Elain recalled all the offhand comments that her sisters, Mor, and even Amren had made about wings over the years. The knowing glances and the smirks.

“Is it something sexual?” she sighed at last.

“Of course it’s something sexual!” cried Cerridwen with a laugh. “Have you touched his wings?”

“Why would I touch his wings?”

“Just try it,” encouraged Cerridwen, “see how he reacts!”

“Don’t,” Nuala shook her head, and then pointed an admonishing finger to her sister, “you stop that!”

“Why?!” laughed Cerridwen.

“Elain,” Nuala stroked Elain’s hand, “don’t listen to her. And don’t touch an Illyrian’s wings without permission. They are...sensitive,”

“I thought because it hurts them,” started Elain.

“Oh no. It certainly doesn’t hurt them.”

Elain shrugged. “So, that’s the big deal? Their wings are sensitive to touch?”

“Nu, tell her!” pleaded Cerridwen.

Elain looked down at the sprawled Nuala with expectation.

“It’s the size, honey,” finally blurted Cerridwen, choking on her laughter, “the bigger the wings, the bigger,”

“The cock,” concluded Nuala.

“What?” Elain snapped, blushing deeply. Feyre’s comment from earlier today came back to haunt her. “You two are just teasing me,” she folded her arms on her chest, “it’s not true! You are just saying this because you know that I haven’t been with a Fae male,”

“And what a fine Fae male you’ll get to be with,” Cerridwen whistled and Nuala smiled.

“Well, I am sure that Cassian is,” she began, but Nuala interrupted, shaking her head,

“Oh no. Cassian wants to be the biggest,”

“But our shadowsinger got him beat by a margin,” said Cerridwen meaningfully. “A measurable margin.”

“And Rhysand?” Elain blurted, immediately regretting her outburst. Oh gods. Now she was going to be walking around and eyeing the males’ wings! 

“The High Lord,” said Nuala, “possesses a High Fae endowment.”

Elain waited, knowing that they weren’t done. So Nuala added, “The Illyrians are naturally,”

“Better equipped,” supplied Cerridwen. “Why do you think that the High Fae hate them so much?”

“And some Illyrians exceed even Illyrian expectations, like a certain shad-,”

Elain buried her face in her hands, yelling ‘stop it, stop it, stop it!”

The sisters were laughing at her. “Don't tell me this!” she exclaimed. “I have to face him! What am I supposed to think about now?”

“Probably his cock,” offered Cerridwen unhelpfully.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” she moaned.

Nuala slid her arm around her and butted her shoulder, “Well, take consolation in that he knows what he is doing!”

“Well, I would hope that at 500 years old, he’d know what he is doing,” groaned Elain.

Cerridwen gave her a look. “Hmmm. Don’t bet on it. Males don’t always learn...”

“539,” said Nuala casually.

Elain glanced at her. “What?”

“He is 539 years old. He will be turning 540 soon.”

“When is soon?

“Imbolc,” said Cerridwen. “He and Cassian celebrate it together.”

Elain sat up, asking, “They were born on the same day?”

“Azriel was born on Imbolc.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Elain admitted.

“A holiday to celebrate the Mother. It’s halfway between Solstice and Spring Equinox. It’s a lovely little holiday, without much fanfare...Anyway, he will be 540. Cassian will be 539.”

“But they were born on the same day??”

Cerridwen, despite the alcohol, became serious, almost wistful.

“Well...No one knows when Cassian was born. He was taken from his mother so young and the records were lost, if there was ever even a record of his birth. So, from what we’ve gathered, when they were boys, they’d celebrate together, since Cassian was also born in the winter. After they survived and won the Blood Rite, Azriel offered Cassian his birth day--so they’d always share it together. So ever since they were boys, they’ve celebrated their birth day on Imbolc.”

So, Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night. Her head was heavy with the aftermath of the drinking, though she paced herself last night, and wasn’t suffering, unlike yesterday. She knew there wouldn’t be a tonic prepared thoughtfully for her and waiting on the sink counter, so she exercised self-control and let the twins drink. She even promised to make breakfast today, for Cerridwen begged her, knowing that there would be a price to pay for their late night shenanigans. 

Sleeping alone, without Azriel, even after only two nights together, was strange. At least three times during the night, she caught herself reaching for him, for the feel of his hard, warm body in bed with her, only to find cool sheets. It unsettled her. Was she being needy and so dependent on him too quickly? Or was it something else? Was it the Mother, or the Cauldron telling her that she was correct to seek him out--to search for him in her sleep, and when she was awake, and that it was right to need him and want him? 

The house was still quiet, the servants moving silently about the wide corridors, dusting and wiping and watering pants, and curtsying in front of Elain, which was not something she wanted them to do, but they insisted. She snuck into the nursery.

“Good morning, my baby boy,” she cooed at Nyx, who was sitting in his crib, playing with Brute, waiting to be picked up. He knew his aunt was the first one who usually got him roused in the morning, and the moment she entered, he was up, holding onto the slats of the crib, his little wings fluttering excitedly. 

It took Elain a bit of time to learn how to hold him properly, and the wings, their delicate soft bones, their thin, silky membrane scared her and made her terribly nervous. 

By the time Nyx was about to be born, Azriel ‘allowed’ himself back in the house. The relationship between him and Rhys was still strained and oftentimes tense, aggression simmering beneath their skin, that Fae male call for dominance still very much present when they were together. But Azriel, for the sake of other relationships, for the love of the Inner Circle, kept his rage in check, as he always tended to do. But there was happiness, there was a new and beautiful life that came about after so much strife and sorrow and danger that it would be petty and dishonest not to celebrate it. So Nyx was responsible for patching things up between the adults, at least on the surface. 

That day, after the brutal birth and Nesta’s sacrifice, Feyre finally fell asleep, with Rhys by her side. Nesta was recovering, and Cassian was freaking out, worrying about everybody. He and Mor were running around, arranging for things and taking care of formalities, but Elain was left to oversee Nyx. That’s how they bonded, Nyx and his aunt, who loved him from the moment he emerged into the world. But she was scared to pick him up, unsure of what to do with the wings, and how to position him in the crook of her arm.

“Like that,” said Azriel softly, emerging from the shadows, watching her try to pick the baby up. His scarred hands gingerly cradled Nyx, and then he laid him into Elain’s waiting arms. “Make sure that the wings drape over your arm, like this,” and he showed her. Nyx settled at once, quiet and content. “Perfect,” Azriel almost smiled. “You are a natural with an Illyrian babe.”

Those words haunted Elain to this day.

“Lana!” Nyx yelled, lifting his arms in the air. She picked him up, and he threw his short arms around her in their morning greeting. She changed him, dressed him and then, following his command ‘Boot!’ grabbed Brute and went downstairs.

But she soon became aware that she wasn’t the only one awake. 

Passing by Rhysand’s office, she heard familiar voices--the three males. Colour flooded her cheeks as she quickly scurried by the door, hoping that they wouldn't hear her and she could avoid them. After last night’s conversation about the wings and the wingspans and all those other things, she really had no desire to face them. Had no desire to stand before them and sneak peeks at their wings and compare.

However, as soon as she put Nyx down in the kitchen, a dark shadow tapped on the reeses of her mind and she allowed him in. ‘Elain, please join us in the study,’ said Rhysand. Before she could even respond, he added, ‘His nanny is coming.” Unsurprisingly, Nyx’s nanny appeared in the kitchen the next moment. Elain greeted her with a forced smile and then walked to the office. She smoothed her skirt before entering, without knocking. 

The three males were standing around the desk, all had their arms folded on their chests. What in the seven hells did she walk into? Cassian looked at her, his eyebrow arched and then smiled his spectacular smile and somehow, immediately, eased her worries.

“‘Morning baby girl!” He greeted her, and then went to hug and kiss her cheek, when Rhys cleared his throat. A formal conversation then. No room for informalities. Elain therefore, reached on her tiptoes and kissed Cassian’s cheek. “Good morning, Cass!” she said cheerfully, and then with great pretend indifference she inclined her head towards Azriel. “Az.” He was in full uniform, which jolted her somehow, for she was used to seeing him in normal, civilian clothes lately. Him in uniform always made her a little uneasy.

“What are you doing here, petal?” asked Cassian.

“I asked Elain to join us,” explained Rhys. Perhaps for her sake, he went behind the desk and sat down. Crowded by three enormous Illyrians, she looked like a tiny flower in a dark forest. Azriel and Cassian were the same height and she only reached under Azriel’s armpit with the top of her head. Rhys was only just a tad shorter than the two. Or maybe he sat down to assert dominance and remind everyone who was the High Lord. Either way, Elain did not care. She and Rhys played these little power games all the time. She, for example, wore blue exclusively since Solstice. Every shade, every hue, but always blue. Just so he’d be reminded whom she loved. Gone were the pink and pale gowns of her human life, now replaced by her Fae wardrobe, which spoke volumes about where her allegiance lay. 

Cassian and Azriel exchanged somewhat confused glances, but did not say anything, waiting for Rhys to explain.

“You are aware that Feyre and I are leaving for Winter Court later today.”

She nodded.

“Mor is coming along.”

He tapped his fingers on the shiny mahogany surface and then stated,

“You are the only remaining person with...power,” 

Both males whipped their heads at him, then at her.

“What do you mean ‘power’?” asked Cassian.

Shadows wafted around Azriel, his face inscrutable, but his posture tense. 

“Elain is the only one who still possesses Cauldron-given powers. Nesta’s have been considerably diminished, and Amren doesn’t have anything of significance left. Unless one of you wishes to escort us to Winter, and leave Mor here, Elain is the only remaining Fae with extraordinary powers. Hence, I’d like to ask you,” he looked at Elain, “to consider protecting Velaris should the need arise.”

“Rhys,” began Azriel, but Elain interrupted him and nodded, “Of course. I’ll do whatever needs to be done, though I hope we have no need for it.”

Cassian glared at her, “What kind of powers you got, El?”

“And how do you know that she has powers?” challenged Azriel, his face darkening, hazel eyes boring into Rhys.

“We had a conversation,” said Rhys calmly, “and Elain chose to...showcase her powers.”

“Showcase them?” repeated Azriel. “Wonder what sort of conversation the two of you were having?”

“That’s between my sister-in-law and myself,” began Rhysand, but Cassian stepped in and said, “cut the horseshit, everyone. What is going on? How do you know that she has powers? She never demonstrated them,”

“He pressured her,” Azriel gritted out. His siphons came to life, flickering and filling with their cobalt life, and in response, Rhys’s power woke up, slithering around him and then extending into the rest of the office like a dark beast. Azriel took a step towards Elain. She, in turn, remained unfazed by the display, her icy Archeron flame blazing in her brown eyes.

“I did not pressure her,” corrected Rhysand, “I simply made a request as her High Lord and she did not take kindly to it,”

“I reminded Rhysand that he is not my High Lord,” Elain chimed in coolly.

“It seems that I am,”

Azriel raised his hand and ordered, “Back off, Rhys.”

“You shouldn’t force her to reveal her power, Rhys,” Cassian said, all amusement and humour gone from his voice. “Especially alone--it’s unchecked. Do you recall what happened with Nesta?”

Rhysand shrugged, “I wasn’t asking Elain to scry.”

“Rhysand,” Azriel’s voice was grave and so cold, it sent an actual chill down Elain’s spine. “You want to ask something of me, go ahead. Hells, if you want to order me and pull rank,”

“I don’t pull rank,”

“You pull rank all the fucking time,” growled Azriel. “But I swore an oath to you and I will serve you to the best of my abilities. She,” he jerked his chin in Elain’s direction, “is off limits.”

“Not when it concerns the stability and safety of my court,” parried Rhysand.

Elain glanced at him with disdain and almost wrung her fingers, before stopping and simply dropping her arms at her sides. Somehow, the movement centered her. 

“I have never jeopardized the stability of your court,” she almost snarled, but stood still and tall. “If I may be so bold, but I remind you that without me, you wouldn’t have won the war. I was the one who found the Suriel for Feyre, which resulted in turning the tide of the war. I stabbed the King of Hybern. Because of my vision, my mate located Vassa and forged alliances with the humans,”

At the word ‘mate’ Azriel flinched. It did not escape Cassian’s attention.

“And,” she stopped abruptly, pursing her lips. “I’ve said enough,”

“What else did you do?” asked Cassian, turning fully to her, his eyes narrowing.

Elain felt herself bursting with strange, tingling energy. The males’ wings twitched, almost flaring, as they all glared at each other and it felt stifling in the room, despite its vast size.

“Nothing, Cassian,” she snapped at him. “Think!”

Power rumbled. The air filled the scent of jasmine. Siphons flared, just as shadows swarmed. Elain barely felt Lex’s cool touch against her hand, as it tried to calm her and bring her back. Lex did not lunge to protect her, only fluttered about, serving as a diffuser. Azriel’s shadows went wild, concealing him almost entirely. He remained steady, but she noticed his thumb stroking the hilt of Truth-Teller.

“Aright!” Cassian stepped forth, arms raised, “alright. That’s enough. From you, Cauldron Princess,”

At that, Azriel snarled and Elain rolled her eyes. 

“And you, Your Darkness,” Cassian glared at Rhys. “Settle the fuck down everybody. You want to take it outside and have a go at it,”

“No,” snarled Azriel. “You wait with Elain outside. And I will have a talk with my High Lord.”

Cassian chewed his lip, but made to take Elain’s hand, following Azriel’s order. Yet, she did not budge.

“I am not a girl to be ordered around,” she shrugged Cassian’s hand off her shoulder. “I am a woman, and you’ll all treat me with the same deference that you afford your mates. As I promised,” she looked at Rhys, “I will protect and defend Velaris and its people to the best of my abilities, if I am called upon to do so. You,” she turned to Azriel, her gaze unflinching, “are not asked to fight my battles for me. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions and standing by them. And yes, I know that my power is untapped and largely undiscovered, but I don’t need to be provoked into displaying it. I am not a wild beast to be poked and prodded in order for me to unleash. Now,” she glanced at the clock, “I am late for my children. Have a nice trip.”

“I’ll fly you,” offered Cassian softly, gently stroking her shoulder.

“Thank you, but no need. I’d rather walk.”

Without a second look at both Rhys and Azriel, she turned around and left the room.

Azriel’s face remained impassive and he made no move to follow her, but Cassian saw it--Elain’s cold indifference would torment his brother for the rest of the day. Elain’s rejection, however small, her denial of Azriel’s protection, her calling Lucien her ‘mate’ would grate on Azriel’s psyche with relentless self-flagellation. They all had their demons to fight, but Azriel, perhaps, had the most. 

Elain grabbed her jacket, so riled up that she couldn’t get her arms into the sleeves. A sleepy Feyre appeared at the top of the stairs, but before she could ask, Elain walked out the door and into the cold. She shivered. Her body felt hot, still brimming with that energy, the anger and whatever else floated inside of her. Unlike Nesta, she didn’t hate her power, for it gave her a measure of self-control, or protection, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how to use it just yet. Sooner or later, she’d have to learn.

“You’ve upset the master,” announced Lex. It trailed her faithfully, sort of latched onto her shoulder.

“I am not discussing this with you,” she snarled.

“The General is also upset,”

“Alright, wonderful, everyone is upset with me. Great. You happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Mind your own business.”

But Elain was upset. She didn’t mean to lash out at Azriel. She didn’t mean to call Lucien her ‘mate’. But, like all Fae males, Azriel was over-protective and became aggressive when she was challenged, instinctively standing up for her, as she was his female. But she did have powers and she could handle Rhys herself, and didn’t need Azriel’s involvement. Especially if it created bad blood between him and Rhys--Mother above there was already plenty of it.

She walked quickly, cooling off with every step, her emotions running high, and 

feeling both sad and cold, as she huddled in her jacket. She forgot her scarf. She’d upset Azriel. She sort of fought with Rhys. She was hungry. She didn’t feed Nyx, leaving him behind with the nanny. So far, this was a fantastic morning!

The children greeted her happily, hugs and kisses, and for a moment, she forgot everything, lost in the sense of familiarity and joy, the loud tales of their petty squabbles, the who did what, what they had for breakfast, and much more. She forgot everything, until Temal bounded and wrapped her around the legs in his usual fashion.

“Good morning, love,” she smiled at him, trying to smooth his thick, black hair. He looked at her with his perpetually eager enthusiasm and quickly asked, “Lain! Where is Az? You know, Lain, I read so much myself and I have to show him, because I have to read with him. And then we go fly. Where is Az?” he kept looking around, holding her hand, chewing his lip, his eyes darting about the hallway. He was used to having Elain come with Az every morning now, and Azriel’s absence perplexed him.

He tugged on her hand and demanded impatiently, “Where is Az, Lain?”

“Good morning to you too,” she said softly. “Let’s all go outside for our morning,”

“Where is Az?” he asked again, concern-lacing his voice now, his eyes dimming.

He kept looking around.

“Is he coming?” he asked impatiently, still hopeful.

But Elain’s slight hesitation was all that Temal needed to murmur sorrowfully,

 “He don’t want to come no more?”

“No, he does,” Elain began, but he interrupted her, angrily, throwing her hand off his shoulder,

“No he doesn't! He doesn’t want to fly no more. He doesn’t like us,” his eyes were instantly brimming with tears.

Now other children were overhearing them and their faces were showing the same disappointment as Temal’s, though there was something like devastation written on his.

“Go get your jacket,” she told him, and he let go of her entirely, head hanging low, shuffling to the coat racks. 

Other children came over to her, asking the same question, looking concerned and upset. Elain felt terrible, hating how this made them feel, being abandoned and feeling unimportant, again. She didn’t know what to say to them. How to explain.

“Azriel will come back,” she assured them, but he wasn’t here, and her assurances fell on deaf ears.

Slowly, the children shuffled outside, the mood subdued. It was quiet, as they meandered along the courtyard, some of them climbing and others getting on the swings, swinging halfheartedly.

Temal went all the way to the back of the yard, towards the wall, and absently dragged a stick in the dirt, drawing something in the mud. Elain left him be for the time being, as she sat with the younger children around the table for their lesson. But attention wasn't on her. Every time a shadow passed by the door, all heads turned that way, necks craning, and then--a wave of disappointment. While Elain helped the little ones with their tasks, Lex informed her “your boy is very upset.”

“I know, Lex,” she sighed.

“He thinks that the master’s abandoned him.”

Elain did not respond.

Lex offered, “do you want me to go and play with him?”

“No, I’ll go and talk to him,” she got up and walked over to Temal.

“Temal,” she called out to him, but he wouldn’t face her and just mumbled, “I don’t wanna talk, Lain.”

“Why not?” she asked gently. 

“I don’t want to,” he shrugged, digging deeper into the mud with his stick.

“Is it about Azriel?”

Silence.

“Tem-,”

He turned to her, his face stained with tears.

“Why he don’t come, Lain? Why?”

Temal, like all Illyrians, was not much of a crier. Whether hurt, in a fight, or upset, he never cried, and simply walked away and dusted himself off. This much emotion was completely foreign to him, yet tears ran down his sharp cheekbones. 

“I don’t know why he leave me, Lain,” he sniffled. “Everybody leave me…” he added. “My ma--I don't know her. Maybe she was good, but she leave me,”

“Your mother did not leave you, Temal,” 

“She did,” he argued. “But you know, I am happy with my mali. We have a good life, and then my mali go away and he...He go to Vallahalla, and I never see him again. He leave me too,”

She paled, not knowing what to say. 

“Your mama and mali loved you though,” she said softly, “so much,”

He wiped his tears with his palm and said, “why they leave then? They don’t love me,”

“My mama and mali also left me,” she told him, “but I know that they loved me,”

“I like Az and I think he like me too, but now he doesn’t even come,” Temal shrugged. “And I think that Sunni is sad too, because she likes him, and she don’t even talk.”

“Temal,” Elain said firmly, “Azriel never goes back on his world. If he said he will come, then he will,”

She sounded so confident that Temal looked up at her, at last. 

And then, his face broke into a thousand smiles or pure joy and awe. Sprinting past Elain, he rushed to the other side of the yard. She was smiling, even without looking, sensing the commotion. 

“Well, hello Illyrians!” bellowed Cassian, “and the rest of you, future warriors! Are you ready to train?”

A deafening scream of ‘yes!’ was the response.

