#another surprise for some here is perhaps the in-law comment

[stockcarbaby24]

tagged by @kazoologist to post my lockscreen, homescreen, last song i listened to, and a pretty picture!

1. Lockscreen: Been really feeling the Fire Emblem vibes lately (Iris if you're seeing this, you know why lmaoooo) so I changed my stuff to some old reliables from my fav game. Never graduating from the weeb with anime characters as her backgrounds even as an adult(tm)

2. Homescreen: Chrom Fire Emblem Awakening you will always be my one true love 💙

3. Last Song: NEVER BEATING THE WEEB ALLEGATIONS HOLY SHIT. If y'all following this blog thought I wasn't a massive nerd surprise I guess.

4. Pretty Picture: The view from my in-laws place when I was on vacation last week, heehee💜

Tagging uhhhh @endowataru @nico-di-genova & @raapija if any of you want (sorry to annoy you with this post if not lmao)

[anthurak]

Theory on the End of Season 2... and also Stolitz

So here are my current theories on the ‘Goetia Trial’ we see hinted at in the trailer and the fallout it might have in the episode Mastermind and probably Sinsmas since I wouldn't be surprised if we have a two-parter situation.

To start, I think it’s safe to assume that the trial as a whole is setup by Stella and Andrealphus as a ploy to strip Stolas of his power, titles and status as a Goetia. Of course, Stella just wants to hurt Stolas while for Andrealphus it’s an actual power-play for all that Stolas has.

Specifically, the trial takes the form of Andrealphus and Stella dragging Stolas up on all the dirty and questionable things Stolas has been involved with over the course of the show. Things like the destruction of Loo Loo Land (given Mammon’s apparent presence at the trial), inadvertently letting a bunch of humans find out about Hell, and MOST importantly of all: Loaning his Grimoire to an IMP.

Like this is something I really haven’t seen discussed but frankly feels like a BIG FUCKING DEAL when you actually thing about it. We’ve heard Stolas comment a few times that his loaning of the Grimoire to Blitzo isn’t exactly legal, and I think it’s easy to imagine the other Goetia taking MAJOR issue with it if they ever found out.

Stolas having a seedy affair with an imp and divorcing his wife might be scandalous but that’s about it, particularly given that he already has an heir in Octavia. But letting that imp TAKE and even USE his Goetic Grimoire? The very SYMBOL and very likely SOURCE of his power as a Goetia? Yeah, I think that’s something Stolas’ peers are going to take some big fucking issue with. Which of course is precisely what Andrealphus and Stella are counting on.

Now of course there will be a proverbial spanner in the works of this plan in the form of Blitzo and the rest of I.M.P. who will doubtlessly be doing something to try and help Stolas.

However, I think the BIGGER spanner will wind up being VASSAGO. Specifically, him stepping in to help Stolas as his advocate, as we see him in the trailer seeming to speak out for Stolas against Andrealphus.

As an aside, I wouldn’t be surprised if the trailer clips of I.M.P. suddenly being hunted down and Blitzo saying they need to go on the run are actually Blitzo and co. being hauled in by the authorities as material witnesses or even accessories for Stolas’ trial.

Now as to how the trial plays out, I do actually think things wind up being ruled in our heroes’ favor. Or at the very least, NOT in Andrealphus’s and Stella’s. Mostly through a good deal of legal loopholes, technicalities and a bit of truth-fudging, likely with the help of Vassago.

For example, this could be where Blitzo NOT using the Grimoire anymore and instead having an entirely legal means of accessing the human world, plus being under Asmodeus’s jurisdiction, could come into play. Perhaps with Stolas and even Asmodeus himself fudging the numbers a bit as to just how long Blitzo has been using the crystal.

Another possibility could be it being brought up/revealed that Blitzo has never actually used the Grimoire HIMSELF. This of course would lead to major developments and reveals concerning LOONA and her oddly prodigious talent with magic. Perhaps she turns out to be the lost/illegitimate/bastard daughter of a Goetia…?

One other possibility that feels both plausible and could have major ramifications going forward is Stolas getting around the scheming of his ex-wife and brother-in-law by abdicating his position of ‘Prince’ and thereby passing his titles, powers and all else that he has to Octavia, and also paying off the chekhov’s gun of Octavia being old enough to inherit her father’s position.