Elain turned around. The two gigantic Illyrians swaggered through the doors, and stood, arms folded, observing the mass of children before them.

The children stared. Stared in awe. Stared at the Commander General. In front of them, in the flesh. Even these orphans knew who he was, recognised him immediately, and now gawked, unable to tear their eyes from him, from his colossal, towering presence. 

“Elain here said that some of you want to learn how to fight?” he asked breezily.

Eyes lit up and waves of eager nods rippled across the gathered children.

“Well then,” he decided, “I guess you got yourself a teacher. Az and I are going to be teaching you how to fly and how to fight. Is that good?”

Oh, it was good.

And then Elain snorted a laugh, when Sanaai came upfront, ignoring Cassian completely, as she raised her arms in silent command before Azriel. He picked her up and she immediately found her place against his chest. 

Cassian began commandeering at once, while Azriel quietly made his way to Elain.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she looked at him and then there was an uncomfortable pause. Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew her scarf that she’d left behind in the house, when she was so eager to escape. Wordlessly, he draped it over her neck and then wrapped it around carefully, watching her the entire time. She shuddered from the warmth. From his thumb brushing against her jaw.

“Az!” Temal wrapped around Azriel’s legs, “you came!”

“Of course I came,” said Azriel, surveying the boy’s face. “Were you crying?”

“No!” Temal flushed. “I don’t cry. But I happy. You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” assured him Azriel. “Now run and get in the formation.”

Once Temal was gone, Azriel looked at Elain and asked her seriously. “Why was he crying?”

She brushed her fingers against his own and said, “He thought that you would not be coming.”

Sanaai shifted in his arm and looked up at him, indicating that she, perhaps, thought the same.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’ve never doubted you. In anything.”

Elain stopped at the Palace of Bone and Salt after she’d left the orphanage.

Feyre informed her that everyone was in Winter, that it was beautiful and there were ice castles and sleds and ice rinks everywhere, and that Nyx took well to his first winnowing and was now ogling polar bears and eating a cinnamon and cranberry scone. 

It all sounded very nice, but Elain secretly winced--she hated winter. She didn’t like the cold, and no amount of mulled wine, snowmen, pine decorations or spice cakes could ever change her mind. Winter always harkened back to the days of their poverty, the freezing cold in the hovel, the dark, dreary evening, endless, endless nights spent in silence or bickering. 

No, Elain loved the light, the sun, the warmth of spring and summer. She loved the scent of flowers, the regeneration of earth, the waking of all life. She dreamt of visiting a beach one day, especially after Feyre had described Adriata to her. So polar bears and roasted chestnuts could stay forever in Winter Court for all she cared.

“What are you going to buy?” asked Lex, flitting and gliding nosily the produce stands.

“Ingredients for dinner obviously.”

“What are you going to make?”

“Shouldn’t you know? Isn’t it your job?”

“No, I don’t know. But once you select something, then I will know.”

Dealing with Lex was often akin to talking to Temal, yet Elain enjoyed it. She came to depend on her gossipy, opinionated shadow in the past few days and somehow, having it near her brought her a sense of camaraderie, almost a friendship. She began understanding how Azriel felt with his shadows, how they took him out of his unbearable loneliness once he learned their language, and how something similar was happening to her right now. Because she’s been lonely, so lonely and hopeless, and solitary, and if it weren’t for the twins, she didn't know what she’d do. Perhaps, the male who’s been just as lonely most of his life knew how to recognise the signs, knew how to read her and her emotions and saw inside. He was always the only one who saw. When nothing made sense in her life, he was able to offer a semblance of peace, or normalcy. Even something as simple as treating her respectfully and kindly, without looking at her with confused concern was sometimes enough to bring her out of her emotional stupor.

Elain’s made her decision as soon as Feyre told her about the trip to Winter Court.

So, as she loaded her basket with chicken, rosemary, lemons, bread, apples and pears, her resolve only grew. Once she paid, she told Lex ‘take me home’. 

“You don’t know where your home is?”

She sighed and clarified, “Your master’s home’.

“Oh good, let’s go,” Lex perked up at once. “Master will be happy if you are there. He always wants you to be there, you know.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know if Azriel, in fact, wanted her there. Yes, he gave her the key, but was it appropriate for her to just barge in and make herself comfortable? She didn’t know. Elain was a polite and proper person, with good manners, who always behaved appropriately in all situations. She wasn’t the snarling Nesta, or, at times, incomprehensible Feyre. She was Elain, who’d let the three Fae males into her house, who cleared it for them to conduct their business and who convinced Nesta to host the queens. She even managed to charm the Cauldron--whatever that meant. She could do many things, but this step was something entirely different. She was taking it for herself. 

She vaguely recalled where the building was located, but Lex led her along the streets with confidence, yakking away the way only it could, while she barely paid attention, growing more and more nervous the closer they came. And then, at last, behind a little square, she eyed the building decorated with etched jasmine and moonflowers. She stopped and looked up. It was a long way up to the….she counted...twelfth floor. This must have been one of the tallest buildings in Velaris. 

“Let’s go,” urged her Lex.

Elain swallowed and then crossed the little square and opened the door into the building’s foyer. There was a wide, winding marble staircase. She sighed, bracing herself for the climb. With her basket it was going to be a trek. 

When she climbed to the fourth floor, Elain stopped, panting. Was she out of shape? Probably. Perhaps Cassian was right, and she needed to come to her senses and do some exercises, but she was never going to tell that to him. Admitting any kind of defeat to Cassian meant a lifetime of taunts.

“Are you going to go all the way up on your own two feet?” asked Lex casually. 

She was huffing, and waved him off, muttering, “whose feet am I going to be going on?”

“I can just take you there,” Lex suggested.

She looked at its dark form, floating playfully around her. When it was just the two of them, Lex did whatever it wanted and didn’t stay true to the laws of physics, so it bobbed and bounced however it wished.

“You can?”

“Yeah,”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier and made me,”

“You didn’t ask,” it reminded her.

“I really hate you sometimes,” she groaned, while it enveloped her in its dark mist and the next moment, they were upstairs, standing by the door.

“Thanks,” she said. “Why didn’t you just take me inside the apartment?”

“I can’t,” Lex admitted. “Only you and the master can enter. No one else, without your permission. Even us.”

“Oh,” Elain didn’t know if she was surprised, flattered or proud, or maybe all of the above, as she opened the door and entered.

Azriel and she only exchanged a few words today, after the children’s training, when they were all moaning and groaning from their aches and pains. Elain pulled Cassian and Az aside and warned them to be gentler and more careful, and that this wasn’t an actual Illyrian training camp. Cassian tried to argue, but she gave him a brief ‘Archeron stare’ and that was the end of the conversation. Luckily, the two did bring two bags full of balms and salves with them, for all the scratches and tender muscles. They had stopped at the apothecary and that is why they were late coming in the morning. 

Azriel only said that he’d see her ‘later’, and that he was going to work. No indication of when and where he’d see her, and considering that he was in uniform, with at least four siphons, ‘work’ didn’t sound like a relaxing endeavour. But she didn’t ask, and only smiled and hid her worry inside. 

So she hung her jacket, removed her boots and her scarf that Azriel always insisted on, because she ‘could get a cold’ without it, according to him. She wasn’t even sure if Fae got colds, but his obsessive protectiveness was still adorably endearing. 

“Lex, can Nuala or Cerridwen understand you?” she asked as she walked to the back of the spacious apartment and stopped in the bedroom. 

“Yes. Why?”

“Can you go and ask them to bring me my clothes?”

“No.”

She whipped her head and stared at the dark stain in the corner of the room. “Why not?” she demanded. 

“Because I am not permitted to leave you,” Lex explained. 

“Even if I order you?”

“You can order me to do other things, but I can’t leave you.”

She gave an exasperated snort, but Lex announced in his usual, non-chalant way “If you need clothes, they are already here.” It flew to the closet and Elain followed, and when she opened the door to the impressively enormous wardrobe, there they were--a rack hung with some of her dresses and skirts, and inside a glass lined cabinet, there were personal items, stockings and hose and tights and underthings. Everything was arranged simply and precisely, in a way that implied that she was expected, wanted and belonged here. It somehow made her belly soft and warm, like a cluster of butterflies skidded over her skin, though she ordered herself to think rationally. This was hardly different from when Nesta moved into the House of Wind and began living with Cassian and Azriel. It was probably just as,

Oh, gods, who was she kidding?

Of course it was different!

Nesta didn’t move into Cassian’s room. 

Cauldron, was she really about to live with a man? well, a male? Just...live with him? Sleep with him in the same bed? She had no idea what she was doing! She’d never lived with a man...and, and, surely he had expectations. What were her own expectations? She certainly, well, she certainly desired him. Wanted him. But beyond her mild fantasies, she didn’t even know what she wanted precisely. A part of her yearned to live that wild, unbridled passion that she saw with her sisters, but her sisters were more experienced by the time they’d met their mates and then there was the damn mate bond. Theirs, surely, worked very differently from hers. Yet all that screaming, and panting, and moaning -- she truly had no idea where it came from with them. Whatever she felt with Greyson was reasonably pleasant, especially the second time around, but it certainly didn’t inspire any groaning or panting from her. She’d seen Cassian’s lacerated back, raked over with Nesta’s nails. What could inspire such passionate violence? Besides, she didn’t even have nails--hers were trimmed rather short, though she at least put varnish on them. 

And now she was here. Awkwardly taking off her skirt and cardigan, to change into something...well, he liked her in his shirt, so she searched to locate a stack of plain, informal shirts, which were all kind of the same and took one. Paired with leggings, to which she grew rather accustomed lately, taking after Feyre’s penchant for them, she figured that she looked decent. She’d never worn trousers or pants outside, or when she knew that there would be visitors, but alone with Nyx, or when it was just Feyre and Rhys and her, she didn’t care. Rhys cared even less. Three nights ago, she noticed Azriel’s utter shock, mixed with such obvious desire when he saw her in her tights, for the first time. She didn’t think that he even tried to hide it. So if that is what made him happy, then she was going to wear it.

She didn’t dwell in the bedroom for much longer, lest it made her too nervous and bombard her with unwanted thoughts.

Without Azriel’s perfectly distracting perfection to scramble her brain as it always happened when he was around, she took the time to look around, though she still didn’t allow herself to touch anything. Back in the kitchen--her domain--she began unloading her purchases on the sleek marble counter, and then spotted a familiar item on one of the side tables--a Symphonia. She turned it on and as she began preparing dinner, the music selection came as a surprise to her, an interesting insight into Azriel’s mind. 

The Symphonia wasn’t filled with waltzes and minuets of Nesta’s preference, but with lots of dance music--not something she’d expect from the quiet, solemn Azriel. There was folk music, and fast, melodious songs, as well as music from what Elain assumed were other courts. Curiously, she definitely heard songs and dances of Human Lands, some of which she used to sing as a girl, as well as Illyrian melodies--haunting and glorious. Lex, as it turned out, liked music as well, as it informed her ‘I like stars and music and flowers!’ Lex, apparently, was a romantic and a dancer to boot, because the faster the musical numbers, the more Lex bounced around the kitchen. “You dance well!” Elain complimented it, as Lex swooshed and bobbed and floated, wrapping itself around Elain’s hips, as she ground and writhed against the counter, waving her knife and her tasting spoons in the air. It was probably a good thing that Lex was a shadow.

‘Master doesn’t dance like you!’ Lex half-complained, half-praised.

“We’ll get him to dance with us,” promised Elain.

Behind them, a male cleared his throat and Elain and Lex halted their dancing abruptly.

Azriel was standing, propped against the wall, arms folded on his chest, a smile on his lips.

Elain flushed. Happy.

“Glad to hear that the two of you are conspiring against me,” he chuckled.

“You are home,” she whispered.

“You are home as well,” he said, peeling away from the wall. He extended his hand and she came over to him and took it, and he pulled her to him. Elain slipped into his embrace and he murmured into her hair ‘dance with me?” His jacket was still cold from the flight and she shivered when she wrapped her arms around his torso. He pushed her head into his chest and they swayed to the music, he leading her into a slow, languid spin across the room. The melody switched to something slower and more sensual just in time, and he smiled against her head that smelled so delicately of jasmine. Perhaps the gods were smiling upon him today, after all.

“Are you tired?” she asked, her voice muffled by the press of her face into his chest.

She held him so tightly, so desperately, it was as if he’d just returned from war, and not a day of work. Granted, he had to make a quick trip to the human lands and back, but she didn't even know that. 

“No, love,” he said, “not tired at all. Especially not when you are here.”

It did not escape him that Elain had called this place ‘home’.

“I am just glad to see you here,” he admitted, and then finally pulled her face away from his chest and gently grasped her chin in his scarred fingers, making her look up.

“Is it alright?” she asked, unsure. “That I am here?”

“Is there any other place you’d rather be?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling with a teasing delight. “Is this not the place where you belong?”

“With you,” she gasped, reaching up and stroking his cheek in her warm hand that smelled of apples. “Only with you.”

He kissed the inside of her palm and concurred, “only with me.”

“I only want to be with you,” she nodded. Whatever happened between them in the morning seemed to have been forgotten. Azriel didn’t forget, but he was going to bring it up later.

He slung his arm around her shoulders, knowing that she would not be happy if he released her. 

Gods, he was leashed! This golden pink girl with her chocolate-brown eyes wrapped him and wrung him and remade him into something utterly new. With her, he was a man reforged. A sharp, brutal edge that  always lived inside of him, that cut deep and unflinching, was somehow dulled by her, as if she managed to tame the cruelest parts of him, at least when they were together.

“So, what smells so fantastically?” 

Her soft small hand was stroking his back continuously, and Azriel wondered if it was to remind him that she was with him, and that she was his. Or, perhaps, to reassure herself that he was with her. 

“Chicken!” she announced, burying her face in his arm, smelling the delectable scent of him, mixed with cold air and wind. He began unbuttoning his jacket, as they made their way into the kitchen but she swept his fingers aside and took over the task. She wouldn’t release him, and Azriel...well, he never wanted to be released. She was soft and warm under his arm, fitting into him with some inexplicable, magical precision, as if she was wrestled out of his body once and now they were put together again. He, who detested human touch with such vicious dislike, he, who did not enjoy the feel of anyone’s hands on him, often not even in the bedroom, he couldn’t get enough. 

She pulled his jacket off at last, while he stroked her petal-tender cheek with the backs of his fingers, “Chicken?”

She nodded, and then kissed his cheek. “It’s the best chicken you’ll eat!” she promised.

“I bet,”

“No, it’s so good, you’ll want to marry me!”

He laughed, amused by her excitement and this self-praise that was unlike her, “Well, I’ll still marry you, regardless of the merits of this chicken,”

Elain’s eyes shot up and she looked at him, biting her lower lip. 

It was the second time in just as many days that he said that he’d marry her. The words fell from his lips with ease and confidence. As if he really wanted to do just that. As it was inevitable. He looked down at her, reading her question, the hopeful expectation in her eyes. 

He gently pressed his thumb to her lower lip and pulled it down from under her teeth.

“Just say the words,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

She snorted and said, “I am not marrying a man who hasn’t even kissed me yet!”

Azriel laughed and nodded his agreement. “I wouldn’t either,” he said, taking her hand and leading them to the bedroom. 

She plopped on the bed, tucking her legs under and watched him chuck off his layers. The shadows swarmed and picked everything up, with each item disappearing in the dark smoke. 

“They are useful,” she noted, somewhat amazed at what she was observing.

“They are indeed,” he nodded, and then asked, “how’s Lex? Is it,”

“I am good!” interjected Lex.

“Really. And was I asking you or Elain?” 

“I am good,” repeated Lex, with even more conviction. “You can ask her, but I am very good and nice too.”

“Nice and good,” hummed Azriel, while Elain was trying to stifle her laugh.

“So, is Lex nice and good?” Azriel asked at last.

She could almost sense the shadow’s nervousness and therefore, said, 

“Lex has its moments.”

Hiding his smirk, Azriel proposed, “You want another one?” 

“No!” Lex whirled right in front of them, jumping back and forth between the two. “Elain likes me!” it insisted. “Elain, tell the master that you want only me.”

She sighed and nodded, “Yes, Lex, I only want you. We are good friends.”

Placated and smug, Lex calmed down and rested on Elain’s lap.

Azriel was laughing softly.

“So how did this wearing of my shirts come about?” he inquired, watching her watch him. He undressed slower than usual, for her benefit. But secretly, he couldn’t get enough of those huge innocent eyes looking him up and down, glaring at every bit of revealed skin, raking him with a hungry gaze. Her lower lip was clamped between her teeth again, and it drove him insane...to be watched like this, with those brown eyes so filled with desire and that plump, pink lip. Perhaps he should just pull that lip with his teeth, kiss it, lick it, bite it...marry that plump lip and its owner, everything be damned.

Elain shrugged, “It wasn’t anything romantic, if that’s what you are hoping for,”

“Oh, you wound me,” he clutched at his chest dramatically. “And here I thought that you were so starved for my scent that you hunted down my shirt,”

“Pfff,” she rolled her eyes, “dream on, batboy!”

Azriel couldn’t remember when he laughed so hard. Her pure, absolutely delectable dismissal of him was just precious. And ‘batboy’?

Once he finally stopped hollering, and she snickering, Elain said, “Nyx puked on my dress one time, so as I was carrying him, while he was screaming, and we were both covered in vomit,”

“Yes, that is not a romantic story,” he agreed.

“I saw your shirt on the chair, and grabbed it, and since it’s long enough to basically be a dress, I just changed into it and that’s how it came about. Also,” she ran her fingers over the sleeve, “you have very nice shirts,”

“Yeah?”

“Soft and well-made. Such fine material, even for this simple shirt.”

“Small pleasures,” he shrugged, now completely undressed, save for his black undershorts. His wings fluttered loosely behind his back, relaxed. 

Elain cocked her head, watching him.

“I’ll go wash up,” he said, though didn’t move, enjoying her unblinking, intense scrutiny. “Care to join?” It didn’t hurt to offer. One day, she might just surprise him.

“I would,” she whispered, her throat bobbing at the sight of him, “but my chicken says otherwise.”

“Ahh, well, the chicken,” he nodded. “It needs more tending to than Nyx.”

Once Elain returned to the kitchen, she let out a long, ragged breath. Watching Azriel--an almost naked Azriel--was the best, and the worst experience. He was almost criminally handsome, and when he extended his casual invitations to her to join him she fought the urge with every fibre of her being. She had to still her breathing, recalling every detail of his bronze body; the dangerous cut of all his muscles, that powerful chest, arms so thick with muscle and sinew that back in the human lands someone would call them ‘tree trunks’. The tapered waist, and that vee that slid smoothly away from his narrow hips...gods...And that gorgeous nonchalance of his entire bearing--who ever thought that Azriel was bashful and demure? But perhaps, it was just for her. All of it was just for her. His relaxed easy confidence was reserved only for the person that he felt utterly comfortable with, which was her. He never hid from her, never pulled his hands away, never shied away from his scars in front of her. 

She really needed to pull herself together, yet a dull, but pleasant ache blossomed inside of her and she shifted and pressed her legs together, as she attempted to busy herself at the stove. But when Azriel was around, all rational thought left her and all she wanted to do was sit and stare at him like a fool. How could she have thought that Greyson was the epitome of manliness? She chuckled to herself, slightly shaking her head at the preposterous thought. Greyson. A boy. A boy full of hot air and exaggerated self-importance. What a fool she’s been. What a fool.

She gasped with surprise when strong, warm hands squeezed her hips. Azriel’s walk was so soft, he was almost entirely soundless. Even her new, acute Fae hearing couldn’t pick up his movement. He turned her around slowly and she found him on his knees in front of her, his face pressed into her stomach. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, kissing her belly through the fabric of the shirt. His hair was damp, and he was wearing his usual black and gray, a short-sleeved shirt that revealed all of his musculature, as well as the black ink of his tattoos, and soft slacks that he usually favoured at home. 

His hands stroked her sides, her ribs and then landed back on her hips, stroking and squeezing, until he looked up at her and cupped her bottom, not in any sort of playful manner, but intimately, tightly. 

“Sorry for what?” she gulped, as she caressed his face with her thin, calloused fingers.

“For earlier today,” he explained, kissing her stomach again, his lips finding skin beneath the shirt and brushing over her navel. Those large, brazen hands kneaded her behind, unrestrained, cupping and massaging, and Elain’s breath hitched in her throat, as she felt her breasts grow heavy and aching. “It’s very difficult for me to stay calm when I feel like you are being placed in an uncomfortable situation and Rhys,”

She pressed her finger to his lips and said, “I can deal with Rhys,”

“He has no right to force you to reveal your powers or use them,” Azriel insisted, looking her over with a serious, displeased expression. “And you should’ve told me that he,”

“When we initially had that conversation,” she recalled, “I was angry with you anyway,”

“Which I hate,” he interrupted, his look stern.

“That’s in the past.” She shrugged. “It didn’t last long, I’ll have you know. I don't think that I am capable of staying angry with you for a long time,”

“That’s a relief at least,”

 “But he forbade me from seeing you,”

His handsome face darkened even further at her words, but she added, 

“And that made me very...let’s just say that I was much angrier with him than I was with you. I understood then what had happened. That you didn't stop seeing me on your own volition and that the order came from him. I couldn’t control my temper,”

He smiled softly at her and teased, “you have a temper?”

She chuckled and nodded, “I do have a temper. But when I lost it, I revealed my hand,”

He kissed her knuckles. 

“Not that I was hiding it, but the power, it rumbled. It resurfaced and it faced his power. And both--fought.”

“Who won?” he inquired, genuinely curious. His arms were banded around her, hands still on her behind, still stroking and squeezing, and she grew hotter and more heavy-lidded by the minute. 

“We didn’t challenge each other to a fight,” she snorted. “But my power felt strong. Like it could respond to him. It didn’t like the challenge, if I am being honest.”

“Hmmm,”

“What?” she took his face between her hands and made him look at her. “And why are you still kneeling?”

He grinned and kissed the inside of her palm, “I like it here. You feel nice in my arms.”

He pulled down the waistband of her tights, just until it reached her hip bone and kissed her there. Then he pulled the other side, and kissed her other hip bone. She swayed on her feet and he held her up, those strong hands holding her bottom, supporting her. 

“Feels good?” he teased, winking at her and she let out a soft moan, as he trailed kisses down her bare belly, burrowing under the shirt.

“No!” she moaned at last. “It feels terrible...because I want more,”

“I can give more,” he offered with a twinkle in his eyes.

This was nothing but light kisses. Not sensual, open mouthed kisses. No. Just soft little pecks and nips on her skin. Both of them were completely dressed. Yet Elain felt as if she was melting in his arms, as if his lips were branding her skin and his closeness slithered over her flesh in a silken caress and an invitation.

“Az,” she gasped.

“Yes, love?” he sounded innocent. As if he wasn't driving her veritably insane with his every touch, as if she wasn’t yearning to have him spread her right here, on this cold tiled floor and plunge into her, quickly and roughly.

He tsked and shook his head, flicking her nose playfully, “what are you thinking about?”

“How I am annoyed with you right now,” she gritted her teeth and he laughed in response. 

“I rather like keeping you a little on edge,” he confessed and then finally rose to his feet. He leaned over her, his hand gently squeezing her throat. His warm breath caressed her ear and he whispered, “I should love to hear some of your naughty thoughts,”

Elain flushed, shifting against him, breath uneven and heavy. 

“Will I?” he pressed, his thumb stroking her neck slowly, his face at her ear.

“Will you what?” she managed.

“Hear them?”

She swallowed. 

He did not release. His thumb swept against her tender skin, and he remained stooped over her, waiting. 

Gods...he expected an answer.

“I…” she babbled, not knowing what to tell him. Yet she wanted to tell him everything. Every, undoubtedly, juvenile, uninteresting fantasy that she had. 

He kissed her ear and waited, patiently. 

“Yes,” she breathed at last. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said simply and then kissed her ear again, the new, elongated tip, to which she was still unaccustomed. 

“Will you?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t expect to ask this, but here it was. He watched her intently, and she clarified, “Will you tell me? of your...needs?”

He gave her his usual amused look and then, “Yes”.

Simple. No arguments.

“You will?” she stuttered.

“Do you not want me to?” He sat at the table, and crossed his long legs in front of him, feet bare.

She flushed a deep, lovely pink--Cauldron damn him, but he loved making her blush--and then murmured, 

“I do. But,” she swallowed, “I am very nervous. Is that alright for me to admit?”

In one long, graceful swoop, he tugged her to him, and made her stand between his legs.

“You know you should never worry, right?” he asked, squeezing her hips in his hand. “Never. I will never,”

“I am not worried about that,” she waved him off. “Never you.”

“Then what?” his brow furrowed.

She licked her lip and her blush deepened, “I don’t know anything,”

He waited for her to speak her mind, without interrupting.

Centuries of conducting interrogations taught him patience, taught him when to push, and when to pull back. Eventually, everyone broke. And it didn’t always involve pain. In fact, using Truth-teller or any other methods of ‘enhanced interrogation’ was the last resort, typically utilized in most stubborn, or desperate cases. Azriel did not resort to torturing anyone unless he absolutely saw no other option. Not due to any sort of kindness or mercy--it was not his job to be merciful or emotional--but because allowing someone to simply speak and unburden yielded better, more truthful results. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

His thumbs only brushed against her hips, soothing and encouraging, his hands still holding her tightly.

“Do what, baby?” he asked at last.

“You,” she sighed. “This...I want this,” her voice fell even lower, “more than anything. I want us--you and me and everything that comes with it. But,” she shook her head in frustration.

“But you are inexperienced,” he offered.

“Utterly,” she confirmed. A deep blush flooded her cheeks, “It’s embarrassing, but I’ve never even seen a naked man,”

His brow lifted just a tad in surprise.

“But…” he stumbled, “aren’t you...are you a maid?”

“No,” she muttered, “I am not. But I didn’t see it. We...we weren’t naked.”

Azriel whooshed a breath and swore softly. “You mean to tell me that that fool had you to himself and didn’t even manage to get you naked?”

She smiled shyly.

“I know that I am awkward and probably too proper, and you are gloriously beautiful and desired by everyone. So, I would understand,” and her voice broke at this, “if you don’t want to take this further. I would...I don’t want to burden you with my inexperience. My complexes, which I am sure that I have,”

“Shhhh,” he bubbled his lips and shook his head in admonishment, “shhh. No. No. You,” he looked her up and down, slowly, measured, “are everything I’d ever wanted. Beautiful beyond words, yes, but so much more than that. If it was only your beauty that enticed me so, that would be one thing, but all of you makes me...crave. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. Elain, you are magnificent and exquisite in every possible way. Loving you is no burden,”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, as she stroked and stroked his face nervously,

“I worry...that I won’t be enough,”

She almost-

Almost.

Almost wrung her fingers, but he tracked the movement and she just dropped her hands onto his shoulders.

Azriel was absolutely fine with the idea of doing whatever Elain was partial to. He was perfectly aware that she was an innocent, not that he’d compare her to his own experiences, which would be laughable, but even in human terms, she was barely touched. It didn’t stop him from imagining how he’d love to teach her in the ways of love and pleasure, slowly, patiently, but thoroughly. Until she came into her own. And he understood her hesitation, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that he tasted in her scent. Which would simply not do. But the gods knew--Azriel was a patient male.

He pressed his cheek to her hand and gently stroked the sides of her torso.

“Will you trust me?” 

She nodded.

“You will always be more than enough. Just remember--take whatever you want from me, take away bread and water, take my peace, just never take yourself away from me. And,” he paused for a moment, as if hesitating, but she stroked the back of his neck and he whispered, “don’t...please, don’t call him your mate. Even if he is.”

She made a move, to step back, but he held her tightly, his hands almost spanning the width of her hips, and looked at her. 

“I can handle your anger,” he assured her. “And I can attempt to be less,”

“Territorial?”

“Hmmm.”

“Domineering?”

“Hmmm.”

“Over-protective?”

“Hmmm.”

He chewed his lip and then said, “No. None of those things will happen, I was just joking.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, for he was completely serious, and deep down, she knew that he wasn't going to change. If this was the path she was taking, she needed to accept him the way that he was, and that she was always going to be his primary concern.

“I don’t know why it slipped out,” she admitted, and bowed to kiss his head, laying her cheek on top of his skull, in his soft, thick hair. “I am sorry,” she begged.

He was quiet.

She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his solid, thick shoulders, pushing his face into her chest. 

“I never think of him that way,” she continued. “I think I wanted to snap at Rhys. Stand my ground to him, but it came out so wrong,”

“But it’s true,” Azriel sighed.

“I don’t think so,” she argued. 

“It is. I’ve come to accept it. That you will never be fully mine,”

“That’s not true,” she interrupted him and then tipped his chin up, looking down at him with her luminous amber eyes. “I will  never be his. Yours, it's a different story. I will always be yours. In every way.”

She cupped his face and added, her voice urgent, “The thing is that, I’ve always wanted to be yours. I think from the time I ever laid my eyes on you. It seemed like an impossibility back then, but you were breathtaking… Nesta was smitten with Cassian. And I was smitten with you, and now I am free to declare it.”

She kissed his forehead and added, “And I am sorry. I know I hurt you, unintentionally, but I know it was the wrong thing to say. You are right, I don't ever want us to fight.”

He smiled, relieved. This morning’s tension sat in the pit of his stomach, even after he’d seen her again, during training. Even after they were done, he was still thinking about it, about her calling Lucien her ‘mate’, and about her ignoring him. When he and the too-excited Cassian left the orphanage and Cassian was in the throes of planning entire training sessions for the children, Azriel still couldn't concentrate, turning the morning’s events over and over in his head. Only when Cassian interrupted his brooding contemplation with a ridiculous question, did he manage to snap out of it. 

“So, is he yours?” asked Cassian. 

“Is what mine?” 

Cassian sized him up and then jerked his chin, “The boy. Temal. Is he yours?”

Azriel couldn't help, but roll his eyes. “Are you insane? What are you even talking about?” Cassian shrugged. 

“You can’t deny that the resemblance is uncanny.” 

“He is an Illyrian,” Azriel snapped. “I am an Illyrian. He had parents.”

“Alright. If you say so. Elain sure is doting on him like he is yours.”

“She just likes him,”

“She doesn’t like anyone else like that,” observed Cassian. And then, added, “It’s alright. I get it. But it would be funny if he was yours.”

“I don’t fuck Illyrian females,” reminded him Azriel. “We, don’t fuck Illyrian females.”

“True,” Cassian  nodded and smiled. “But I’ll be damned! Does she love you or what….She even got a youngling who looks like you.”

“Fuck off.”

Azriel got up and kissed her head, while he began setting the table, and she busied herself with her famed chicken. It was the first time ever he was having dinner with someone here, in his house, and for some reason, it made him both uneasy and so excited, it felt like when he was a youngin, with his first kiss. 

The chicken, Elain’s presence in the kitchen, his shadows resting, except for the ever-present Lex--this was home. Never before, ever, did he feel at home. Even here, in this house of his, which he loved, he always felt a visitor. Now, there was something grounding him, making him stop and savour the moment, live in the now, enjoy every scent, and touch and sound. Even the clinking of dishes. 

“Can you please sit down,” she ordered him. 

“But I want to help,”

“You are here to relax and...adore me,” she shrugged and he grinned. 

“I do adore you,” Azriel sat down compliantly and propped his chin, watching her intently, his one siphon slumbering on his wrist. His lovely, darling girl. He truly was a fool for her, but he didn’t care. He smiled to himself, thinking what an obedient, good hound he was now. 

She finally arranged the dishes on platters and delivered them to the table. 

“Oh,” he inhaled the delicious blend of spices, of lemon and herbs and Elain watched his eyes close with delight. A whiff of something familiar and dear washed over him. Home. Childhood. But not his childhood and not his home. This--this is how he imagined home, with these smells and with this female. 

“So,” she sat down and began to serve him, “I know you don’t like Illyria,”

“But this is Illyrian food,” he said quickly, recognising the dishes. 

“Butuzuli,” she said, her accent pretty and precise when she pronounced the Illyrian word. A glorious concoction of crispy, golden rice studded with pistachios, Illyrian spices and dried apricots. 

“How did you know?” he wondered, amazed. The look of the dish was exactly the same as if it came from the cook in his father’s keep. 

“Shashlama,” she gave him a heaping pile of roasted eggplant that was smothered in parsley sauce. Then, he began carving the gorgeous, brown-skinned chicken and the smell of lemon and rosemary was intoxicating. 

“I’ve been learning,” she said, pleased by his reaction to the food. 

“From who? How?”

He tucked into the rice and the vegetables and barely stifled a moan. This was divine.

“Alright, I am going for the chicken!” he warned and Elain giggled, watching him.

The meat was perfumed with garlic, the woodsy scent of rosemary, the fruity, tangy addition of lemon and it truly was the best chicken Azriel’s ever tasted. He was normally a polite, elegant eater, with good manners, who was able to pace himself, but tonight, he wanted to gobble everything down like Cassian.

“Baby, this is…” he could barely string coherent words together. “May I curse?”

She burst out laughing, almost choking on the wine that he’d poured, but nodded.

“This is fucking delicious!” he groaned. 

“Good chicken?” she was laughing merrily.

“Magnificent chicken!” he looked at her and then winked, “I might very well have to marry you after all,”

“Told you!”

As they settled comfortably over their plates, the Symphonia still playing something softly in the background, Azriel asked,

“So you’ve been learning to cook?”

“I know how to cook,” she tore a piece of flatbread, and popped it in her mouth, 

“Well, I know,”

“but I’ve been reading up and learning about Illyrian cuisine. The cook in the orphanage is Illyrian, so she’s been offering me recipes and showing techniques,”

“But this is not just Illyrian,” he noted, “this is,”

“Bagratian?” 

“Yes.”

She smiled at him.

“Well, here is what I figured--I have a brother, and a brother-in-law, who are Illyrian, and my child and the man who is my whole world are both Illyrians from Bagratia, and my children will be Illyrians with Bagratian blood, so how could I not learn of their culture? Their food? The language? Histories?”

He put his utensils down and stared at her, “You know that I am from Bagarat?”

She shrugged, “I guess I do. Does that surprise you?”

“You surprise me every day,” he bit his lip, awed. “But...Did Cassian tell you?”

She placed more rice on his plate, since it was something that disappeared almost immediately, and said, “No. But Temal looks like you,”

So she knew. And noticed.

“I read up on the Iron Eagle camp,” she continued her explanation, “where he is from, and then learned that it was in the province of Bagratia, and then Rhys confirmed that you are indeed from there. Are you impressed with my investigative initiatives?”

Very few people knew of Azriel’s background, of where he came from, which House, what province, and it struck a different note in him that Elain was interested, and that she took the time and effort to learn about his roots. Illyrian history and traditions, even its geography were not easy to come by. Illyria was a world of its own, with little written lore or documents, therefore, it couldn't have been just a simple book that she picked up to read up on Illyria. She must have gone to the Library for additional research. 

“I truly am,” he nodded, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. 

“The cook’s husband is from Bagratia, so she learned about the foods once she married him. She explained that Bagratia is different from the rest of Illyria--more open, with more trade, hence the varied and spiced cuisine, and different customs as well.”

“Culturally, it’s much more diverse than the rest of Illyria,” he suppressed something dark inside of him at the memories, willing himself to separate his own history from the actual place. 

Elain paused for a long time, watching his darkening expression, the recollection of whatever was plaguing him. 

“Will you tell me?” she finally braved the question.

He didn’t require an explanation of what she was asking.

“Tell me the good things,” she offered.

He scowled and shrugged, “very few good things to tell, if I am being honest.”

She waited, allowing him to make the final decision.

“Bagratia,” he said at last, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual, “is the one province in Illyria that could be considered ‘wealthy’. There is even a capital city--Bagarat. Most of the Illyrian Lords come from there and the breeding of Illyrians for Killing Power originated there,”

“Why?”

“Well, a smart and cunning Illyrian lord, millennia ago, spun a crafty tale,”

He chuckled and helped himself to more eggplant. 

“Honestly, this is so good,” he muttered, as if the food was a welcome distraction from the tale he was telling. 

Elain smiled and then, to his utter delight, she stretched her legs out and placed them on his lap, as per his previous request. She said nothing, as she relaxed against the back of the Illyrian chair, which was probably less than comfortable for her, and played with her food.

“I am glad you are enjoying it,” she said sincerely. 

He gently stroked her calves and perhaps it gave him some internal stability, but he continued,

“That lord, he spun a wild, but believable tale of Enalius being from Bagratia. You know who Enalius was?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ve read about him...Cassian gave me a book,”

“Cassian gave you a book?”

“It surprises you?” she chuckled.

“A little. What book?”

“The Histories of Illyria. He said that if I learn Illyrian, he’ll give me the original, written in Illyrian.”

“That’s Cassian,” Azriel sighed. “Always trying to drum up support for his favourite cause.”

Now fully satiated, Azriel allowed his wings to droop around him, as he stretched his legs out and absently played with Elain’s bare feet. 

“So naturally, an entire profitable industry was created out of the lore of Enalius, and suddenly there were all these markers, conveniently found around Bagratia.” He snorted, waving his hand and announcing, “This is the cave where Enalius spent the night before the battle! This is the stone upon which Enalius sharpened his sword! This embankment was where Enalius and his followers feasted on roasted goats!”

Elain laughed at his performative demonstration. 

“But, eventually, it led to the honing of power that Illyrians became famous for. Unsurprisingly, Bagratian lords tried to usurp most of it, and breed it into their lines. That’s how the siphons came about--the breeding pool was too limited, too narrow and the power couldn't be controlled anymore. The siphons managed to direct the power output through magic, though it took a while to perfect the system and the usage. When an Illyrian male comes of age, fully comes into his power, there is a period of trial and error with the siphons--too few, and you can destroy everything around you, break the siphons, unleash the power incorrectly and sloppily. Too many siphons, and they put a damper on your strength and might, essentially tying your hands.”

“And you have seven…” it wasn’t a question, but Elain stared at his brown, scarred arm with its leather band around the wrist and the dully glimmering cobalt stone. 

“Yeah,” he glanced at the siphon. “Seven.”

He smiled, recalling, “I kept breaking them, because they couldn’t contain the power. I received two right away, because the Commanders saw that one would never be enough, but I broke them. They added another, and another, and I broke all four. Finally, landed on five. It lasted for a bit, but the five broke during a battle in the first War, which really wasn't ideal,” he said mildly. Elain couldn’t even imagine. No siphons meant no shields, no protection, no ability to heal, and no actual power, beyond the physical prowess. 

“So you fought?”

“Hand to hand combat…” he nodded, “for over four hours. Took me ten days to recover the use of my arms afterwards.”

He stretched his arms in front of him, flexing his fingers. Elain was probably the only person in the world, except for Cassian, in front of whom Azriel felt secure enough to do that.

“So, you were born in Bagratia,” Elain began, but he interrupted, shaking his head, 

“Not only born. I am half Bagratian,”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“You are an Illyrian,”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “For all intents and purposes, I am. I winged, dark-skinned Illyrian. But to Illyrians themselves, I am not only a bastard-born, but also a half-breed. Cassian, for example, is fully Illyrian. Devlon, whom you've met, too. Emerie. Me--I am a little different.”

“So what does it mean?”

Azriel drew his scarred thumb over the rim of his wine glass and then said, his gaze flitting absently about the open space of the apartment,

“My mother, she is unusually beautiful,”

Elain looked at him, as if a mystery was solved—the mystery of his own unbelievable handsomeness. Because Azriel was just that beautiful. Rhysand might have preened and claimed the title of the ‘Most Handsome High Lord’, but Azriel was indisputably the more classically, elegantly handsome one.

“In Bagratia, besides its claim to Enalius and a high concentration of power and Illyrian wealth, there are a number of other people that have settled there over the centuries. Some just comprise small settlements, but others have entire subcultures, because their numbers are quite large. My mother—she came from such a people—they call themselves Hiberions—who claim to have escaped a great cataclysm, back millennia ago. No one really knows where they came from, as they had no written record, but whatever did happen, it caused this nation to disperse around what is now the Night Court. Some settled in and around the coast, but many ended up in Illyria. 