Like imagine if this takes the form of Stolas admitting his faults and failings in a big speech, both as a father to Octavia… and in his relationship with Blitzo. Essentially being the big conclusion to Stolas’ arc this season of owning up to his mistakes. Though potentially also (seemingly) putting an end to his relationship with Blitzo, through essentially stating that there was no way the two of them were ever going to work together. Something that Blitzo, after all the personal reflection he’s been forced to do over the last few episodes, finds it hard to argue with.

This in turn satisfies the Goetia court. Possibly to the point of not even punishing Stolas, out of respect for the dignity and grace in which he admitted and owned up to his mistakes and failings. Meanwhile, the court would very much LIKE to punish Blitzo and co. for the their unlawful use of ancient demon magic, but I.M.P. now being under Asmodeus’s jurisdiction means that’s out of their hands. Bonus points if there is some ‘Ozzie must met out some punishment on I.M.P.’ point, which he does… in the form of a whole lot of high-paying contract work on Earth.

Which of course infuriates Stella and Andrealphus. Stella because Stolas isn’t stripped of his status as a Goetia/isn’t punished/isn’t dead, and Andrealphus because he didn’t actually get the power and status he was gunning for. They probably also pitch a fit about it and get mocked by the court for treating the trial as a power-play for their own benefit (perhaps this is where Satan’s “You’re a disgrace” line from the trailer comes in if he’s the one presiding over the trial?)

This in turn leads us to the final wrinkle of the episode: Stolas and Blitzo having a final conversation at the former’s house… only to be interrupted by an ambush from an infuriated Andrealphus and possibly Stella as well, hence the clip we see of the former. And with Stolas having already passed most if not all of his power to Octavia, he’s pretty much helpless.

Which leads us to this shot of Blitzo futilely trying to protect Stolas as the shadow of a giant claw prepares to crush them both.

And as I outlined here, I think this is where someone else jumps in to save the pair. Possibly Octavia, possibly Loona, Moxxie and Millie, possibly Vassago, or some combination of all of them.

This is where I think the final proverbial nail in the coffin for Stolitz comes in. Because for Blitzo, this whole trial has been framed as his chance to make things right with Stolas. A chance to show Stolas that he really does care about him and them being together through being able to HELP Stolas in a time where he needs it the most.

But throughout the trial, Blitzo simply hasn’t been able to help Stolas. It’s not Blitzo who’s been able to support, advise and help Stolas, but instead people like Octavia, Asmodeus or perhaps most notably, VASSAGO. As in, Vassago is introduced to the story as essentially representing Blitzo would want to be for Stolas, but CAN’T. And of course, all the things Stolas would want in a partner.

And all this comes to a head during Andrealphus’s attack; with Blitzo desperately trying to help and protect Stolas… but simply can’t.

Only for Vassago to swoop in with big, heroic, rescue-romance fashion to save Stolas, and just to add insult to injury, Blitzo himself.

So when it becomes clear that Stolas and Vassago are about to, or at least very soon to, hook up, Blitzo can only recognize that there is nothing he can, or should do to stop this. That Stolas has found someone who can make him happy, unlike himself. And that this is something Blitzo can accept and even be happy for Stolas for it. Bonus points if Vassago is actually friendly and respectful to Blitzo, if only because he means a lot to Stolas and Vassago respects that.

Thus, Blitzo and Stolas have what is by all rights, a final conversation where they are able to put their relationship to rest and part on good terms. A mutual acknowledgement that what they had together was never going to work and that this is for the best.

Perhaps there is a hopeful note that they may still be seeing each other around as friends, particularly if Loona and Octavia are clearly hitting it off at this point. Maybe when Stolas comments on how their daughters seem to be getting along, Blitzo replies with something like ‘Yeah, maybe they can do better than we did…’, only to do a comedic ‘Not like THAT!’ verbal-backspace when Stolas gives him a raised eyebrow.

And with that, Season 2 ends with Blitzo’s and Stolas’ relationship definitively over.

…For now. XD

[solomons-finest-rum]

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 4 (FINALE)

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I feel like, perhaps, that is enough said in that little Alfie corner of mine. I'm not sure if I will return with any more stories. Thank you so much for the support along the way! I love you all dearly. One more note, some dialogue here is directly stolen from the show, because it was just too good not to.

💗💗💗💗💗

WORD COUNT — 2,434

Masterlist

You stayed observant through that bizarre meeting at Tommy’s equally bizarre mansion and gathered information as quietly and efficiently as you were taught to do. As you quickly learned, in Tommy’s new circles nobody suspected women of anything. This, you suspected, would surely be their downfall.