There are speculations that Hiberions were invited by an ancient High Lord to the Night Court, and offered sanctuary. Hiberions themselves claim a different story, and say that they were the original founders of the Night Court, and that they allowed others to settle on the land, but over time, they were weakened due to internal struggles and were pushed out of the seat of power. Kier, Mor’s father, claims that he is a descendant of the Hiberions, and that Hewn City was their original capital,”

Elain’s eyes flew wide open, but Azriel shrugged with his usual nonchalance.

“What?” she murmured. “Is it true?”

He scratched his chin and said, “Hard to say. I haven’t investigated it very closely. But rumour has it that the ability to wield shadows and that shadowsingers as a phenomenon originated from the Hiberions. Because they might have been the inhabitants of the Dusk Court,”

“What is Dusk Court?”

“A Court that perished, they say. A great Court, but….it doesn’t exist anymore. Don’t you find it strange that there is a Night, Day and Dawn, but no Dusk?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted truthfully. “But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

He drew his palm over her foot, and she squirmed a little, giggling.

“So, your mother?” she reminded him, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

“My mother is a Hiberion. Well, mixed—Illyrian and Hiberion,” he tugged on his lip for a moment and then said, “if you think that Illyrians are horrible and treat their own like shit, then you should only see how they treat those who aren’t pureblooded Illyrians. Less than nothing. Therefore, Hiberions who live in Illyria usually keep the most menial jobs, and live in great poverty, with almost no rights at all.”

Elain bit her lips, but did not say anything, wanting him to continue.

“The one thing that Hiberions have is that they can breed with Illyrians, and that they are, generally speaking, very good looking. Hence the women are prized and valued, and typically can obtain employment in a Lord’s keep. Unfortunately, their beauty is usually their downfall as well—they attract unwanted attention.”

Elain swallowed, understanding perfectly well what he was implying.

“Is that what happened to your mother?”

He nodded.

“My father was a Bagratian Lord, wealthy, with a training camp located on his lands. That always brought him steady income. He was married to a female—an arranged marriage—and they had two sons.

“My mother was engaged to be married to a hunter, also a Bagratian, who traded in pelts. She worked in the training camp, and that’s where she’d met Rhys’s mother. Because my mother was a half-breed, she had wings, but they were lame, and did not develop as quickly as normal wings do. Therefore, flying was always very difficult for her, and that’s how she avoided being clipped. They didn’t bother with her, seeing that she couldn’t fly away anyway. 

The hunter, he was wounded the winter before they were set to get married, and couldn’t support himself or her, while also needing a healer, at least for a period of time. So they decided that she would seek employment at the Keep…my father’s Keep, just for that winter, until the hunter recovered. She was hired as a maid, and all was well for a while, but that was until my father saw her and became smitten at once.”

Azriel cleared his throat and considered for a moment, before continuing,

“I don’t know if ‘smitten’ is the right word. Infatuated? Obsessed? Enthralled? I don’t know…But whatever it was, he pursued her relentlessly, spurned even further by the fact that she had no interest in him and was in love with the hunter. 

“But my father was a Lord and she was a poor half-breed in his employ, with nothing to her name and no protection. The hunter tried to come and take her away, but my father hid her and wouldn’t release her.”

“He forced her?” Elain sounded broken, her face paling. 

He nodded.

“Surely. Perhaps he wasn’t violent, but it was not her intention or desire to be with him. The wife might not have cared, for it was common enough occurrence for a lord to keep women available for sexual pleasure, but then my mother became pregnant.”

“With you?”

“No.”

Elain sensed that he was about to tell her something horrible, and she didn’t want to hear it, yet she knew that she had to. That this was something that he probably didn’t share with anyone. He was trusting her with his family lore, broken and terrible as it was, filled with pain and suffering, but she felt a sense of kinship, as it was an honour to hear his story. 

“The wife beat that babe out of my mother.”

Elain sucked in her breath as her hand instinctively went to her stomach. He tracked the movement, but didn’t comment.

“Hiberions aren’t like the Fae,” he explained. “They are Fae, but like Illyrians, they are a separate race. So certain common traits of the Fae don’t apply to them—females get pregnant easily, or at least at the same rate as humans.

“So, within months, my mother was pregnant again—this time with me. The wife threatened my mother again, but the Lord overheard and broke the wife’s arm in a fit of rage. So, she, more or less, left my mother alone after that.”

He stopped speaking and looked out the floor-length window in front of which they were sitting.

“And then?” Elain asked softly.

“And then it became a different story…mine.”

Which meant that he didn’t feel like discussing himself or his childhood. She understood and did not push.

But she did ask,

“What happened to the hunter?”

“I found him,” Azriel said, still looking out the window, his jowls working hard.

“And?”

“And he was still alone, waiting for my mother. He knew that somehow, he’d get her back, and one day, she’d return to him and they’d be together. It was after the War and I had my seven siphons by then. Rhys, who was very gravely injured, and almost lost his wings in the war, had recovered, and so we went together, back to my father’s Keep. Cassian and Rhys and myself, and the hunter.”

“Your mother was alive?”

“She was. We let the hunter take her away…”

Elain didn’t need details about what had happened afterwards. 

Nesta had mentioned what the three brothers did to Cassian’s village and the males who had destroyed his mother’s life. How they laid waste to the entire settlement, barely sparing the females and children. She imagined that something very similar took place at Azriel’s father’s Keep. 

So, she bypassed the question and the details.

“And your mother?” she asked instead.

“She and her husband, the hunter, live together to this day.”

Elain’s face sparkled with genuine happiness, and somehow, that made all the difference. 

Azriel wasn’t sure if he should share his background, and even as they started to discuss Bagratia, he didn’t think that he’d veer off so deeply and completely into his family history. Now, he felt like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders. There was lightness, even despite the topic of the conversation and all the memories that it brought up. Perhaps, it was Elain’s gentle, contemplative acceptance, or the sorrow written on her soft, flower-like face, or this happiness that she was displaying right now that made his tale tolerable and worthwhile. She reached and grabbed his hand and asked, “Your mother lives?”

“She does. And it pleases me that she is happy. She deserves it.”

Elain threaded her fingers with his and then, quietly, inquired, “Will I be able to meet her? Not now, of course, but,”

“I think she’d love to meet you as well. I think she’d love to meet you anytime. You have similar qualities, even similar interests,”

“Like what?”

“She is an accomplished baker—actually, that’s what she does. She has a pastry shop in the town where they live. It’s very popular,”

“Is that where you got your sweet tooth?” she joked.

“Probably. Even if I’d never eat anything sweet until I was an adult.”

“Why?”

“My childhood did not allow for sweets,” he answered blandly, not wanting to return to that place in his head.

Instead, Elain asked, “what else?”

“She likes flowers, like you. They have a lovely garden.”

He smirked then, and made a wide gesture with his hand,

“And speaking of flowers...I see we have all these weeds now in the house,”

“Weeds?” she shrieked indignantly, while he nodded and laughed. 

“Weeds?”

“Yeah, weeds...I’ve never had flowers in this house,”

“That’s weird but also untrue,” she cut him off.

“Is it?” he was laughing.

“I saw two jasmine plants--in the bedroom and in your study. Are they weeds that you allow?”

He got up so swiftly, she barely registered it with her own eyes. And then he was on his knees in front of her, cupping her face between his rough palms. She slid towards him, wrapping her legs loosely around his torso, just under the wings. She smiled at him, and nudged her face to kiss the inside of his palm.

“What?”

He looked at her long and hard, as if trying to drink in her loveliness, memorise every line of her face.

“I must have jasmine,” he said at last, leaning in and kissing her cheek. Then the other cheek. Then her temple. And then tenderly, slowly, each eye. 

“Az,” she breathed, wrapping her hands over his thick, strong wrists. His thumbs brushed along her face, and he said, “you are my jasmine, my beautiful flower. The scent is you. The day I returned from the human lands, from your estate, after meeting you for the first time, I had to go to Hewn City and perform some unpleasant tasks.”

Elain guessed, but did not question what those tasks might have been.

“And then I went and bought a jasmine plant, because all I wanted to do was think about you.”

Her breath halted and she stared at him.

He sighed apologetically, “I didn’t have anything of you, so I figured that maybe I could have your scent,”

“I smell of jasmine?”

“You don’t know?” he seemed surprised.

She shook her head.

“Jasmine and honey. You are a cross between a flower and a pastry,” he smiled and kissed her face again. “My favourite scent. So whenever I slept here, I’d always wake up to your scent and it made for a good day…”

He reached behind her and then scooped her in his arms.

“I am proud of myself, because I managed to keep these plants alive this whole time!”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, while he rose to his feet.

“What about dessert? And the dishes?” she protested unconvincingly.

He nuzzled at her neck and growled, “You are my dessert.”

She shivered with pleasure, and he added, “and dishes...that’s what I have the shadows for. They’ll take care of it. Lex,” he barked. “Make yourself useful and clear the table.”

“I don’t know how,” Lex immediately protested. 

“Then learn,” Azriel suggested, as Elain laughed into his neck.

“I don’t want to. Don’t you have others to do the dishes?” Lex argued.

“How about doing what I tell you?” Azriel proposed.

Lex floated to the table, apparently surveyed it and then declared,

“I am tired.”

“That’s the shadow you gave me?” Elain whispered into his ear. “A shadow that is lazy and that gets tired?”

“I can hear you, Elain,” Lex pointed out.

“If you are so tired, go to sleep,” she told it.

“I don’t want to. I am not so tired.”

“Lex is only so tired when it comes to clearing the dishes,” Azriel huffed and released a cloud of his own, less problematic and temperamental, shadows. “You can do whatever you want, but don’t bother us until the morning.”

Elain stroked and scratched the back of his neck, laying her head on his shoulder, as he carried her slowly to the bedroom, his face buried in her hair.

“Did you like dinner?” she asked, sighing softly and happily.

“It was perfect. Perfect. But, one request, if I may?”

She looked up and smiled, “you may?”

“Raisins in the rice...lots of raisins,” he requested.

“A little side of rice with a mountain of raisins?” she laughed and nodded. “Raisins it is.”

He kissed her cheek and she pouted, “But I really wanted you to have my dessert!”

“Breakfast? Dessert pastry for breakfast?” he offered, giving her a conciliatory kiss.

“I suppose.”

They finally made it to the bedroom, and Azriel closed the door behind them with his foot.

There was a sleek, comfortable leather chair in the bedroom that stood by the wall of windows, and Azriel headed straight for it, sprawling easily, his wings splaying against the wide back. He did not release her, but sat her on top of him, so she straddled his hips. His large, warm hands immediately migrated to her lush bottom, perhaps his favourite feature of hers, at least so far. He was hoping that he could explore many, many more parts of her, slowly and thoroughly, and soon.

She looked at him, her face soft and rosy, that delicious blush of her spreading slowly over her cheeks. Gods, he thought that he’d never get enough of that blush, would never want to stop making her blush like that, because of how his proximity made her feel.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and he tugged on the silk ribbon that tied her long, thick braid. 

“You haven’t called me ‘baby’ today,” she reminded him, her voice warm and husky, and the sound of it made him shift beneath her. 

“No?” 

She shook her head, his tongue slowly brushing her lower lip, before she clamped it in her teeth, watching him from under her lashes. Slowly he released the thick golden strands of her hair from the plait and it fell like a silky curtain around her shoulders and her face.

His finger lightly pulled at the collar of his shirt that she was wearing and he leaned and kissed her collarbone.

“Well, that’s my fault then,” he breathed against her neck, and kissed the other collarbone, before he unbuttoned the top button. “Will my baby forgive me?” he then kissed between the collarbones and proceeded to unbutton another button.

“I don’t know,” she gasped, “what will you do?”

“As penance?” he smiled, watching her pulse quicken, and the vein under her pale skin fill with blood.

“Let’s hear it,” she welcomed coyly.

He smiled, amused and secretly entertained. It was adorable when she took a little bit of charge, and decided to be in control. He liked it. She was quiet and unobtrusive, but she knew when to stand up and be heard and when to step back. She wasn’t as shy and retiring as everyone assumed she was, but that was probably because very few actually paid attention and learned about who she was. She did. He paid attention to everything.

“I undress you?” he proposed simply.

She squirmed just a bit, but then gave a single nod.

He found the buttons for the back slats of the shirt and then asked casually, as he worked them with his fingers,

“Tell me what you want, my darling girl.”

His voice was soft, but there was something imperative in his tone, which left little room for debate. 

“I-I...what do you mean?” she stammered.

He was cool and steady, as he pulled the shirt off her shoulders and repeated, “Just tell me what you want?”

“You?”

He smiled,

“Are you unsure?”

“No! I am very sure. I just don't know what you are asking,”

“I think that you do,” he said evenly. 

“What do you want?” she then asked in turn.

He sighed and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped, but he pulled away before she could even react.

“You, emani,” he said simply. “I want you, just as well. But I also think that I want more…I think that I want everything. Everything you can give me, anything you are willing to share with me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I think that I want to be greedy this time around. For the first time in my life, I want a woman, a female,”

“A woman,” she murmured.

“A woman,” he agreed easily, “to give me all of her.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes bright and almost entirely green in the dim light of the bedroom. “Body--yes,” he looked down at her, and almost groaned, “gods yes, I want this body. But so much more. I don't want to sound like a feral Fae male,”

At that, Elain smiled softly, wordlessly giving him permission to be just that.

His hands grabbed her hips, grounding her on his thighs and he said, “But I don’t care. I want you to be mine. I want to know every day, every moment that you are mine and that you feel something for me. Because I want to be yours. I don’t give a fuck about your bond, the lack of our own,”

“We don’t need a bond,”

“We don’t,” he nodded, “because you are mine and I'm yours.”

“And that’s more than enough for me. Also, you are already quite feral, so I don’t think I need any more ferocity.”

At that, Azriel laughed openly and she giggled, liking when her jokes made him laugh. Then, more seriously, he added, “I think that after 500 years, I am ready for something new. This nomadic existence is nice, but honestly, I think that I am tired of wanting...of hoping. I have you--if you’d have me--and I am ready to,”

“Oh, no, am I making my shadowsinger settle?” she mused.

“I think the shadowsinger doesn’t mind settling at all. When I built this apartment,” and he jerked his chin, “it was the first thing that was my own. I’d always shack up in the House of Wind, or at Rhys’s, and it was fine. I felt busy, and I didn’t feel like….” he stumbled. “Like I deserved good things. Any things, really. But then Rhys was Under the Mountain, and we protected the city, kept everything running, and I started thinking that there had to be a reason for all of this sadness and when I looked at the people who lived, who had families and some semblance of happiness, who found joy in the very day, I thought that maybe I should try to strive for the same. It took me another half a century to meet you,” he chuckled tensely, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “But here we are. And honestly,” he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “coming home tonight, and finding you here,”

For the first time, perhaps ever, Elain watched him being emotional about something. Or at least as emotional as he ever got. 

“It was the best feeling,” he concluded at last. This was also probably the most Azriel’s said in his entire life--tonight, when he told her of his mother, when he was making this confession to her right now, was the most verbose that Azriel’s ever allowed himself to be. 

“I like being here. With you,” she said simply and sweetly. And then she leaned in and kissed his eyes softly. “Cooking for us. Being in this house…”

Azriel knew that Elain’s nature was domestic, nurturing, and she was happiest when she had control over her life, over her domicile, over her surroundings. He wasn't the only one who needed control in his life--in their desire for planning and order, they matched very well. The upheavals of the past decade certainly pushed her to crave a sense of stability and ownership, and he accepted that. Liked it, since that’s what he was lacking in his own past.

For her, he’d wrestle and wrangle the peace and tranquility that they both craved. 

“Now...will you undress me already?” she ordered impatiently and he grinned. 

“It’s your turn,” he reminded her, “I’ve said more words in the last fifteen minutes than I’ve in the past century.”

As he slipped his shirt down her torso, baring her pale skin, so in contrast with the dark bronze of his own, she said quietly, barely looking at him, 

“I like it when you tell me what to do.”

He did not press, waiting for her to speak. His heart lurched with secret satisfaction at her words, but he tried to keep his excitement muted.

“Not in everything,” she continued, her head inclined towards her chest, watching her breasts, covered with a lacy wrap.

The Fae, as she quickly learned, did not wear corsets. And thank the Mother for that. Their clothes were practical. No petticoats, no unnecessary shifts, no hooped skirts, no scarfs or flounces to cover the bodice. No issues with females wearing trousers or pants either. The Night Court fashions were on a more scandalous side, so much so that Elain and Nesta often bucked at some of the dresses that were presented to them. Feyre and Mor favoured scraps of translucent fabric and some strategically placed belts and straps and that’s about all. Elain still wore dresses, but none required half an hour of cinching and tying to get into them. Undergarments were simple as well, elegant and well-made, for the Fae took pride and care in their immortal bodies and their underthings. She grew to love the uncomplicated breast wraps, that supported everything quite well, but allowed for easy movement and only needed a satin tie or a few pearl buttons to stay put. 

“But I don’t want to even pretend like I know anything,” she lay her hands on her lap, to prevent herself from squeezing her fingers. “And I…” she licked her luscious lip, “I think that you would enjoy telling me what to do.”

Her gaze fell on his mouth, the sensuous line of it.

“I would.”

His throat bobbed just a bit, excitement coursing through his veins. 

“So you’ll have to tell me,” she decided. “And I will listen.”

“You’ve been listening to me already,” Azriel noted, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, as he stroked the nape lightly. “I’ve noticed you are not wringing your fingers anymore.”

“I don’t,” she nodded. “Thank you for that. I didn’t think much of it when you told me, but now I understand. Surprisingly, it centers me. My mind doesn’t race when I do it.”

“A concentration technique,” he smiled. 

“But also a test, I think. To see if I would listen?” she cocked her head at him.

He didn’t want to lie, so he nodded.

Softly, she wondered, “Is that what you like?”

“Control? Yes.”

“Pain?” she blinked nervously.

“No. Not pain. I certainly prefer pleasure to pain, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t indulged in both. With you,” he ran his thumb over her mouth, “I think pleasure is the way to go.”

She kissed the pad of this thumb, its rough skin and decided, “I trust you. I think that I would like to listen to you and do what you tell me.”

“Thank you, my sweet,” he unbuttoned the rest of the buttons with his available hand and tossed the shirt on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “open up” and Elain, a little unsure, parted her lips. “Lick.”

She made to reach for his wrist, but he only moved his head and guided her, “Mouth only.”

She acquiesced, and slowly pulled the thumb inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over it, watching him watch her with a content, pleased expression on his granite-hewn, perfect face. 

“Lick,” he said again, without any further prompting. She licked. She dragged her tongue up and down his thumb, secretly marveling at the fact that his hand was the first thing that he allowed her to touch so intimately. Despite the intricate network of thick, mottled scars that covered his hands, snaked up all the way to his forearm on his left arm and reached his bicep on his right, his hands were beautiful, like the rest of him. The fingers were long and strong, with well-cared for nails, and the palm itself wide and large and powerful, his fist frighteningly enormous. 

Elain licked, as thoroughly as she could, finding that it made her pant a little, squirm atop of him, and she didn’t understand why. She hoped that he was enjoying it, because she certainly was. 

“My good girl,” he stroked her hair, dragging his other hand over her head, and at the name, she felt her nipples strain against the silk and lace of her wrap, “suck now…”

Barely giving her time to pause, he fed two fingers in her mouth, index and middle, and she gulped on air, sucking them inside. “Nice and slow,” he coached softly, rubbing them against her soft, wet tongue, “show me, how much you like it.”

She liked it. Even if the fingers took up most of her mouth, there was something sensual and primal, having his hand in her mouth. It was daringly intimate, and while she dreamed of kisses and caresses, somehow, with this one gesture, he brought her into a different realm. It was a place where she yearned to step into, and explore the possibilities that she hadn’t even imagined yet. 

She sucked, slowly, as instructed, acquainting herself with the feel and the taste, watching him prod her mouth rhythmically, in and out, while she met the shallow thrusts with her tongue and lips.

“Good,” he approved, and she loved the praise on his lips, and how he watched her, her face, the workings of her tongue, and the even, languorous bobbing of her breasts within the confines of the wrap. She propped herself on his shoulders, as his arm wrapped around her waist and he squeezed her behind. He increased the speed ever so slightly, reaching almost all the way to her throat, and she dripped on her chin, but as she attempted to wipe the saliva, he shook his head and she stopped. 

“Messy is good,” he whispered into her ear, leaning closer, so that her breasts slid and bounced against his chest, and the brush of her nipples over the silk became almost painful. A wave of heat rolled over her entire body, and for the first time in her life, she felt an ache. An ache deep inside of her, a ravenous hunger, which remained unsatisfied.

“Keep sucking,” he muttered into her cheek, his lips pressed to it tightly, as he lightly bit the hollowed spot, the teeth scraping over her skin. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, probably more strongly than she anticipated, perhaps even hurting him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to stop, but gods, the ache inside of her was horrible.

Azriel felt the powerful drip of her arousal against his thigh, as she writhed against him, warm and wet and panting in his arms. He loved watching her become this excited, offering him her mouth, giving him pleasure, her swift little tongue working tirelessly and hurriedly over his fingers. His sweet, beautiful girl. It wasn’t particularly difficult to keep himself in check right now, though he definitely considered taking this a bit further...perhaps undressing her more. But then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remain so composed if she was naked. Perhaps tomorrow. 

He allowed her to suck for a bit longer, until, without warning, pulled his fingers out of her mouth.

She was taken aback at the loss, and stared at him, looking alarmed.

“Baby, was that good?” he smiled at her, and seeing that he wasn’t upset, she nodded eagerly.

“I can suck more, if you’d like,” she offered.

He wiped her wet chin and then brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them. The gesture caused her to bloom with a delectable blush that he loved so much. 

“Did you...did you like it?” she almost whispered, and he teased her,

“Why are you whispering?”

She chuckled, wiping her chin.

“But yes, I absolutely loved it,” he said, relaxing back in the chair. “You did so well.”

She smoothed her hair and then straightened out, a small smile on her full lips, and watched him easily, but assuredly slide his palm between her legs.

She was warm and damp, and he brushed a knuckle along the seam of her sex, soliciting a little yelp of surprise and enjoyment from her. 

“I am wet,” she blurted, and then stopped, eyes wide.

“You are,” he said simply, approval lacing his voice. “Have you not been wet before?”

He cupped her, holding his palm against her leaking core, but did not press further. He wanted her to open up to him, and somewhat surprisingly, she did,

“I don’t think I have. Not like this.”

It pleased him to hear that he’d made her this wet, but a question gnawed on him nevertheless,

“But when you gave him your maidenhead, you must have,”

“Not like this,” she said shyly, shaking her head. 

“It hurt then?”

She nodded.

Annoyance rippled over his face, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Usually, he was not this expressive of his feelings, whatever they were, but with her, it was different. He cupped her cheek and then pulled her to him, so she sprawled on his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

“It’s a shame that he didn’t make the experience better…”

“They say it always hurts,”

“It doesn’t have to,” he argued. “It has to be pleasurable.”

“I guess I was expecting it,” she shrugged. “It was...alright.”

“Alright should never be the experience, especially not the first one,” he sniped, but didn’t push.

She ran her fingers over his chest, feeling the thick, hard mass of his pectorals beneath the thin knit fabric of his shirt. Azriel stroked her bare back, walking his fingers along the spine.

Suddenly, she murmured, “I want to shout.” 

He waited, wondering when she meant. 

She didn’t move, didn’t look at him, but remained tucked into his chest.

“I want to shout,” she repeated at last. “From pleasure. I’ve heard them...Nesta and Feyre. They scream.”

“And you haven't?” even though he posed it as a question, it was more of a statement. It did not particularly surprise him that she hadn’t had a climax, but internally, he felt a twinge of sadness. Yet, there was also a hopeful feeling of anticipation fluttering in his chest--for he’d be the one to provide her with her pleasure. He’d be the one who’d make her ‘shout’. 

A plan was already forming in his head. Even when it came to sexual matters, Azriel preferred to plan ahead, have a path to follow, but then again, most of his encounters were pre-arranged in some way, so it was easier to accomplish. With Elain though--his Elain was special. She was his heart’s desire, and for her he felt many things, including passion. Passion was not something he dabbled in frequently, since he was not one to be quickly overcome by it, and never did he lose himself or his senses in a female. Sure, there was an occasional tumble against the wall with a panting, willing, nameless female, but it was an itch to be scratched, and nothing more. 

“No,” she ground briefly against his hand, pushing into him. “But I want to. I think it would be nice to let go...to feel that free. So unburdened.”

She fell quiet and then, after a lengthy silence added, “With you. I want it to be with you only.”

“I should hope so,” he smiled. “Now, I would like to take you to bed and sleep in your arms. The entire night. Because I am fucking tired!”

Elain laughed and sat up, before jumping off him and tugging him off the chair.

“I want you to sleep in my arms as well!”

Elain loved getting ready for bed alongside him. 

Needless to say that she’d never done that before. Even back in their hovel, she tried to carve a few minutes to herself, in privacy, even with her sisters banging on the privy door. But she never felt uncomfortable with Azriel, and even now as she washed her face, combed through her tangled hair, brushed her teeth, she watched him do the same next to her, and it felt inexplicably normal. 

“I’ll finish undressing you,” he warned, before she headed into the closet. She paused, and sensing her hesitation, he added lightly, “You know, I can undress a female without baring her.”

“Is that a shadowsinging ability?” she joked, picking out a nightgown from the stack that one of the twins had delivered.

“No,” he called out from the bathing room. “It’s a male’s ability.”

When she emerged, he was standing by the bed, reading some document which he somehow fished out of somewhere. He was naked, save for his black undershorts, which contoured everything with egregious explicitness. Elain glanced down his torso. Those well-defined hip muscles, as well as the ridged abdomen were nothing but a mouthwatering temptation. But then she snagged another look,

And he caught it.

A smirk appeared on his lips and he said,

“You can look, you know.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she declared primly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You are right, not at all,” he jerked his head to have her come to him. He sat down on the bed and she approached, stopping in front of him.

“This will be my job, from now on,” his voice was heavy with promise, “to undress you. Every night.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “What if I want to undress you?”

“Then you should.”

He easily rolled her tights down her thighs and legs, until she stepped out of them and stood in front of him, almost nude, in only her silk underwear. 

Elain was more supple, more voluptuous than her sisters. Nesta was rail thin, with surprisingly large breasts, a ramrod straight back and long, skinny legs. Feyre was both feminine and boyish at once, pretty, lithe, but unremarkable, at least to Azriel. 

Elain, his Elain, was a delicious pastry incarnate. She was correct, he did have a sweet tooth. And she satisfied all his aesthetic cravings, and possessed all the qualities that he enjoyed. Contrary to what others thought, Elain was not small or petite--she was as tall as Feyre, and both were just a tad shorter than Nesta. But compared to an Illyian, these girls were small and delicate. 

He couldn’t stop himself, and placed his hands on her hips, drawing a scrutinising gaze over her luscious body. Then, he placed a soft kiss on her belly, before rubbing his cheek over her soft, full breast. She stroked the back of his neck, down his spine and sighed with enjoyment.

“I have a proposal,” he looked up at her, and then drew a naughty finger along the cleft of her cleavage. She rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed at the reaction. “Don’t trust me?”

She did. And she was always intrigued by his ‘proposals’.

“Every night this week,” he began, punctuating his words with mellow, light kisses up and down her chest and the valley between her breasts, “you’ll show me a new piece of yourself...What do you think?”

“Naked?” she breathed.

“Yes, baby, naked.”

He pressed his lips to her nipple, suddenly biting it through the silk of her wrap. Her nipples were thick and plump and he easily caught one between his teeth, considering how overstimulated she already was. She hissed softly, when he bit. He bit. Not particularly painfully, but he bit and tugged the nipple with his teeth, watching her the entire time.

She gasped a mewling ‘oy’, and he released, but only slightly.

“A little bit every night, until nothing is left. Until you are bared to me in all your loveliness.”

“Yes,” she groaned, as he nibbled and tugged on her nipple. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

“Is this what you want to wear,” he went to take the nightgown from her hands, but she dropped it on the floor and said, “I don’t want to wear anything. Just this.”

He scooted back and pulled the covers and the blankets for her.

“I won’t argue. Come here.”

She slid in bed beside him and he moved on his stomach, which was his preferred sleeping position. His wings draped over the two of them, and he pulled her closer.

She kissed his shoulder, and settled under his arm. 

His breath evened out, and she thought that he fell asleep, until

“No one’s made dinner for me before,” he murmured. 

She stroked his forearm and then kissed his shoulder again.

He was warm and solid next to her, a veritable wall of muscle and she never felt more comfortable and content in her life. He slipped his heavy, large leg between hers, and her thighs wrapped around him instinctively.

“No one?”

He tucked his face atop of her head and kissed her face.

“No.”

“I will cook for you,” she offered, “and we’ll cook together. And you’ll cook for me. Because no one’s cooked for me either.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

Elain smiled and then asked,

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Gulchatai.”

“Now I feel like I know something about you...something personal. It’s nice.”

“Elain, wake up!”

A cool whiff of air bounced up and down her face, and Elain swiped Lex away, only to have it come back momentarily. “Wake up!”

“Leave her alone,” she heard Azriel’s hiss. “Right now.”

“Why can’t she wake up?” complained Lex. “I am bored!”

“She doesn’t exist to entertain you.”

“I am awake, I am awake,” she moaned. “Stop sitting on my face.”

Eyes still half closed, she made her way to the bathing room, took care of her needs and appearance, and splashed her face with cold water. 

She glanced at herself in the large mirror. She couldn't say what it was, but she looked different. Confident? Perhaps. But more like ripe. Ripe for the taking.

As always, Azriel was propped against the headboard, swarmed with shadows, wearing his glasses and reading pages of reports.

“Come here, baby,” he called, “morning kisses.”

She smiled and bounded towards the bed, immediately giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“My gorgeous girl,” his hand swiped over her bare stomach, then her naked thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

“I always sleep well with you,” she kissed him again. He wrapped his arm around her and pushed her head into his chest. 

“Morning news?” she smiled, watching the swirling mass of dark shadows around him. He nodded.

“Lex, do you have any news for me?” she then inquired.

“I don’t know anything!” 

“How come everyone else knows something and you don’t know anything?”

A pause, and then Lex sat on her chest and asked, “what do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the children,” she proposed.

Azriel was listening to them absently, smiling.

Shadows, just like horses or puppies, had to be trained and cultivated. Elain was learning that lesson right now. 

“Temal’s got into a fight,” reported Lex. Elain rolled her eyes. “Is he hurt?”

“No. But he was put on time-out.”

“What about the other boy?”

“He has two back eyes. Temal has one. And then Kira ate a big slice of cake before dinner.”

Then Lex rattled off her schedule for today, and asked, “You like this news?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aziel was stuck dealing with some issue, already sending his shadows on some investigative mission when Elain threw on his shirt from yesterday--the first thing she found--and padded to the kitchen. Lex, as alway, was now yapping nonstop, giving her unnecessary gossip about the Fae that she barely even heard of. But as it was the case everywhere, there were famous Fae, scandalous Fae, notorious Fae. There was Anselma, a very popular singer, who was married, but her husband has been seen with another singer, Gunda, who was also sporting a pregnant belly. Whose babe do you think it is? pressed Lex busily. 

“Well, I don’t know!” Elain shrugged, as she began preparing coffee. She didn’t bother with tea, because she actually grew to like coffee quite a lot. Azriel had the best, finest variety, all the way from Day Court, where the soil produced the best coffee crops.

“How can you not care?” exclaimed Lex, “everyone is talking about it! It’s news.”

“I think the babe is Coast’s,” she humoured the shadow, even if she didn’t care.

“I think so too!” Lex agreed immediately.

Elain set the table, when Azriel entered quickly, shaking his head, looking at the clock.

He, nevertheless, slowed down, and came behind her, sliding his hand under her shirt and pulling her to him.

“I am sorry I am not helping,” he murmured, kissing her neck tenderly. 

“It’s fine,” she smiled.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

“Or would you like to go out?”

She pointed to the table and said, “How could I forget--you are supposed to be courting me.”

“I am courting you,” he reminded her and poured them both coffee.

“Human courting is all about balls and being seen in society, and picnics and Tea,”

“Do you want to go on a picnic?” he teased. “It’s late autumn? But, if you insist,”

She laughed and took a sip of her drink. “I like this courting more.”

“Oh thank the gods.”

He dug into the pear tart that she’d baked yesterday, and groaned with delight and pleasure, as he polished off the first slice and then moved on to the second right away.

“This is glorious,” he grumbled and Elain smiled a soft, secret smile, watching him enjoy himself.

“Why didn’t we eat this last night?”

“You took me to bed!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“You should’ve insisted.”

“Oh, so it's my fault?”

“I feel like it kind of is,”

She threatened, “I will take it away!”

“Fine, try,” he challenged. “But don’t think that I won’t fight you for it! Just because you are a girl and I like you. And I’ll win.”

She bubbled her lips and parried, incredulous, “I have Cauldron powers! You are just some little Illyrian soldier…”

He burst out laughing and then grabbed her hand and kissed it. “We’ll have to have a discussion about your powers later. But, baby, there is nothing little in this Illyrian soldier.”

She immediately glanced at his wings that were peaking behind him. 

“Now he is Cassian,” she muttered.

He laughed, but then tipped her chin and tsked, “no, no, no. You won't weasel out of this that easily. You’ve been eyeing my wings since last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’ve never paid them that much attention before.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Hmmm.”

“You are the one saying that you are huge!” she threw.

“I never said any such thing,” he took a slow sip and raised his brow at her. “But tell me...you and the twins have been gossiping about the wings?”

“No,” she lied.

“Hmmm.”

“Stop humming!”

“What did Cerridwen say?” he inquired. Cauldron damn him. Was there something he didn’t know?

“She said absolutely nothing. Other than that you are...well-endowed.”

Elain blushed at his amused smirk.

He looked her over, lazily, seemingly forgetting that he was in a hurry.

“The tart was delectable,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Then, he tugged on his lower lip and mused, almost to himself.

“But I am still hungry.”

“I can make you eggs,” she proposed.”Toast,”

He ran his finger along her arm and murmured, “I have something else in mind. A Bagratian breakfast.”

But if Elain expected him to move and prepare this breakfast, he didn’t shift from his chair.

He thought and then moved his plate and patted the spot that the plate vacated.

“Come here, baby. My beautiful sweetheart,” he urged her off her chair, until she sat, a little stiffly on the table in front of him. “Let’s spread your legs a little, so we are both comfortable,” and he parted her thighs, while pushing himself closer to her, settling between her legs. 

“May I have my breakfast?” he asked her, kissing her cheek softly, watching her sink and melt against him. 

“Yes,” she gasped.

“This breakfast,” he whispered against her skin, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, as he undid the few buttons in the back of the knit shirt, “is very, very popular…”

Elain could barely breathe, let alone pay attention to his explanation. Not when he tugged the shirt down her body, not when his scent washed over her, and not...oh, gods…

Azriel didn’t take his intense gaze off her when he pulled on the silk string of her breast wrap and it parted easily for him. Elain stopped breathing, pink and gorgeously hot in front of him, her hair a halo of dark gold around her, her knuckles white, as she gripped the edge of the table. He smiled and kissed her neck again. 

“Why are you so tense?”

“I...I don’t know,” she panted softly, her breasts rising and falling, just barely covered by the silk. “I, Az...oh...I just want you so badly,” she admitted nervously. 

“Good.”

And then he flipped the flaps of the wrap off her breasts, baring her completely for himself.

“Why are you so beautiful?” he muttered wholeheartedly, looking at the lovely pink nipples that swell before his eyes, at the soft, generous roundness of her breasts. 

Her back arched just a bit, as she displayed herself fully for him, no longer shy, once he laid his eyes on her and took her in with such unabashed hunger in his eyes.

“Taste,” she breathed and at once, he was a male unleashed. He brought her breast to his lips and bit her fat pink nipple, like he did last night. But there was no silk barrier between them today, and she felt his hot breath and the sharp clamp of his teeth over the nipple, as he pulled it deep in his mouth.

She almost tumbled on top of him, but he held her still, threading his fingers with hers, pressing her hands into the table. 

“Oh gods,” she moaned, “Az...gods…”

“You are so delicious,” he vowed, working his tongue over the nipple, wrapping it over the little knob, licking and licking with relentless determination. Elain squirmed and panted next to him, but he kept her hands firmly in his grasp, not allowing her to touch him. Her arousal hit him like a wave of pure ambrosia, the scent indescribable, her whole body melding into him. He wished he could adjust himself within his pants, but that would mean releasing her hands and he didn’t want to do that. So he bit the soft flesh of her breast again, sucking on the tender skin and watching tiny purple marks bloom along the trail of his teeth, until he returned to the nipple and sucked it deep into his mouth. She buckled and cried out, babbling something, and grasping his fingers painfully, while he sucked harshly, feeling the nipple grow and firm up in his mouth, lapping on it with ravenous determination.

“Fuck, Elain, baby,” he grunted, licking the underside of her breast, before covering the whole globe with kisses.The kisses were not soft or gentle, but candidly lustful, his mouth possessive, claiming, marking her. “Feels good, my sweet?”

“Az, my love, I need to…” she whined, almost in tears of frustration, especially as he pulled on her nipple with his teeth again, offering her the sweet, lacerating pain that she was craving so much. “Let me touch you,” she begged.

“Right now, it’s for me,” he declined. “If you're touching me, I can’t concentrate on you. Or what I want from you. And your tits are magnificent!”

“Suck more,” she begged, “please…”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, and then ordered, “don’t touch,” when he released the grip of one of her hands. Obediently, she pushed her hand under her thigh, so as not to be tempted. He cupped her other breast, squeezing it tightly, quickly learning that gentleness was not something Elain needed. In all his previous fantasies, his assumption was that she’d like a sweet, tender approach. And truth be told, he didn’t expect to unleash on her quite so ferociously right now, surprising even himself. But she took it all, and she wanted more. So when he dug his scarred, strong fingers into her supple flesh, and when he brought the two glorious globes together, to suck her swollen tight nipples at once, he knew that she wanted him to do just that. 

He loved breasts. He especially loved Elain’s breasts. But as he worked his mouth on her, sucking both of her lovely nipples, he also loved her response. She almost fell back on the table, and he caught her just in time, before her head landed on the hard surface. He cupped the back of her head, and stretched over her, kissing each swelling breast, and dragging his tongue thoroughly over each nipple, while she leaked and trembled under him.

“Good?”

“Oh good,” she admitted breathlessly. “Why didn’t you do this to me before?”

A smile touched his lips and he tongued her nipples leisurely, watching her, as he reminded her, “This is a forbidden romance, my love.”

“Oh yeah...I forgot,”

“I think that our High Lord doesn’t want me to do anything to you.”

He winked at her and she grimaced. She was ridiculously wet between her legs, but she no longer cared. Actually, she lost all inhibitions and all sense of propriety. She didn’t care about anything, other than his beautiful, demanding mouth on her breasts, his tongue working magic on her nipples. 

Before she could do anything, he pulled her up, so she sat back up in front of him.

“I haven't forgotten my breakfast,” he winked at her again, and then, unexpectedly, dipped his fingers in the butter jar, and smeared a generous layer of fatty, creamy sludge over her breast, his thumb teasing her aching nipple inexorably. 

“Oh,” she gushed, as he settled on the chair, between her legs, and held the breast in one palm, while concocting something enticing.

“The Bagarat Breakfast Bun,” he explained casually, as if he wasn’t sprinkling her buttered tit with a dash of cinnamon, and then a pinch of sugar. “Who needs pastries, right?” he pondered, and then gobbled her whole breast up, swallowing a good part of it, licking off the sugary spiced butter with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the skin, the nipple.

Elain almost fainted. Her vision darkened and were it not for the support of his massive arm, she surely would have fallen over.

“Sit still, baby, and let me enjoy,” he commanded with pretend sternness, as he treated her other breast with the same care and also added a dash of cream, which leaked obscenely into his mouth off her nipple.

“Oh, I think I like this version more,” he concluded, dribbling more cream over her breast and sucking it off her nipple, along with the butter.

“It’s a lot of fat, this early in the morning,” she protested, “you will have a heart attack!”

“I am immortal,” he reminded her. Then, he ordered, “hold your titties for me, please. So I can enjoy them in peace.”