Jack Nelson was as infuriating as you had expected him to be. Not only did he insult your entire family by pretty much assuming you all still lived in caravans and told fortunes, he continued to be offensive even when he didn’t speak. Which wasn’t often. The man loved to hear the sound of his own voice and didn’t try to hide it.

Your infamous sister-in-law, Gina Gray, didn’t take too kindly to another woman present at the table—but seeing as she had felt so emboldened to restructure the Shelby organisation pretty much straight off the boat, you didn’t pay her any mind. She earned herself no favours with her ill-placed boldness.

What did amuse you most was the perpetual scowl on Lady Diana’s face, along with Oswald Mosley’s poorly concealed surprise at your presence. For a split of a second you regretted you had agreed to the plan. Perhaps you should have stayed in Margate… As your husband would say, life was so much easier when you were dead.

But it was too late to dwell on it. Somehow, both sides of your family came to accept a consensus those weeks ago, when the Shelbys invaded your seaside sanctuary on a misguided rescue mission. If there ever was a moment to compare your life to “Beauty and the Beast,” that would probably have been it.

Now one foot in the Shelby camp, one with the Solomonses, you really had to try very hard not to laugh in Jack Nelson’s face when he opened his mouth once more and the following came out:

“So you’re the sister,” he pointed to Ada whose scowl in comparison to Lady Diana’s was truly unmatched, “you’re the aunt,” he looked at Polly, “and you… You are cousins with Thomas, which I suppose makes you the sister-in-law to my favourite niece. How queer.” 

“Astute observation,” you muttered.

Jack Nelson remained unaffected. It seemed he could only pay attention to the words he spoke, the rest was lost to him.

“So it seems you and I are in the minority, Mr. Mosley. This,” Jack let out a humourless chuckle, “this feels too much like a witch coven and too little like a business meeting. Meant no offence, ladies.”

“Oh, Jack, you’re so blunt!” Gina rolled her eyes and gladly accepted her drink from Mosley.

“How refreshing,” sighed Lady Diana, “a man who isn’t careful with his words.”

Fish out of water, you didn’t comment, but Polly then spoke for the both of you:

“Yes, surely speaking your mind around gangsters should prove most beneficial.” She lit a cigarette in her usual dramatic way and handed you a match. You lit yours, too.

Jack looked at you both with an incredulous look, then let out a most uncomfortable chortle.

“I can see the family resemblance, you know…” He pointed towards you then turned to Gina. “Doesn’t she look just like Michael with that stony stare? I wondered… I wondered, sister dear, if you weren’t a fake, but now I see the Shelbys have not one lying bone in their bodies.”

How about the Solomonses?, you thought to yourself, but otherwise responded by leaning back in your seat and blowing out the cigarette smoke at the ceiling. Fortunately, the details of your marriage remained undisclosed for non-family members, because they weren’t yet useful.

And you didn’t consider the Americans your family.

Your indifference didn’t earn you any allies, but at least it seemed that Jack Nelson was most content when monologuing, so you let it be. Better they thought you a moron instead of suspecting the plot.

“Now, see, this is what I was hoping to hear from Thomas Shelby himself, but I wonder… What does Shelby Company Limited actually do?” Jack asked then, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Oh, he thinks himself so smart, you thought, still silent as a grave.

Ada glared at him instead, like one might at a roach, and you started to wonder how many in the present company were actually holding any weapons. Gina looked too doped to care, you reasoned, and Lady Diana would never get her hands dirty, this much you could already tell after having known her for about thirty minutes. Jack might be carrying a piece and Mosley too, but both looked entirely too placated and confident in the company of women.

Of course, having predicted your fiery nature, you remained under strict orders from Tommy not to murder anyone. Yet. Alfie judged him well, you thought. Tommy truly could read anyone’s character like an open book.

But, as things stood, you were under no orders that concerned you plotting, and so you plotted in silence. Killing one of them would probably mean the other would attack immediately, but which would be easier to subdue should the occasion arise? You considered that precise conundrum when the door to the parlour opened once more and in it stood Tommy Shelby.

“Apologies for the delay, gentlemen. Ladies.” 

Now Tommy, you reasoned, he’d probably be greatly opposed to you starting a shootout in his home, but then he wouldn’t dare to kill you, not in front of Polly, and probably not while Alfie still drew breath. But by gods, you were growing tired of Jack Nelson’s tongue.

As Tommy sat down, a cigarette between his lips and a glass of Irish whiskey in his hand, you looked him in the eye and let yourself smile just a little. As far as cousins went, Tommy wasn’t so terrible.

“Tommy,” Gina cajoled. “Care to finally clue us in?”

“In what?” Tommy asked, his face a stony mask that revealed nothing, but somehow you already knew he despised the woman just as much as you all did.

Despite Jack Nelson’s sincerest efforts in assumption, though, your family wasn’t yet adept in mind reading and further explanations had to follow:

“Now, Mr. Shelby, Gina tells me this young lady there, your cousin, was presumed dead for the past decade or so,” said Mosley. “How curious indeed. I wonder why she is then present at the meeting? Is she sympathetic to the cause?”

The thought of a shootout came back to you like lightning. This time you got slightly panicky. You had no idea where the fascist’s reasoning would lead and you didn’t want to find out. 

Tommy looked at him as he lit his cigarette, then back at you to give you the tiniest nod of approval. You almost laughed. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe his grandfather’s gift truly allowed him to hear your thoughts.

“So not only can you Shelbys reach the dead, you can also raise them. My, my, Mr. Shelby, that will soon prove to be a very useful skill,” Mosley commented and Diana gave him a brilliant smile.

These people, you concluded, were trained parrots and fucking idiots. With the exception, perhaps, to Gina, who all in all seemed to have been trained in nothing.

“That remains to be seen.” Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Seeing as we’re all women and scarcely any men here,” Jack swiftly changed the subject, “I wonder where the husbands are? Are they not involved in family meetings?”

An ice-cold shiver went through you and Polly grasped your hand in hers to stop you from reacting. But you already felt panic settle in. Either this was idle talk or Jack Nelson wasn’t as ill-informed as you had judged him.

“Mine’s sadly dead now,” Ada answered sharply to Jack Nelson’s provocation, “but of course we speak often.”

If looks could kill, the one she sent Jack would burn him to a crisp. You smirked at the thought.

“Well, I’m bored now,” Gina announced and Ada rolled her eyes at the bratty behaviour. “Are we waiting for anyone else? Or can we finally get to business?”

Funny she should speak of business, you thought, seeing as she had no say in any. You, on the other hand, remained most curious on the subject of vendetta. Polly turned to Tommy and gave the slightest of nods.

“Perhaps, Mr. Mosley, we can turn to what practical things Mr. Nelson can do to further our cause, while he’s in the country,” Tommy said.

“Wouldn’t you I rather whisper in the President’s ear?” Jack Nelson smirked. “That is kind of why I’m here, right?”

Mosley seemed either pleased or exasperated at the suggestion, you couldn’t quite tell. His eyes remained dark and lifeless.

“We do, indeed, have things for you to pass on to the President,” he murmured, “but not while we share the table with Jewish whores.” He turned to you and in an instant you knew the charade was over. “Mr. Shelby, I truly expected better from you, but then again… Some blood runs thicker.”

There would be no swaying the room. Not when Mosley turned sharply to Jack and Gina and declared:

“That woman is the widow of Alfie Solomons, the late… king of Camden Jews,” he scoffed. “She is no aid in our cause, but a spy. One, I must say, very poorly concealed, Mr. Shelby.”

“Is that true?” Gina turned to you, eyes bright and wide from prolonged cocaine use. “You’re his wife?!”

“The widow,” Lady Diana corrected snidely, not without satisfaction. “His motley crew of sewer rats is no threat to anyone anymore, I assure you.”

You tried your best to remain calm, but the thought of the knife you kept concealed in your skirts grew stronger. The fascist idiot didn’t know your husband yet lived and while the information wouldn’t exactly help you right then, you held onto it for dear life. Nothing would happen to you while Alfie drew breath, this much you knew.

“Well then,” Ada sighed, “I’d say the negotiations are over?”

“Well,” Lady Diana chuckled humorlessly, “I’d say it was a pleasure, but my parents raised me better.”

Polly stood up first and perhaps that would be the end of it, had Lady Diana kept her mouth shut and didn’t whisper to her what she did:

“Gypsy scum.”

The movement was swift and sharp—obviously well-practised. One moment the hairpin was holding up Polly’s rich brown curls, the next it was firmly lodged in Lady Diana’s nose, all the way to her brain; Lady Diana’s face froze, twisted in pain and horror, and blood dripping through her eyes. 

Then, chaos ensued. Everyone rose from their seats, but only Tommy remembered his drills and, unlike Mosley, he would never be as arrogant to have come unprepared. 

“I will have no gorja speak like that of my kin,” he said calmly as he raised his revolver to Mosley’s head. “So when you meet the devil, say my greetings for me.”