She smirked, but cupped both of her breasts and presented them to him, as he dipped her nipples in even more cream and sucked hungrily. 

“My love,” she cooed to him, after she dipped her nipple into the cream herself and sprinkled it with sugar, “I think that I like your Bagarat pastry.”

“Bun,” he pinched her behind, “Bagarat Bun.”

He sucked a little more.

The little jar of cream was empty.

“Tomorrow, we’ll share it,” he promised, but did not elaborate.

She nodded. She’d agree to anything right now. 

“By the end of the week, you’ll be feeding me yourself,” he added and then softly kissed her lips, securing his promise with his mouth. 

He straightened and got up, brushing his thumb over her lips and popping it inside, for her to suck. She sucked, willingly, eagerly, watching him.

“And you will be naked,” he concluded, running his hand over her head. 

She nodded. 

“Would you like that, my good girl?”

She nodded again. 

She looked ravaged and he loved it. Swollen tits, dripping with sugar and cream, and coated in the remnants of butter, her hair a mess, her mouth wrapped around his thumb, sucking noisily. 

The idea of his cock in that glorious mouth, sucking just as noisily made his unbearably hard. He was already hard as granite, his cock aching and demanding, but when she sucked his fingers, it released a beast within him.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and bent to kiss her.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured, her brown eyes looking at him with complete adoration.

“It was a perfect breakfast, Lainey,” Azriel smiled. “Thank you. I’ve got to go, but I will see you later?”

“Of course. But I have a request for you to mull over,” she jumped off the table, not bothering to cover up.

“I am listening.”

“I’d like for you to teach me how to handle a dagger.”

[golden-olea]

NSFW Cirillach Fic

Major kudos to @the-immortal-marshal​ and @xuelingxu​ for this fic idea! (is it possible for me to post a fic without some type of s/o to @the-immortal-marshal​? honestly probably not at this point)

Plot: Avallac’h accidentally concocts an extremely strong aphrodisiac just as Ciri makes her way to his study. Sexy things ensue.

Warnings: NSFW

*also as a side note, I’ve aged Ciri up in this fic bc:

1. Obvious reasons

2. My thirst keeps me from engaging in any kind of critical thought (thinking? Case in point)

Avallac’h sat clutching his hair in his hands, taking long breaths in as he tried to understand what had happened. The recessed edges of the container in front of him glimmered in the candlelight as its contents sparked and puffed happily, sending trails of smoke stretching up into the air, filling the study in a light glowing haze.

What went wrong? The Sage thought, his lids crashing together as he tried to focus his mind. The ingredients, the measurements, the temperature, the timing – yes, he made sure he checked it all twice before creating it but still –

He breathed in deeply, digging his fingers into his temples as the tension built in his body, the sound of hushed garbled notes caressed his ears as he battled his body for order.

Focus he thought, but his mind was beginning to soften, his thoughts disintegrating as smoothly and emphatically as the smoke from the bottle, leaving to dance in the twinkling fog.

The tonic should have been simple, as rudimentary as a sleeping potion. A basic aphrodisiac, with a small twist to enhance the senses and amplify the effects of the drugged powders and oils applied to the girl.

The girl. The music grew louder.

“Avallac’h?”. A note broke through his muddled thoughts, gentle and tender, full of concern.

He looked up to see a figure standing against the warm glow of the hallway, the slender fingertips of an outstretched arm laying delicately on the wooden doorframe. How long had she been there?

“Ah… Zireael, yes.” he managed to say, looking up to address her.

His thoughts caught in his head as his eyes took in the shadow in his doorway. Her lithe body was draped in a slate blue satin, glistening golden threads ran up and around her hips in the shape of small buds, reaching up to her chest and blooming around the deep wrapped collar of the dress. He could see the ivory skin of her chest redden as it moved cautiously up and down, her small breaths inviting the candlelight to dance tantalizingly over her body.

“Avallac’h?” Ciri repeated “are you alright?”.

Her words were airier than before, the end of the sentence trailing off lightly, as if called to sleep.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He said, jerking his eyes off of her body and onto the potion which continued to fizzle ecstatically on the desk.

“Listen… carefully, I-” The Sage stopped mid-sentence, wrenching himself up from his desk. “You will need return some other time.”

He grabbed a cork and shoved it into the bottle. Every word, every motion, was painful; the pressure and desire growing in his body as his instincts roared wildly within.

Get her out he thought, turning to face her, his eyes, still pinned on the ground, landing on a pair of petite elven slippers. He stepped back quickly, his feet hitting the wooden bed frame behind him.

“Zireael, you must leave. Please.” He said, his voice faltering slightly as his body fought desperately to keep the words to himself.

The girl did not respond. He watched as the dainty slippers made their way towards him on cautious feet, the steps slow and deliberate, pulled by the same instinct coursing through him.

“Avallac’h…” the words came out draped in a hypnotic melody, her voice faltering in confusion, the smoke invading her young human mind and igniting her body in ways he could not even begin to fathom.

He held his breath as he passed her, dodging her hand as she reached out towards him, his body screaming at him as he made it to the door and placed his hand on the handle. His fingers wrapped tightly around the metal, the filigree digging hotly into his hand as he pulled the door further open.

He kept his breaths shallow, waiting for the girl to comply, to leave him, to listen. But the figure stood still, waiting, the drought paralyzing her in expectant desire. He fixed his gaze on her, intent to expel her with the last bits of clarity he could muster, but her eyes stole his words from him, burrowing into him with an intensity he had not seen in centuries. Memories, vision, of a petal-soft elfess rushed through him as the figure stood alone, beautiful and delicate, draped in fine elven fabric, ready to be taken.

Shamefully, he conceded. He took in a deep breath as he gave into the howling within, turning to face her as he heard the door clank shut behind him.

He moved towards her with wayward determination, captivated by the glassy green eyes staring back at him. His eyes took in her slender frame as his fingers cautiously reached towards her, daring the spirit in front of him to dissipate into the fog that surrounded them. But the vision held, her skin smooth and supple beneath him, the smell of newly bloomed buds intoxicating his senses.

He stared at her, hungrily taking in the look of lust, curiosity, and apprehension in the eyes that stared longingly back at him. He had seen this look only once, it had become a memory he visited for years after. A young, curious, and nimble body had waited expectantly in his hands once before, yearning to be touched, taught, caressed, by him, only him.

The memory had begun to fade, oh it had been years, but here she was again, in his hands, craving desperately for his touch, his desires, his teachings.

He stroked her cheek gently, her eyelids quivering deliciously under the movement. His gaze fell on her lips, dewy and slightly parted, his breathing deepened as his thumb slithered down, pressing into her budding lips. Her eyes closed as she took him in instinctually, hungrily consuming any piece of him he had to offer her, the fire in his body burned brighter as he watched her savour the taste of his skin.

He let her tongue caress him briefly before pulling his hand back, angling her face up sharply towards his, and bringing his lips to meet hers. She flung herself towards him eagerly as he kissed her, letting out small moans of appreciation as she rose up on her tiptoes, grabbing his hair in her hands and pulling his face down towards her, her body aching for his closeness and his touch. His hunger matched hers, his fingers feverishly undoing the ties of the dress before plunging his hands underneath the fabric.

He felt himself grow painfully hard as his hands ran over her body, hearing her moans intensify as he explored her curves. His hands wrapped around her tiny frame eagerly, feeling her breath rise and fall more rapidly as he ran his fingers up her thigh, stopping at the flimsy fabric lying between her legs. His body craved release, for him to rip off the fabric, to throw her on the bed and take her rapidly and voraciously, but his thoughts pulled him back.

No, he could still have release and still leave her intact. Nobody would need to know, not Auberon, not his assistants, not anyone. He could enjoy her, and then free her without consequence, his actions as phantasmal as the being in front of him.

He began rubbing her lightly through the fabric, her wetness quickly seeping through, the gossamer threads moving naturally with his touch. Her kisses becoming more ravenous as she shuddered around his fingers, her moans filling his mouth as he picked up pace, feeling her small hips twitch and thrust onto him, until she finally pulled her head back, her face contorting in ecstasy as she jerked wildly in his hand.

He breathed a small sigh of relief as her body relaxed in his, her eyelids lifting slowly to meet his gaze. But they were not as tempered as he expected them to be. Still filled with ardent desire, her small hands ran back through his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

Her body wanted more, the drought having taken full control of her already erratic desires. He pulled his face back from her, stretching up to his full height, removing himself from her reach.

“Come.” He said, taking her hand as he led her to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress before pulling her towards him, her hands in his, enjoying the expectant look in her eyes as she stood exposed in front of him.

“Undress me.” He said gently, stroking her tiny hands in his. Her fingers made their way shakily down his shirt, her breath bated in desire, undoing his buttons eagerly and determinedly. She pushed the fabric open with curious hands, gasping faintly at the mass of tattoos underneath.

His lips pulled up in a slight smile, her reaction hitting him like an intimate echo making its way back to him after years of silence, the look of shock and lust on her face amplifying the memories of his precocious beloved. He pulled her in for another kiss, unable to resist the torrent of emotions cascading through him, her breasts skimming lightly over his chest as he peeled the rest of the dress off of her quivering body.

His hands guided hers as they kissed, bringing them down to the ties in his pants. Her fingers eagerly undid the ties before releasing his cock, now throbbing and aching with desire. She moved to climb on top of him, ready to press into him, to feel him inside of her, but he pushed her back gently.

“Get on your knees.”

She looked at him wide-eyed but did as he commanded. He watched as her body slowly descended to the floor, a look of indignation shadowing her face.

He ignored her silent protest, leaning over to push her hips up higher before placing her hands on his thighs. His eyes looked down towards her rose-blushed lips still glistening with the kisses she had eagerly gifted him. He paused before reaching out to grab her chin and guiding her to the tip of his hard cock.

“In your mouth, slowly.”

He watched as she tenderly wrapped her lips around him, his body tensing at the warmth of her mouth as she took more of him in. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, gently grabbing her hair and guiding her in soft repetitive motions over him, listening to her struggle as he pushed her head down harder with each movement.

“Yes… perfect, luned” he said softly, closing his eyes as he took in her touch, his grip tightening as her embrace became wetter around him, her moans growing louder and more laboured with each push of his hand.

He looked down at her hips high in the air, wanting nothing more than to grab her and place her onto him, to feel her twitch around him in pleasure, the movements of her mouth and the thoughts filling his head overwhelming him, trying desperately to restrain himself as his hips started thrusting lightly into her. Her movements continued dutifully, her moans growing louder as she enjoyed the feeling of her mouth being filled by his cock.

He took mercy on her, leaning over and shifting the fabric to the side, feeling how wet she had become underneath him. Her muffled cries from his touch caused him to buck violently into her against his better judgment. Ciri pulled her head back, gagging slightly, looking up at him with hurt watery eyes.

“I’m sorry, Luned” he said, pulling her off her knees and into him for a kiss, “I’m sorry, here.”

He placed her on the bed, laying down on his knees in front of her. He shushed her soothingly, pulling her hips towards him gently before gliding her underwear off and spreading her quivering legs open with his hands. He began placing small wet kisses along her thigh, slowly working his way up as he listened to her breath become shakier in anticipation under him. He paused, kissing her gently on her clit before running his tongue between her lips.

The reaction was instantaneous. Her hips jutted into him as she shouted in surprise, her hands grasping at his hair and pulling him closer into her as his mouth pressed against her, taking as much of her in as he could. Her thighs pressed into his head as her hips shifted erratically under him, overwhelmed by his touch and craving more. He continued, pushing her legs open further as she shut them with each wave of pleasure.

“Hold still” he said firmly, but she could not listen, her body betrayed her, confused as to what it should do under his wet caresses.

The feeling of her supple skin in his mouth was maddening, his body now screaming like a wild animal, violently commanding him to be inside of her. He dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling her closer as her body writhed against him, dewy and overworked from his touch, her small fingers digging into his hair, craving him just as much as he did her. Her movements fed into his lust, every small twitch of her body taking away what little restraint he had left in him.

“Please… Ava…” the girl managed to plead faintly between moans. He pulled back, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands from his hair as she puffed in confusion on the bed in front of him. He looked her over, taking in the small figure before him, helpless and lost in her lust on the bed. He smiled before climbing on the bed, leaning over to kiss her, the tip of his cock brushing softly against her clit as her lips met his. She whimpered as she began bucking her hips over his cock, desperate for any touch she could get.

“Hold still”, he said again as he continued, tasting her sweet kisses as he felt her writhe more frantically under him, her breaths growing more shallow on his lips as her movements became more aggressive. He sighed, pulling back. Her eyes locked onto his as he stared her down, her weak and willing body crying out for him like it had so many times before. Tomorrow she would be gone, gone, her touch out of his reach forever. Feeling his heart tear in rabid desire and frenzied desperation, he put his hands on her hips, savouring the little gasp she let out as he pressed his tip between her lips, holding her still as he pushed into her.

He watched as her back arched in pleasure, her legs shaking under him as he entered her, holding her down as he slowly began thrusting into her. His large hands held her still, watching her face contort as he moved in and out, enjoying the display of pure gratification and ecstasy as she lost herself amidst the haze of smoke and indulgence that filled the room.

He closed his eyes as her soft moans became louder, still sweet in their emphatic declaration of lust and love. He joined her in the haze, buckling over her, thrusting faster still as he buried his face in her neck, letting her soft moans run into his ears as he breathed in deeply, the smell of orchards and the sound of her pleas taking him away, back, back.

“Me Elaine-” the honey-sweet elfess filled his mind, wide-eyed and wet-lipped, calling his name so sweetly, her moans, her gentle curious fingers, her surrender. He pulled his head back to look into her eyes, leaning down to press his lips into hers, her whimpers holding him tightly to her as their bodies trembled in release.

He collapsed on top of her, feeling her chest rise and fall with his as they lay, eyes closed. Her breathing slowed against his skin, her small pants tickling his ear ever more gently as the last calls of desire trickled out of her body.

He pulled back, staring at the girl in front of him, still dazed and sleepy, lost to the world around her. The warm haze of memory caressed his thoughts as he wrapped her small body within his, feeling her breath fall to nothing as it gave in to sleep. He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of her meadow-laced hair, the softness of her body, her hushed breaths, joining her in sleep as his love dissipated carelessly and wistfully into the night air.

[calmsweetcreature]

Fraternizing

A/N: Here’s my first Mikey Fic!! Lemme know the kinds of fics you want to see for the boys and I’ll make a start, I’m thinking a Luke Fic next so lemme know!

Warnings: Angst/Smut/Fluff

Word count: 5.4K

The party was heaving with bodies everywhere and as I squeezed my way through to the kitchen a hand came down hard on my shoulder.

“It’s the little mouse, what are you doing here?” Johnny Macintosh was a real piece of work, he was one of the most well known frat guys on campus - namely for how he treated women and how much beer he could put away at parties. “Always thought you were too square for parties like this, did you get lost on the way to the library?” His words were a wet whisper against my ear that made me shiver with how uncomfortable I felt. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and walked through the gyrating bodies towards the kitchen, until again a hand came down onto my shoulder and I spun around to give Johnny a piece of my mind only to be met with my roommate and best friend Julia.

“Hey Y/N I found you! You having fun?” her words were slurred, and as she raised a red plastic cup to her lips a body crashed into her from behind sending a cherry red drink all down my white top.

“Oh s-shit, Y/N I’m sorry!” Julia reaches for my top and I push her hand away. Her heart was always in the right place but Julia always took the phrase ‘let loose on the weekend’ a bit too seriously. She dragged me out most weekends but it was never long before she left with some guy, not to be seen again until the next day.

“It’s fine, just go and sit for a bit okay? I’ll come find you soon, I’ve got to try and clean this off before it dries!” I pushed my way through and into the kitchen, grabbing some paper towels and wetting them under the faucet, patting the red liquid stains off of my top.

“I bet you regret wearing white to a frat, don’t you?” A lazy drawl came from behind me and I clamped my eyes shut in frustration. Michael-fucking-Clifford.

Me and Michael had been butting heads ever since I had started college, he liked to tease me in everyway possible and I fucking hated him for it.

“You could say that, although I think I regret coming here at all now.” Your words came out more viciously then you had intended and a hand dropped on my shoulder to turn me around.

“Now now Kitten, don’t be like that.” His lips were pouting but there was a twinkle in his eyes that led on to just how mischievous he was being. My eyes narrowed as a growl left my throat at the term of endearment he had so graciously given to me. After hearing Johnny call me mouse for the longest time and listening to me verbally bite Johnny’s ear off every time, Michael had decided that this was no mouse but a Kitten with claws, which is the only thing he had called me since.

“What do you want Michael? I’m not in the mood today.” I keep scrubbing at my top, the cloth not removing the red drink stain but instead adding a large wet patch, making the top see through and revealing the pale pink lace bra underneath. Michael scowls, reaching behind me to grab a towel, patting the top dry.

“You do not want to walk around this house like that Y/N, not with the likes of Johnny here.” His eyes were dark, the dabbing motion of his hand getting slower until his hand is slowly dragging the towel over my chest, the side of his fingers trailing over the swell of my breasts.

“Mouse!” Johnny’s voice is carried from the other side of the room and Michael’s hand moves away so fast it’s like I burnt him.

“We’re starting truth or dare in the other room and I reserved you a seat!” He pushed his way through the kitchen, pushing freshman out of the way until he is stood directly in front of me.

“I’m not interested Johnny.” His eyes go to my top and a dark grin spreads over his face.

“Shame little mouse, I think everyone would like to see more of you.” His eyes linger on my chest for a moment before he saunters off into the crowd. The intensity of his gaze makes me almost fold into myself, and I stare at the ground, wishing it could swallow me up.

“Ignore that guy kitten, he’s a prick,” Michael’s words are hushed but I can hear the anger in them which makes my eyes meet his in the crowded room. It’s like the music and the chatter stops, the only hint of the pounding music is the floor vibrating under my feet. I blink, shaking my head.

“Like you, you mean?” He lets out a snarl at my words and throws the towel he’d been grasping at my chest.

“Go fuck yourself then Little Mouse” He sneers, walking away from me.

“Michael wait!” I call, following after him. I walk into the lounge to see a huge circle of people, Michael going and sitting across the room.

“Changed your mind then mouse? I saved you a spot next to me!” Johnny pats the floor next to him and I can’t help but sigh knowing that I didn’t really have a choice. I timidly sit myself next to Johnny and I can feel Michael’s eyes on me from across the circle.

I keep my eyes low on the floor, my arms across my chest to hide the still slight transparent patch on my top. The game begins and I soon realise this isn’t the same game that I remember from high school. The rules are that all truths must be answered or you must streak across campus but the forfeit for not completing dares were that you must do a double shot of vodka or a line of coke.I was not prepared to do any of those things so I knew I would have to be extra careful.

“Mikey, truth or dare?” One of the girls in the group asked him with a twinkle in her eye as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. You didn’t want to judge another woman and label her a bimbo but you weren’t totally sure how she got into college - it definitely wasn’t through academic means, you knew that.

“Dare.” His eyes met the girls and she giggled, her eyes blazing from either alcohol or drugs - I couldn’t tell which.

“I dare you to take a body shot off of me.” Michael rolls his eyes but nods, clearly having had enough of this dumb game already. I couldn’t help but frown at the unsteady feeling in my stomach at the thought of watching Michael do something intimate with a random girl. The feeling intensifies when the girl strips off her top leaving her in a bra and skirt - causing all of the boys and a few of the girls in the circle to whoop and holler.

I stare as another girl wets a line leading between the valley between the breasts of the girl (you now knew to be called Lucy) and sprinkle salt across it before pouring a shots worth of tequila in her bellybutton, finishing with a wedge of lemon between Lucy’s teeth.Michael manoeuvres himself until he is leaning over the blonde, his eyes catching mine as his tongue slides across her skin, the eye contact not stopping as he sucks the tequila from her belly button and not even as his mouth hovers over hers to suck up the lemon. There was a darkness in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore and as much as I didn’t always like the man, a shiver was running through my body that was setting me alight.

He sits up throwing the leftover lemon across the room. “I fucking hate tequila.”

Lucy leans up, looking after Michael longingly, “Hey Mich-”

He cuts her off, sitting back in his spot in the circle. “Put your fucking shirt on Lucy.”