Tommy shot him in cold blood and that, alongside a curse in his tongue of old, seemed enough to subdue even a man like Jack Nelson. Of course, to your great satisfaction, Gina swiftly joined her uncle’s bloodied corpse on the beautiful Persian rug—the corpse with your knife stuck in his neck.

“Now then, Tommy, what are we to do with you, hm?” Alfie exclaimed as soon as Tommy’s men let him inside the parlour that was now undergoing impromptu redecorating efforts. 

To their credit, Tommy’s maids scrubbed the blood off the furniture like it was their lives true calling, all the while you sat side by side with Polly and Ada, smoking cigarettes and pretending to be fine.

“Hello, Alfie,” Tommy hummed his usual greeting and handed Alfie a drink the man obviously refused.

“Nah, I don’t touch that stuff, mate, but I should see to my wife, perhaps, she looks like she dearly needs some looking after, right, especially since you Shelbys remain savagely as per fuckin’ usual!”

Tommy smirked at that, then motioned Arthur inside as soon as he saw his brother in the hall.

“Is it done, Arthur?”

“We burnin’ them outside, Tom, like you said,” the elder Shelby grunted.

“And can I say, right, about fuckin’ time that fascist burns in hell!” Alfie roared and came closer to place an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

“You alright then, sweetheart?” he asked and you nodded, reaching for his hand.

“She’s fine,” Polly scoffed.

“Right, high time I take my bride back home then, Tommy, since your war efforts are quenched, I hope, yeah, an’ I now find myself avenged,” Alfie concluded, thoroughly ignoring Polly’s implications. “Don’t think on any debt collection, though, Tommy, I know ya well enough and one look at this mangled face should halt any such notions from you, all right?” 

You stood when Alfie offered you his arm and smiled at Polly affectionately, seeing as she still remained vigilant around the man. Perhaps that would be their way.

“Hope to see you again, Cousin?” Ada grinned at you in a manner that greatly reminded you of Tommy—something feral in that smile still kept you on your toes.

“I hope so as well,” you said.

“Perhaps we should turn to Boston, dearest?” Alfie’s gruff voice brought you back to reality. “I hear my uncle remains a man of wisdom, even now he’s past sixty. But such is the way in my family, don’t you worry. I ain’t leavin’ you a simperin’ corpse anytime soon…”

As you said your goodbyes to the Shelbys, despite Alfie’s annoyance and pointedly showing you his pocket watch, your heart felt fuller than ever before in your tortured existence. You entered your curious marriage an orphan and somehow along the way found you had a clan to call your own on two continents.

“Lead the way, husband,” you chirped as Alfie led you to his car.

“Aye, I should hope to finally lead you away from the viper’s nest, wife,” Alfie grumbled, though you could tell he was only mildly annoyed. “Now that ya saved England with your damnable cousins might I humbly persuade you not to leave my side for the foreseeable future?”

“Why, Alfie, with talk like that people might think you grew fond of me.”

“People can well think what they fuckin’ like,” he scoffed and then kissed you the way he knew you liked to be kissed—like the world stopped for a second around you two and nothing mattered, just as long as your gangster husband would not stop kissing you.

[drdtfuitgumies]

season 3 summary: july 2024

this summary is mainly for my personal documentation (i like documenting stuff), but i thought i'd post this in the blog too just in case anyone else was interested!

STATISTICS

as you can perhaps tell by the "header", ace is first place for this month with seven appearances! ...though considering the situations he was involved in (most notably an undignified jumpscare, being put in air jail, and being put in a repurposed jail by the name of Arei's Haul), it may be more of a curse. arei, j, and whit all tie for second place with six appearances, which is a very normal occurrence at this point.

PERSONAL FAVORITES (in chronological order)

1) Teruko falls down the stairs (ft. her three* best** friends***) (CHAPTER 2 SPOILERS)

i really like eden and charles' sideeyes here. and drawing teruko falling down the stairs was always one of my main goals with this blog, so i'm glad i could accomplish that!

2) Class is NOT going well (CHAPTER 1 SPOILERS)

the people really liked this one too, it seems! i finished in time for their birthday, too... i'm bound by law to apologize because they happen to be a friend's favorite character. orz

3) Whit shows Xander how to wear a blazer

i've drawn this sprite twice now. he just looks endearing in what i like to call The Stupid Idiot Dog way. I promise I mean this with as much affection (and cuteness aggression) possible. maybe i'll draw more sprites in the future... especially the ones that barely get used

4) Do you see this shit, Min?

another meme redraw! not much thought here. i just want them to be friends, even if it starts from a shared exasperation with practically the rest of the class.

THE POWER OF HINDSIGHT

sometimes i think of adding punchlines in the situations, or fix errors after i've put them in the queue, but forget to actually. do that

veronika jumpscaring ace was supposed to have a dark background but i thought veronika jumpscaring him with a flashlight in broad daylight was way funnier. the end result would still be the same anyhow

as mentioned in both "class is NOT going well" and "min and mai eat taiyaki", the latter was supposed to be min's birthday post. but i saw the meme around a week before her birthday and i couldn't NOT draw it. and i actually finished it in time!!

levi's dialogue in this situation was supposed to allude to him putting ace in air jail, but i didn't know how to make j's dialogue MASSIVE while also leaving just enough words for the viewer to ponder about what exactly levi was doing beforehand

also about the above situation; j's second piece of dialogue was supposed to be lowercase. i try to modify everyone's dialogue according to how they'd probably type (from the top of my head arei, eden, and whit speak in lowercase and sprinkling in emoticons/kaomojis; ace and j also speak in lowercase but they often switch into Titlecase and UPPERCASE for emphasis). that time i forgot to proofread the capitalization though. i guess this is incredibly minor and doesn't even matter that much

arei was supposed to steal hu's butterfly pin off-screen and the situation would be hu recalling the incident to someone like. levi, eden, or david idk. and going "I am unfortunately disappointed but not surprised" with a serene expression. i thought the punchline of hu just giving her pin and arei considering it a defeat was funnier, so i ended up going with that

I really, really wanted to find proper motivational words that Arturo would say,,,,,, ach.....

OTHER REMARKS

i tried to mimic arei's canon handwriting for that header image! also that is indeed the jail cardboard box being repurposed as arei's inventory of stolen items. i guess ace lives there for now

i want to do vocaloid mv redraws... i think i've mentioned it here once before, but i'd like to try. although i probably can't do more "serious" songs

that one comment asking if arei brought ace in her suitcase (since she's wearing some stolen accessories) still makes me laugh because how does one even begin to approach that conclusion. you can freely interpret arei's bigger suitcase as a sign that a whole ass Ace Markey is stuck inside there, i suppose! thank you for the mental image!

unfortunately, my schedule this year is taxing enough that i literally can't draw fuit gumies everyday anymore (unless if it was just one single character standing). i'll still post something for everyone's birthdays, and i plan to draw something to start off september at least, but i'll wait until that post for a more concrete schedule

thank you for your support!

as promised, whether you've seen it or not; here is the miro canvas for the first three months/seasons! i've since moved into another one since it started lagging enough to annoy me.

[sgiandubh]

Such unsmiling people

The comment that moved me the most after posting that August 10 diatribe came from a very special blogger, @myrthil23. I promised her a longer, thoughtful answer, so here it is.

I share with her way more than meets the eye and with a bit of deductive skills, you could easily place us very specifically on an European map. To be honest, I was surprised (and then absolutely thrilled, of course) to find someone like her hanging on in here. But this is not the only reason prompting a response - her comment made me think a lot about a couple of relevant things.

For those who loathe foraging for reblogs, here goes:

In the colorful Shipper family, the Eastern Europeans are (supposedly) the unsmiling ones. This is one of the stubborn clichés that informed the Western gaze, especially in Communist times. Unsmiling, foreboding and unfathomable people: I am not smiling, I am laughing while writing it, because if anything, Myrthil, @zeya-zg, a couple of others and I do share a superb ability to use bullshit-o-meters, an unsinkable sense of humor and a hefty dose of sarcasm. All of these are basic, compulsory street smarts if you want to survive, God knows how, a nuclear winter of sorts.

Imagine you grow up in a world with empty supermarket shelves but permanently sold-out concert halls, where trivial details such as cotton swabs, potato chips (crisps, heh), political parties or The Last Tango in Paris are virtually unknown. Imagine your family is either cautiously aligned to some public idiocy they loathe everyday at home, teaching you at the same time to never talk to strangers. Or even worse, a political pariah, for reasons that have everything to do with the way you sip your tea, as Ella Fitzgerald would say. The latter situation (mine) was something very much akin to a civil death. And you just knew you could never be, for imbecile but firm reasons, an architect, a lawyer or even an epidemiologist: jobs way too sensitive to entrust the enemies of the people (and their spawn) with.