A hurt look crosses the girls face and she grabs her clothes, leaving the room.

“Fucking savage bro, you going after her? She’d probably follow you to bed easy” Johnny asks Michael, who shakes his head before taking a long swig of his beer.

A slew of truths and dares go around the group, from being asked to pretend butt-dial parents and fake sex noises to chugging a bottle of ketchup. I was about ready to stand up and leave the game when Johnny pointedly stares at me, pointing in my direction.

“Mouse, truth or dare?” His grin is sickening and I close my eyes, dreading what was to come. Before I can open my mouth to answer he interrupts me. “You’re taking too long, you get a dare.”

“Johnny that’s not fair, I-” He cuts me off again.

“New rule little mouse, dare it is.” Chuckles go around the room and I cringe a little, suddenly realising how much of the group is made up of Johnny’s minions. From the corner of my eye I see Michael roll his eyes and that makes me sit up straighter, thinking that he’s judging me for being a whimp.

“Fine, bring it.” I falsify confidence, hoping no one can recognise the nerves on my face. I’m not supposed to be here, I’m the quiet girl who doesn’t spend time in frats - this game being one of the reasons why.

Johnny strokes his face as if thinking before he smirks, leaning back against the couch he is sat in front of.

“You have to sit on my lap. And kiss me.” All of the guys in the circle crack up apart from Michael who pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. The girls glare at me jealousy and I stare at Johnny incredulously.

“Johnny what the fuck?” I stare at him in shock and he grins, a sly laugh leaving his lips.

“I could always cut you a line princess. Your choice.” I stare at the ground, sighing before moving, sitting on Johnny’s lap as close to his knees as I can get without falling off him.

“You didn’t say how long for so thirty seconds is your limit.” I keep my words pointed and he rolls his eyes but nods nonetheless.

The group cheers as he puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling me in and kissing me. Now - as much as I didn’t like the guy, I had to admit he could kiss. His tongue slides across my bottom lip and I don’t let him in, that is until he pinches the skin of my thigh and I gasp, his tongue entering my mouth and wrestling with my own.I count to thirty in my head before I move my head back, but his hand clasps my head and keeps me in place as his other hand goes to the bottom of my back, pushing me further into his lap. I put my hands on his chest and push but to no avail, I breathe deeply through my nose pushing against him as hard as I can.

While most of his friends start laughing I can hear some of his friends calling his name.

“Johnny man, it’s time.”

“Uh dude you should probably stop now.”

“Get your hands the fuck off her Coleman.” I can hear Michael’s voice over the rest and I push with both hands at Johnny’s chest. His hands move to my shirt as he pulls away breathing heavy. I hear a ripping noise before I feel myself getting pulled off of his lap as I’m pushed behind a tall body. I look down at my ripped shirt, my lace bra out in the open, I push my front against the tall boy in front of me that I now realise is Michael as I catch my breath.

“Awh Mouse I was enjoying that.” Johnny wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why’d you ruin my fun Clifford, want a taste?”

Michael tenses in front of me and I put a hand on his back, stroking my thumb until I feel his body relax slightly. I couldn’t even tell what the dynamic was between us in this moment but all I knew was I felt safe behind him.

“No man, I'm good.” Johnny smirks at his words but the smile drops from his lips when Michael utters “I like my women when they’re willing.”

Johnny stands up, his chest puffing out. “Fuck you man. Hey mouse, don’t panic - you’re a shit kisser anyway, thought your tits would make up for it but they’re shit too.”

Michael takes a step forward and I put an arm around his waist, “Michael leave it, please.”

He stills, his arm resting on top of mine before he growls under his breath, turning to leave the room with me trailing behind him.

“Michael it’s fine, I’ll just go back to my room.” He leads me up the stairs, his hand holding mine as we walk through the house.

“Y/N there is no way in hell you’re walking back through campus with that rip in your shirt. I’m getting you another shirt and then I’ll walk you back.” He pulls you through a door with a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign across the front, you bite your lip as you take in the decor. Black bedding adorns the bed, a grey rug on the floor with a wall of guitars and band posters everywhere.

“Nice room.” You murmur, picking up a photo from a cabinet and observing the picture where Michael has his arms around three other guys.

“That’s my best friends - Ash, Cal and Luke. We’re in a band together.” He turns and rummages through a drawer by his bed, looking for a shirt. I run a finger over the photo, tracing over Michael’s grin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” I whisper, thinking about how most of mine and Michael’s conversations had been little bickers.I smile at the photo of the grinning man, laughing with his friends. The darkly dressed, scowling man you’d come to know looked so different.

“Why would you, it’s hard to give you a smile when you’re irritating me all of the damn time.” I turn to look at him when a black ball of fabric hits me in the face. I stumble back, hitting my head on the door and sliding until I’m sat on the floor. A yelp leaves my throat at the sudden fall, but the sound is muffled by the tee.

“Shit!” I pull the shirt from my face to see Michael kneeling in front of me, a concerned look on his face. “Y/N, I didn’t mean for that to happen, are you okay?” His hand goes to the back of my head, and while the touch makes me flinch, I know there’s no lasting damage.

“I’ll probably have a sore head tomorrow but yeah I’m fine.” I laugh softly at the worry on his face and he rolls his eyes, his hand not moving from the back of my head.

I look at the tee and back to Michael. “Liberty’s? You work there?” The dive bar just off of campus was not a place you frequented often, but most of your friends did - if not for the live music then for the rowdy atmosphere that was sure to get your blood pumping.

“Yeah, it’s where my band plays most of the time - I DJ sometimes and Luke and Cal who are in that photo you were drooling over work the bar most night and Ash works the door.” I blush at his words as he stands up, walking over to a mini fridge in the corner and grabbing two beers.

“I was not drooling, don’t be a jackass.” I change into the tee, it swallows me and becomes kind of like a dress on my figure. I grab one of the beers and sit on the edge of his bed awkwardly. “Thanks for the beer?” My words trail off into a question as I look at him, trying to figure out what is going on in this boy’s mind.

“One for the road. That fucking dick downstairs made my buzz disappear.” My fingers play with the hem of the t-shirt, trying to muster up the courage to say what I needed to.

“T-thank you. For what you did downstairs.” I keep my eyes low, not sure whether to say anything more.

“Don’t mention it, you shouldn’t have fucking joined that game, Johnny is a messed up dude who sees you as fruit ripe for the picking.” Michael’s words get angry and I can’t help but watch as he clenches his hand into a fist on his leg before taking a long drink.

“And what do you see me as?” Embarrassment floods through me as I hear a twinge of hope in my words. It’s only now that I’m sitting so close to him that I realise how bright his eyes are, how the stubble on his chin makes him look older then he is and I can’t help but internally shiver as I imagine that stubble grazing my neck.

“I did see you as an annoying spoiled brat who always wanted her own way. I saw you as rude, bitchy and irritating.” His words hurt and it must have been the drink making me that little bit more sensitive because I could feel tears filling my eyes at his words.

I nod softly, setting my beer on the floor. “Don’t worry about walking me back, I’ll be okay.”

I stand from the bed, walking towards the door. I knew that we had always bickered but there was a part of that felt like it was just part of the way we spoke to each other, it was never that I genuinely didn’t like him, but he obviously didn’t feel the same.

“Y/N wait.” I could hear him call after me but I didn’t want to hear more reasons why he didn’t like me. I flew open the door and stepped back out into the booming noise of the party. There were bodies everywhere and the beer was making me feel hazy as a hand clasp my wrist.

“Michael, I-” The room starts spinning when I see Johnny looking down at me, sneering.

“Where’ve you been Mouse? You left me high and dry in front of my boys.” He shakes his head, pushing me against the nearest wall, his arm resting above my head as he towers over my small frame. “You can make it up to me though,”

“No Johnny I was just going home, it was part of the game.” I fake confidence but my voice cracks slightly.

He presses against me, one hand trailing up of Michael’s tshirt, pushing it up slightly. “Awh c’mon Y/N, don’t be so frigid.” His mouth starts lowering towards mine and I turn my head away.

“Johnny, no.” I push against his chest and he tenses, pushing further into me as his mouth connects with my neck. I let out a small cry and push against him more, when suddenly his body is pulled off me and lands with a thud on the floor, another person led over him as punches are thrown at his face.

“She said no. Take no for a fucking answer you fucking creep.” I stand pressed against the wall, my chest heaving as I watch Michael pummel Johnny into the ground.

“Michael get off of him! Mate stop!” Two of the frat boys shout before they come and pull Michael away, leaving Johnny groaning on the floor holding his nose.

I unfreeze as Johnny stands unsteadily, pointing towards me.

“You’ve got fucking problems with this chick man, last week you fucking hated her and now what? You’re defending her honour?” Johnny spits out his words, blood flying from his split lip as he walks towards Michael. “You can fucking have her, she’s a frigid bitch anyway.” He pushes past Michael towards his room, some of his minions following after him.

Michael walks over to you slowly, your eyes on the bloodied knuckles of his hands. He reaches for my hand and I flinch slightly. His eyes get a hurt look in them and goes to move his hand away when I clasp it in mine, gripping it tightly but being careful not to hurt his hand. We look at each other for a moment, silent words passing through our eyes.

“Come back to my room for a minute, please? I just want to talk.” His words are low but pleading and I nod softly. It’s only when he turns that we notice all of the eyes on us. I blush, following after Michael as he drags me softly towards his room, locking the door behind him.

“That’s not to keep you in by the way, you can leave whenever. I just want to keep those assholes out.” I nod softly, holding myself as Michael moves to sit on his bed. “Y/N, kitten, please sit down.” Michael had always used that name to tease me but there was a softness in his words that warmed my heart.

“Firstly you need to know that Johnny won’t bother you again. He’s pretty coked up now but I’ll let him know tomorrow that if he even looks at you that a broken nose, split lip and black eye are the least of his worries.” His fingers move to my chin making me look in his eyes. The intense gaze he was giving me was sending butterflies to my stomach.

“Secondly what I said to you before was a dick move but you need to know that I said those things in the past tense, because I don’t see you that way anymore and I don’t think I ever really did. Fuck Y/N I don’t know.” He lifts his cap, running a hand through his messy hair before putting the cap back on and rubbing his eyes, groaning.

“And what that fucker said was a lie because I’ve never fucking hated you.” He stares into my eyes and I know he’s telling the truth.

One of his hands cups my cheek, and I hold my breath in fear of scaring him off. His forehead presses against mine and I can feel his breath against my lips.

“Have you ever hated me?” His words are hushed and I blush at how close our mouths are.

“Oh there’s been times where I’ve definitely hated you.” Michael smirks, a dark laugh leaving his lips before they’re pushed against mine and suddenly everything disappears. Just his kiss was sending a thousand volts through my body and it was suddenly like I couldn’t get close enough to him. Our faces moved against each other as our tongues wrestled. His hands gripped my face as mine clenched his shirt. We pull away for air and a small whimper leaves my throat. We both sit in silence, breathing in unison.

“Michael… could I stay here? I don’t want to be alone.” His eyes widen at my words and his mouth drops open playfully.

“Y/N how forward of you!” I blush and slap him on the chest.

“Not like that! I just want to talk to you, we’ve never just talked.” For the first real time since I’ve known him, Michael smiles - really smiles and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. He feels warm and in his arms I feel safe, almost like I don’t want to leave.

“I’d like that, Kitten.”

We both climb into the bed in our clothes, talking about anything and everything from Michael’s favourite music and where I grew up. I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep but all I knew was that just before I did I felt Michael kiss my forehead.

***

The light shone through the window, casting over the dark room and highlighting the arm around my waist. Somewhere through the night we had pressed up against each other and our legs were tangled as Michael spooned me. The T-shirt I was in had ridden up to my waist, Michael’s arm hot against my skin. I blinked slowly, letting myself wake up peacefully and my eyes adjust to the small amount of light in the room. I take time to remember everything that had happened at the party, left with the knowledge that Michael really does care about me and had saved me from Johnny’s ways.

I shift slightly in the bed, becoming aware of one of Michael’s hands resting on the skin of my thigh and I stretch out my back only to accidentally press my backside against his hips. His arm wraps tighter around me and his fingers spread out across my stomach. Somewhere during the night I had shed my skirt and was dressed only in his long t-shirt. I bite my lip trying not to laugh out loud and wiggle against him again. His fingers dig into my hips and I feel his face nuzzle into the back of my head.

“Kitten. Quit it.” But something bold awakens in me and I continue the movement, circling my hips back and revelling in how tight he holds me close in reaction.

“Y/N.” His voice is a growl of warning but there’s something electric about our bodies being so close. I know I’m pushing my luck but feeling his body react to me gives me all kinds of confidence.

His fingers trace the edge of my underwear and I shiver, fully rocking my ass back against his hardening dick.

“You feeling needy this morning? What happened to just talking?” His words blow hot breaths against my ear and I let out a breathy moan as his hand searches lazily over the lace of my panties, searching for my clit. He knows he’s found it when I let out a short gasp, and chuckles darkly.

“You need something?” His hand leaves my body and travels up towards my jaw, tilting my face up so that his lips are pressed against my ear. His grip is forceful but not painful and the dominance in his movements makes me whimper quietly.

“I just want to feel good Mikey.”

He groans in my ear and leans back from me, his hand on my hip.

“Turn around, please?” I shift my body until I’m facing him and he pulls me even closer, hooking my thigh over his hip until he is pressed up against me, grinding directly against my heat. I rock against him slowly, his half awake eyes and lazy grin making him look so fucking hot that I can’t help the whine that leaves my lips. I lean forward, brushing my lips softly against his.

He leans his head closer to mine to fully press his lips against my own but I pull back. He smirks and waits for me to lean forward before trying again but I pull my head away again, teasing him.

His hand goes to my ass and smacks down, pulling me into him and kissing me forcefully. I giggle against his lips and wrap my free arm around his neck, kissing him with everything I have. Michael rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, kiss hands pushing down on my backside and grinding up so I can feel every inch of his hardness.

“Kitten you’re going to make me nut right here if you’re not careful, looking so fucking beautiful in my clothes.” I sit up until I’m straddling him, blushing at his words.

“Are you going to go back to not liking me after this?” I take each of his hands in mine, entwining our fingers as I rock my hips forward at a steady pace. “Because i’m not that kind of girl, Clifford.” My tone is teasing and he pulls me down until I’m laying flat on his chest and kisses me deeply, murmuring against my lips.

“I have a funny feeling things aren’t going to be the same again Kitten.” He pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “Look I’m DJing tonight and my band might play a set. Come and watch us? We can grab food after and see what happens?”

I rest my arms on either side of his head, “I’d like that.” Our lips meet again and I feel myself falling sideways as he rolls us over so that he’s on top of me.

“I want to make you feel good.” His words are whispered against my neck and he kisses down to where my neck and shoulder meets, biting down. I arch against his chest, pulling him closer. Our hips move against each other again, rocking to create as much friction as possible. I could feel how thick he was against my lace covered core and it made me want skin to skin contact - as much as I can get.

I wrap my legs around his waist and push my hips up but I feel his teeth graze my neck before biting down and I yelp out quietly.

“Don’t think for a second that you’re in control here Y/N.” One of his fingers slide under the lace of my underwear and starts tracing figure eights around my clit. I gasp out, my eyes sliding shut as his bulge continues to grind against me, sensations flowing through my body.

“You want to know something Kitten? Eyes on me.” I meet his intense stare, his free hand gripping my hip to steady my movements. His fingers speed up their movements and my eyes start to glaze over as little pants leave my mouth.

“Everytime we used to have our little spats I’d imagine putting my hand on the back of your head and shutting you up with my mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing up your words. I imagined what that bratty mouth would feel like, what you’d taste like. Whether you’d kiss like a princess or a dirty girl.”

His words caused my whole body to shiver, heat rising through my body and making my head spin.

“You going to find out or keep it to your imagination?” My words come out whinier then intended but I get the exact reaction I wanted as Michael growls under his breath and forces his lips against mine roughly, his tongue sliding across my bottom lip before sucking my tongue and biting down.

His hand pushes the rest of our clothes out of his way before hiking one of my thighs high against the bed and slowly pushing into me. I arch my back against him, panting softly as I start to feel oh so full.

“Fucking beautiful.” His words are whispered between us and our eyes connect as he pulls out softly before pushing all the way in. It’s delicious and hot and we both groan and the feeling. Every negative word passed between us melts away and all that is left is two people connecting in the closest of ways.

Our hips rock together, both of us searching for our highs, the small grunts and gasps filling the space between us our eyes staying locked on each other.

Michael’s forehead presses against mine as he grips my hand and pushes it against the mattress.

“Mikey.. I… I” my words are gasped out and Michael presses his lips against mine. “You close baby?” He presses his lips against my neck and sucks harshly, pressing deep inside and grinding his hips and my head spins. Something bursts deep inside me and I throw my head back, a silent scream leaving my mouth.

“Oh fuck, so tight…” A groan leaves Mikey’s lips and he pulls out, releasing over my stomach. A giggle leaves my lips as he flops down next to me with a sheepish grin. He reaches for his shirt, cleaning me up softly.

“You going to let me call you Kitten from now on?” His hand strokes the side of my face and I muzzle into it.

“Only if I can call you my puppy dog?” His face scrunches up and he frowns and me playfully.

“Fuck right off.” His words are harsh but the glint in his eyes is warmer then it’s ever been.

“Woof woof,” I tease before a screaming laugh leaves my lips as he rolls back on top of me, his lips travelling to my stomach as he blows raspberries and tickles me.

I don’t know how long we led there but all I knew was I could spend forever lost between these sheets.

🎆

Let me know what you think!❤️

[fukurodaze]

hello! i am here to support all the new writers for the fandom! please feed us with more contents we're all so needy 😔 olrite so uhh can i please request a soft, like MEGASOFT scenario with post-timeskip Kageyama where he's just,,,, run straight up and LITERALLY PROPOSE to fem!s/o after winning a tournament or something... thank you in advance and wish for your blog's growth! (ʃƪ＾3＾）

off-court

pairing: timeskip!kageyama tobio x fem!reader genre: FLUFF! word count: 1.3k

lowercase intended. thank you so much anon for requesting! u are so sweet <3 

you’re a bit startled when your boyfriend, kageyama tobio, kisses you hard as soon as he sees you off-court. his hands had grabbed yours as he quite literally ran your direction, his height towering over yours in a big gesture of love and affection. 

his lips are familiar as ever, now softer than they were when he was nineteen ever since you made that stop at a drug store one day and bought him peppermint chapstick. tobio, the man who made it his life’s mission to “love you and never stop loving you”, gladly accepted most (almost all) the things you bought him, and began to use chapstick every day. god, you were thankful you could kiss him now without accidentally peeling the skin off of his lips.

he’s also so much more gentle than he used to be, the rush of infatuation and teenage hormones dissolving into what seemed to be romance and belonging. now, his lips kiss yours slowly. it’s the type of kiss that makes you melt all at once, making you feel light on your feet yet grounded in his arms at the same time.

when he pulls away, you’re almost out of breath and the lipstick you put on for today’s final match is ruined, but you’d rather have them red because he’s swollen them. 

it’s like time stops, and his grip around you tightens. 

“marry me.” 

it comes naturally to your ears.

“yes.”

wait, what?

“wait what?” you look around, finding the rest of the team still reuniting with their friends and family after winning the finals. you’re still processing the words you had just heard when your boyfriend, now twenty six, takes you by the hand into the locker room - or, in front of it. 

as you’re awkwardly standing by the doorway of the locker room, you see people pass by you, giving slightly confused looks, probably recognising you as ali roma’s setter’s girlfriend. getting slightly worried for your boyfriend, you call from the outside, “tobio, you alright?”

you only hear a rustling from inside. eyebrows furrowed, you sneak closer, standing directly in front of the door, suddenly hearing no sound at all with your ear pressed against the closed door. 

yet tobio swings the door wide open. he seems to have had a strong sense of determination, because his face looks the way it does when he’s about to serve the volleyball. then again, it would mean he sees you like he sees a volleyball (a love of his life) and you think you wouldn’t mind being compared to a volleyball.

you accidentally trip over the speed of the door swinging open, with tobio’s arm just catching onto yours, helping you up. he takes you to a secluded corner of the gymnasium - which, by the way, is huge - and squeezes your hand warmly every step of the way there.

when he finally stops the both of you somewhere quite far from centre court, you reach a hand up to brush his hair up. he’s not sweaty anymore, so his hair doesn’t stick to itself like it usually does when you do it after matches, but you hadn’t had the chance to do so today, seeing as he’d practically crashed his lips into yours at first sight. tobio doesn’t complain about your hand through his hair though, he likes the routine. he kisses your forehead once. you feel loved.