What is left for you, then, when the view from your window, in 1982, is something not very different from this photograph:

(side note: these people are staying in line to buy 1 kilogram of sugar for each person, which was the monthly allowance fixed by law in my country, from 1980 to 1989; you could only buy those with Government-issued tickets, not unlike what happened in the UK during WWII or what you can see in series like The Handmaid's Tale)

When all is seemingly lost, you will still have, in no particular order: books. Music (including piano lessons). Sports. Each other (although that was overall more complicated than it seemed). Going to the opera and never taking off your winter coat inside, but enjoying every second of it. Impromptu dinners by candlelight during power outages ("wir machen ein bisschen Stimmung"/let's make a bit of atmosphere, grinned my aunt). Foreign languages (a must). Fits and giggles and jokes galore. And the ability to adapt to just about anything, anywhere.

When change finally reached us, many had the almost surreal opportunity to go West. Some came back, others didn't, simply because they chose to continue elsewhere their pursuit of happiness. And yes, Myrthil is right, that fabled West was always something to behold and measure up to. In my case, it was almost too easy, but then I consider myself really lucky: going to live in Paris, at 18, felt both as homecoming and being left alone (and with unlimited credit) in a candy store.

So, here we are. We may have discovered Sylvia Plath a bit late, but I think we are decently knowledgeable about Chaucer. We sometimes may sound Edwardian and if we do, you should probably blame C.E. Eckersley's Essential English (this is how that life-long affair started, for me). And if anything, we bring another, perhaps even more inquisitive, angle to these strange things we are dealing with daily, in here.

But for the love of Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, don't you ever dare tell us what to think and with whom to talk. Don't call us stupid. Don't call us liars. Historical reasons prompted a durable allergy to sanctimonious speech and yes (I can only speak for myself) I will always, always react. Because we do not deserve the arrogance of people who have no idea of how it really was to grow up somewhere in Eastern Europe during the Eighties. Oh, and something else, lest I forget: being pariahs never bothered us - we can cope.

Other than that, we should go along just fine. :)

PS: @claraisabelcampohermoso, you probably don't know how your gif made me smile. Nadia will always be Nadia: a humble, warm person with a terribly heartbreaking story.

[techsbrowneyes]

Thank you for all the likes and comments on my previous posts. I really appreciate them ❤️

Here’s another fluffy Bad Batch one-shot in an AU where everyone is happy and alive and living on Pabu - just the way I like it!

Also, Phee and Tech have a little surprise :)

Summary: Hunter is confused by the many changes Omega is going through. He needs advice, and Phee is just the person to give it.

Title: Changes

Word count: 2,415

***

Omega was acting strange.

Hunter couldn’t figure it out. One morning she was her usual chipper self, off to school after kissing him good-bye.

The next she was spending hours in the ‘fresher and trying out new hair styles and fretting over her appearance. She even asked him once if he thought she looked pretty. Of course, his opinion didn’t seem to matter because he was her father and he was probably just saying nice things because.

Hunter decided he was terribly inexperienced when it came to adolescent girls. He knew she was going through many changes right now, but he didn’t quite understand what those changes were. Perhaps if he had some advice, he’d be better equipped to handle this new phase in his daughter’s life.

So he decided to pay his sister-in-law a visit. Phee was a woman. She would know what to do, and Hunter would appreciate any help she could give him.

The next morning, after Omega left for school, he set out and walked down to Tech and Phee’s house. The morning air was humid. It was going to be another hot one, but that was no surprise. It was always hot on Pabu. Luckily, there was a perpetual breeze that blew, offering respite and comfort.

When Hunter arrived at his destination, he knocked on the door.

“Door’s open,” Phee called.

Hunter went inside and almost tripped over a toy bantha. Phee and Tech’s twelve-month-old son toddled up to him and tugged on his pants. His full name was Hunter Racer Genoa, but everyone just called him Racer to cut the confusion. Racer had been Tech’s choice for a name.

Racer smiled up at Hunter, revealing a dimple. Hunter smiled back. He and his nephew were best friends.

“How’s my ad’ika?” Hunter asked as he lifted the baby into his arms.

“Determined not to wear his glasses,” Phee answered, coming into the room. She put a pair of goggles on Racer that were nearly identical to his father’s. Racer refused to wear them otherwise. He was having a hard time adjusting, the poor lad.

“So what can I do for you, sergeant?” Phee asked Hunter.

Hunter set Racer down and he toddled away. “I need advice.”

Phee invited him to come sit down. Hunter claimed the sofa. He watched distractedly as Racer lined up all his building blocks in a neat row, smiling because the child reminded him so much of Tech. He was deliberate and thoughtful in his actions.