“i actually have this,” tobio pulls out from his jacket a black velvet box. you saw little glimpses of it when he had pulled you through the halls of the gym.

now tobio grips the box with both of his large hands, opening it daintily to reveal a ring. it’s simple; much simpler than the ones you’ve seen on his teammates’ significant others’ fingers, yet the sight of it alone makes tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes, overflowing until they reach your neck.

you look at the ring, just a silver band with a diamond embedded into the centre of it, and you think you can’t stop crying. one look into his eyes, usually focused and blue, and you’re almost sobbing. tobio lets you take your time as he kisses your tears away, wiping them with his and your thumbs as well. 

it’s a silent action; you nodding, mouthing a euphoric “yes”, him slipping the ring onto your finger, holding both of your hands in his, pecking them softly as to handle you with care. he whispers, “i love you.”

you engulf him in a hug that’s warmer than his body after a match, this moment of intimacy more intimate than the first time you woke up next to him. you’ve been with this man since he was nineteen, damn it. you were there at his first olympics match in rio, and then again at his second in tokyo. it had been waves of long-distance relationships and back-and-forth visits to sendai until he announced that he was going overseas to play in ali roma. it was only then that you decided to pack your bags and meet him in italy, the two of you having decided to navigate life together in a new country with a new language. 

in this hug, in his little embrace, you remember it all. you remember the uncertainty of your boyfriend on the other side of the world, and recently, the uncertainty of your life in italy. you remember the fight you had with him last year, in the midst of all the restless estrangement, and how you ended up staying at a friend’s for an entire week. you even considered if it was worth it at one point, but now that he’s in your arms, a beautiful ring on your finger, you might as well slap yourself for even thinking it. 

tobio pulls you up to kiss him once more, his smile felt into the kiss and on your lips. and it’s everything, like, everything, that’s poured into this one kiss because his team has placed first in the league this year and now that victory ran through his veins, he couldn’t wait to propose to you - literally.

truth is, tobio’s had this ring since the tokyo olympics, when he was twenty four. he questioned it on the first day when you woke up earlier than him despite the jet lag, and he really knew it when he called you after you left a pair of shoes and a toothbrush at his apartment at the end of your visit, your reply to his words only “i’ll come back anyway”. now you know you’ll always come back, because when has there ever been a time you didn’t want to? you sigh into the kiss.

one of tobio’s teammates gently interrupt your moment, telling him the team still wants to take pictures. tobio lightly snickers, your cheeks slightly red at the embarrassment, but his teammate catches sight of the bling on your hand and gives you a toothy smile. 

“you too, y/n,” his teammate says, letting tobio take you by the hand once more, the metal band on your finger lightly grazing the side of his finger.

so your fiancé, kageyama tobio, squeezes your hand once more as you two walk through the halls of the gymnasium to centre court. your eyes are confused - do you longingly stare at tobio, the ring, or look where you’re going? it’s a fascinating feeling, you think, and now you’re starting to think of the future. kageyama f/n? kageyama l/n f/n? you’ll go over it later. 

the two of you reach centre court fast enough, and when you do, tobio’s arm wraps around your waist. he gives you a look before he gives everyone else a look, his teammates and their families and friends coming to congratulate the two of you when you show them the back of your hand, diamond ring on display. a bashful laugh escapes your lips.

your heart swells with something that’s more than pride or joy or excitement. it’s a familiar swell, and so far, you’ve known it to be love.

[rocorambles]

Could I get a request pls 👉👈 Where the reader used to be on the Inarizaki team and was a Tobio’s and Tsukki’s rival. The reader would constantly annoy Kags bc he couldn’t set anywhere without the reader always deflecting or blocking his attacks and Tsukki always got annoyed by the reader bc the reader was just as petty as he was. Years later they meet up again and have a threesome ☺️

Ooh what an interesting concept~ (Also, reader kind of sounds like Suna lol) A little gift for my readers who are looking for some male reader content! 

Warnings: NSFW, Degradation, Overstimulation

With a team as strong as Inarizaki, it’s no surprise that they have exceptional blockers and Suna Rintarou is a pain in the ass to deal with on both a technical and mental level. But despite being on a competing team, Kageyama and Tsukishima know better than to be outright disrespectful to an upperclassman and they both just grumble on their breaths as Suna blocks their spikes and directs snarky comments at the tall blonde middle blocker. 

You, on the other hand, are even worse than the upperclassman you’re so close to and while Suna antagonizes the whole Karasuno team overall, it almost seems like you go out of your way to only irritate Kageyama and Tsukishima (successfully, Suna notes, as he watches you with glowing pride). And both the rest of Karasuno and Inarizaki watch in a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and amusement as the three of you snap and bark at each other during warm-ups, during matches, during breaks between games. 

But high school is high school and the three of you part ways after your last official match against each other, going off onto bigger and better things. 

Or so you think until three sets of eyes glare at each other at a networking event hosted by the Japanese Volleyball Association. 

And just like that, it’s like the three of you are back on the high school court at Nationals, you jeering and mocking the two ex-Karasuno players, Suna and Atsumu watching from the side cheering you on and cackling, Aran shaking his head and trying to get you to shut your mouth while Kageyama and Tsukishima reply with their own scathing comments, Hinata cowering behind the two taller athletes, but vigorously nodding his head in support as his ex-teammates exchange verbal blows with you. 

But it seems that not much has changed and as food and drinks begin to circulate around the room, tempers mellow and the three of you almost instantly forget about the bickering you’re in the midst of, too focused on shoving your face with whatever appears nearby you on a serving tray. 

You’re sufficiently tipsy, practically skipping around the room in giddiness as you let the alcohol propel you throughout the rest of the party and fresh air sounds great right about now as the alcohol blanket wrapping around you makes your neck sweat under your suit collar. So you make your way through the doors, humming as you let the evening breeze cool you down, pausing and slightly stiffening when another presence comes to stand besides you. 

As fun as it is to rile up the blue eyed setter, you’re not in the mood right now and it seems like he isn’t either if the silence is anything to go by and the two of you stand side by side, nothing but the background noise of other athletes chattering filling the air. And you almost forget he’s even there until a low voice echoes throughout the space. 

“Why do you dislike Tsukishima and me so much?”

In hindsight you’ll blame the disturbing amount of alcohol for your quick and unfiltered response. 

“I don’t. It’s the opposite actually.” 

The two of you stare wide eyed at each other, both your jaws going slack at your unintentional confession, and then the two of you are screaming at the same time. 

“YOU- YOU LIKE US?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN THAT!”

 And really, you’re sure if no one had stopped you, the two of you would have been out there squawking at each other all night. But fate has other things in store for you and you freeze when a lean body presses up against you from behind, caging you between it and the toned body of the dark haired man still blabbering on, but quickly shutting up when your body makes contact with his. 

“So all this time, you were just being a prick because you didn’t know how to express your feelings? What are you? In Kindergarten?” 

You can feel a familiar scowl spreading across your face at the taunt, but you’re silenced by the genuine curiosity and softness in blue eyes that stare down at you in...hope? No, there’s no way...

But maybe there is a way and your heart flutters as a rosy tint flushes Kageyama’s cheeks and he’s a flustered mess as he awkwardly looks anywhere but at you, stuttering out the fact that his hotel room is walking distance. Maybe...maybe you could all discuss in private...only if you want that is...

Before he can embarrass himself further, you hear an annoyed tsk from behind you and suddenly calloused hands are wrapping around both Kageyama’s and your wrist as he drags the two of you towards the directions he had deciphered from the setter’s messy, barely coherent rambling. And now here the three of you are, a tangled moaning mess on a rumpled bed in a hotel somewhere in Japan. 

The movements had been stiff and hesitant at the beginning, Kageyama and you fumbling around as you tried to undress each other without being able to really look at each other without your faces heating up. Thankfully Tsukishima had stepped in, impatiently and roughly tearing fabric off of both your bodies, and when his hands had accidentally brushed against your nipples and elicited a breathy moan, that had been enough to break down any resistance. 

You groan as lips come crashing down on yours, sloppy but with passion and urgency that made up for it, and you melt into Kageyama’s touch as calloused hands tentatively grasp your hips. But unsatisfied with the slow intimate pace, hands creep up from behind you and you wail as your nipples are roughly tugged and twisted, your cock twitching in interest as pain bleeds into the pleasure you were being lulled into. 

“Of course a mouthy brat like you would get turned on by pain. Is that why you were so fucking annoying all those years? You wanted us to turn around and punish you?” 

You try to deny the humiliating and degrading words, but your protests are cut short as a hand wraps around your cock, tugging and sliding a thumb underneath your head in a way that has you whimpering and jerking your hips for more, mouth obediently wrapping around the finger slicked with your own pre-cum being shoved past your lips, forcing you to taste yourself. 

“You’re so much more tolerable when you’re quiet and not running that stupid mouth of yours. Maybe we should always keep your mouth stuffed full. It’s not like anything worthwhile comes out of it anyway.” 

Kageyama makes a move to step between you two, unsure of the cruel words and strange dynamic building in the air. But he pauses as you easily let Tsukishima push you to the ground on all fours, only eagerness and want in your eyes as you longingly gaze up at the middle blocker, unable to keep from salivating over his own growing bulge as your own fully hardened cock leaks and bounces with every desperate shake of your hips. 

Tsukishima scoffs as you whine and mouth at his length, smugly smirking as a silly smile stretches across your face as he mockingly slaps his cock on your face before briefly looking up to exchange glances with his ex-teammate. 

“I’ll take his mouth this round. Knock yourself out with his other hole.”

And then there’s only the slick lewd sounds of you slobbering over the cock being shoved down your throat as Tsukishima grabs you by the back of your head and forces you down until your nose is pressed against his lower abdomen. 

Kageyama watches with rapt attention, unable to look away from the debauched sight of your mouth being forced to stretch around the length being thrust in and out of you, trails of drool dripping to the floor, his hand automatically palming himself. But it’s not enough and he’s quick to kneel behind you after a frantic search for the bottle of lube the three of you had purchased on your way to his room, long fingers gently, but firmly prodding at your puckered hole, smiling in satisfaction as you slowly but surely yield and unfurl for him, a high pitched keen escaping your full mouth as one finger becomes two, stretching and scissoring inside of you, dragging and searching, searching, searching...

A muffled broken cry pierces the room as he finds the spot inside of you and a grin replaces a usually stern countenance as he toys and rubs against it insistently, watching as your thighs tremble and your ass shakes, making eye contact with Tsukishima as the blonde’s pace begins to stutter, head thrown back as your moans vibrate against his cock. And then he’s holding you down, forcing you to swallow every last drop as he cums down your throat, releasing you and letting you loudly wail as Kageyama finally presses his own cock inside of your fluttering hole. 

You reach to stroke your aching cock, but you sob when your hand is smacked away, both your wrists restrained down and in front of you by Tsukishima as he sneers at your disheveled face. 

“You’re going to cum untouched or you’re not cumming at all. Understood?” 

You shake your head, pleading with tear-filled eyes as you try to tug your wrists out of his hold. But then Kageyama is increasing his pace, shifting his angle in a way that has you forgetting about anything else other than the delirious pleasure lancing through you as he hits that spot inside of you with every thrust. 

You’re so close but it’s not enough and you’re babbling nonsense as tears and drool stream down your face, begging for more, more, and more, looking pathetic enough for the tall blonde in front of you to sigh and compromise. And then you’re keening, borderline screaming as Tsukishima releases your arms to tweak and roll your hardened buds between his fingers, pulling at them and forcing you over the edge that you had teetered on for so long. 

Your upper body collapses on the floor, exhausted, twitching and writhing as Tuskishima and Kageyama are relentless in their ministrations, hands still teasing your nipples, strong hands still holding your hips up in a bruising grip as a cock continues filling you. It’s so much, too much, and you quietly sob from the overwhelming stimulation, gasping in relief and arousal as he bottoms out one last time, thick hot spurts splattering your used hole, panting as Kageyama carefully pulls out and lowers you completely. 

You can feel your heavy eyelids begin to flutter shut as you begin to succumb to exhaustion, sighing in contentment as Kageyama lets you lay your head in his lap, his hand affectionately stroking your head. But you startle when you feel fingers play and prod with your cum-stained hole, arching your back as they easily slip inside your loosened entrance, twisting around to stare in bewilderment at the blonde now positioned behind you, stroking his already hardening cock to full mast. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you? We have years of payback to make up for.” 

[generous1ty]

Hi! Can I request the #31 angst prompt with Hajime and with she or they prounouns? I'm a sucker for angst lol <D

hihi!

aaaasgsjdkkd i am also a sucker for angst and love producing it-- and you chose Hajime so this is going to hurt. :)

update on the Prompt Event: sadly, i couldn’t get all the requests done today(i was busy getting the house ready to move). but, i’ll be slowly working on them until they’re done! apologies to anyone sending requests, as i’m currently prioritizing prompt requests right now.

thank you for requesting! lots of love. </3

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Bullet to the Heart

Angst Prompt 31 with Hajime!

link to the prompt list!

genre: comfort angst warnings: swearing, yelling, affair/cheating accusations, just angst in general </3 word count: 1.5k

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the house you stayed in felt more like a “living space” than a “home”.

Hajime Hinata was partially the reason why things were so different; late nights out, drinking with friends, the silent treatments, the cold shoulders... but even so, you could hardly complain-- avoiding any contact with him, leaving packaged foods you cooked on the table, locking yourself in a different room than the one you both slept in.

it was so different from when you both first moved into the house.

you could reminisce about the times when you were both deeply in love-- trying so desperately to make things work, even though the odds were against you both. you could remember his smile, the way he’d longingly stare at you and reach for your hand, whispering in your ear,

“we will make a future for ourselves.”

oh, how you wished those words still played now.

currently, you and your partner were at the dining table, eating in silence. it had been days since you had last talked-- you don’t even remember the last conversation you had.

despite how rough things were, he had still decided to come home early. it was definitely a good thing, right? improvement in your relationship, a sign that he wanted things to get better, right?

Hajime’s pale-green eyes had looked at you, his hardened stare softening at just the sight of you. he had missed you, but was going through things all wrong-- he knew that. he knew that yet his actions still continued-

why was he doing this? he’d often ask himself that. was he looking for excitement? adrenaline? the rush he had felt back in college? he had settled down with you, but things just never felt right anymore.

his frown was apparent-- not that you noticed-- and he had swallowed his food to speak, “i... decided to come home earlier today.”

god damn it, Hajime.

his act of communication had startled you, but your gaze did not meet his, “yeah...”

talking to him seemed hard now. although you longed for his touch, his voice, the loving stare he’d give you even if you were doing nothing, you couldn’t even manage talking to him-- something you’ve wanted to do for so long.

“....i’ve been stalling at work, lately. i’m currently picking up coding to manage online affairs,” he continued, trying to ease the unnecessary tension and get a conversation going.

you peeked up at him, finally looking him in the eyes, “coding..?” you had managed to push out, “isn’t it complicated?”

you had given a soft chuckle, something he missed hearing. his mouth perked up into a small smile, happy to contribute to the discussion.

“it is,” he admitted, feeling comfortable to complain and expose a weaker side to you that he hadn’t been able to do in a long, long time, “it makes my head pound most of the time.”

ah, his smile. it had widened as he talked, and made your heart flutter uncontrollably. yes, this was it. this was what you needed. a heart-to-heart, a simple talk.

the smile that had made its way on to your face had subtly died down, sighing, “...what went wrong? why are we like this now, Hajime?”

your focus had been on your hands, gently cupping the empty plate in front of you. what had gone wrong? what in the world happened that you felt the need to isolate yourself from him? ignore him? avoid him? why did you feel like this interaction would be the only conversation you’d have with him until the routine started over again?

“i... don’t know,” his voice had interrupted your thoughts, painfully reminding you that you had initiated this conversation. whatever happened next was your fault, “but, why don’t you know? you’ve been contributing to this-- this stupid charade ever since it started!”

your eyes squinted, brows furrowing, “what-- what the hell, Hajime?! if you hadn’t started drinking with your coworkers or going out at night without me knowing, maybe i’d feel more comfortable around you!”

you just raised you voice at him-- you just raised your voice at him. you hadn’t done that before.

your heart beat loudly in your chest, hands trembling as your vision started to blur. what? what? was this your fault?

“you never even came to check up on me, where else am i supposed to go?!” he raised his voice, throat burning from the friction.

he never once though that he needed to-- not around you, at least. why was he yelling? why did he feel hurt?

“fuck, [Y/n]! how do you expect me to talk to you when you’re never there for me?!” he stood up, the chair behind him screeching against the marble floor, “i obviously needed to go somewhere else, right?”

you grit your teeth, letting out a shaky breath, “how is this my fault?! if you had just talked to me then maybe things would have been alright-- but now we’re in deep shit because your actions-- not mine!”

Hajime made a sharp inhale, his heart practically jumping out of his chest. him? this wasn’t because of him, was it? his actions, things he did-- it couldn’t have been just him, it was-

“if i’m so unbearable and uncomfortable, maybe you should just go to your mistress-- fuck her until 2am, why don’t you?” your voice trembled with your hands, standing from your seat and leaving the kitchen.

the room, you needed to go to the room. you promised yourself you’d bring that up when you both were better. you promised that you’d talk about it in full detail once you and Hajime had fixed things. not now. not now.

“what--” Hajime’s eyes had peered at your back-- and you could feel it.

was he glaring at you? angry that you had found out about him and his affair? was he balling his fists in anger, waiting to blame it on you as well?

“you heard me,” you growled, “if i’m so hard to deal with, just move out an-and live with the woman you’ve been so intimate with every fucking weekend!” you couldn’t help the stutter in your voice, your breathing so erratic that it hurt your chest.

you couldn’t stop the tears that dropped down your cheeks-- almost as much as when you found the shirt with someone’s perfume and smudged lipstick on the collar.

it hurt. it hurt knowing the man you moved in with to start something amazing had suddenly found something amazing with someone else-- behind your back, at that.

"look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said." his voice rumbled, your eyes that avoided his gaze had finally looked at your lover, eyes shut as if he were thinking, “go on, i’ll listen.”

“the woman you’ve been sleeping with,” you repeated, “just go live with her since i’m so despicable.” you muffled the sob that threatened to spill out, stuck on the stairs because of this conversation.

as he opened his eyes and started to walk towards you, your heart had dropped.

was he going to pack his things? was he finally leaving? you were so surprised he dealt with you for so long-- so if what you were thinking of was really what he was going to do, you couldn’t help but agree.

but instead, his arms wrapped around you; tight, loving, longingly. he was upset, you could feel it in his embrace. but, he still loved you. despite your harmful words, your accusations, he was holding you as if you were leaving-- not him.

he let out a shaky breath, “i don’t have a mistress.”

“but-”

“that night, this woman from my company tried to hit on me-- she was really close to me that night and tried to initiate something by kissing my neck. we didn’t do anything, i stopped her before she could touch me anywhere else,” he sounded so sure, his hold on you tightening, “i promise this is the truth-- so please... if i don’t leave, please don’t go.”

you both had fallen on to the floor beneath you, arms around each other, thankful for the other’s embrace.

you had never felt such anxiety-- such shock before that night, and you never wanted to experience it again. you were apologetic for avoiding him, accusing him, belittling him. you had never once thought of listening to him or greeting him to see what was wrong. you had been wallowing in your own self-pity that it was embarrassing, but he felt the same.

it was heartbreaking you’d accuse him of something that shallow, but he couldn’t blame you. he was wrong for not talking to you and taking another way out, simply going out to drink and letting the alcohol carry his worries away. he was sorry for going out and coming home late, leaving without notice, drowning himself in self-pity as well.

you both weren’t perfect, that was a fact. you were both human, imperfections that still needed to grow and make decisions. those decisions will be hard, and it’ll feel as if you’d be backed away into a corner.

but at least you wouldn’t do it alone anymore.