“It’s Omega,” Hunter said finally, looking up. “She’s been acting . . . strange.”

“Strange,” Phee repeated. “Define that.”

“Just strange. She spends a long time in the ‘fresher fretting over her appearance. She thinks she isn’t beautiful enough, though I tell her otherwise. She snapped at me the other day just because I asked her what was wrong. Honestly, I’m at a complete loss, Phee. I don’t know what to do.”

Phee’s gaze softened. “Hunter, Omega is growing up. It’s perfectly obvious what’s going on.”

Hunter snorted. “You sound like Tech. When he thinks something is obvious, it’s usually not.”

“Omega’s behavior is obvious to me because I was her age once, too.” Phee grinned. “There’s a boy she’s sweet on.”

Hunter stared at her in surprise. “A boy?” he repeated. The idea appalled him. Omega was supposed to be his little girl and now there was a boy in her life? He didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“Yes. Don’t look so shocked. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But . . .”

Tech walked through the door that very moment. He didn’t seem to realize Hunter was there, because he sauntered right over to his wife and leaned down to give her a kiss on the lips.

“I missed you, love,” he declared.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Phee pointed out.

“All the same. Ten minutes is akin to one hundred planetary rotations when I am apart from you.”

Hunter wanted to laugh. His brother had turned into such a romantic.

Phee cleared her throat. “Baby, Hunter is here.”

“Oh.”

Tech sounded so disappointed. Hunter bit the inside of his cheek to keep his amusement from showing.

“I came for advice,” he explained. “It’s about Omega.”

“Ah. I take it you were unprepared for the turbulent moments that accompany adolescence.”

“Well, no. I guess I just assumed she’d always be my little girl. You don’t understand because your kid is still a baby. He hasn’t even said his first word yet.”

Everyone glanced over at Racer, who was carefully building a tower out of blocks.

“I’d hardly call him a baby,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. “He’s remarkably precocious.”

Racer placed another block on his growing tower. But that was one block too many. The tower tilted to the side and collapsed, scattering the blocks around him.

“Kriff,” he said.

Phee sucked in a breath.

Tech’s face lit up in a smile. “I believe that is his first word,” he said proudly.

“Who taught him that,” Phee demanded, sounding upset.

“Don’t look at me,” Hunter said defensively, when she glanced sharply in his direction. “I don’t curse around the children.”

“Neither do I,” Tech seconded.

Phee glared at him. “Well, somebody taught him that.”

The front door slid opened and Crosshair entered the house. He tripped over the scattered blocks.

“Kriff,” he cursed.

Tech pointed. “There is your culprit, love.”

Racer, upon seeing his favorite uncle, squealed in delight and ran to Crosshair. Crosshair lifted the baby up into his arms and smiled broadly. Racer was the only one who could draw it out.

“You put my baby down!” Phee ordered.

Crosshair looked confused. “What?”

“You’re a bad influence on him.”

“Kriff,” Racer said again.

Hunter thought Phee was going to murder Crosshair right then and there. Tech just stood there with his arms crossed, looking amused by the whole situation.

Phee planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t want you using that language around him, you hear?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t teach him that word,” Crosshair said defensively.

“That narrows down the list quite a bit,” Tech remarked dryly.

“He heard it from someone,” Phee said. “I intend to find out who.”

Hunter tuned them out for a moment, drawn back to his own troubles.

Omega liked a boy. That didn’t sit very well with him. She was still young and innocent, and he just couldn’t stand the thought of her growing up so fast. She might prefer that boy over him. She might not want to spend time with him anymore.

Suddenly, he felt utterly despondent.

“What’s with him?” Crosshair asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hunter said sulkily.

His keen sense of smell caught the faint whiff of burning food. He glanced over at Phee, who was fussing over Racer and telling him he shouldn’t curse, and Racer just stared up at her in adoration, looking cute enough to melt even the toughest heart.

“Uh, Phee,” Hunter said. “Are you cooking anything?”

Phee gasped. “Kriff!” She leapt up, shoved Racer into Tech’s arms, and ran into the kitchen.

Crosshair folded his arms over his chest and snorted. “And she wants to blame me for teaching the kid how to curse.”

A moment later, Phee appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I owe all of you an apology,” she said.

Hunter rose to his feet. “Don’t worry about it, Phee. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going.”

“Where?” Crosshair asked.

“Anywhere. I need to think.”

“Good luck,” Phee said.

Hunter saluted. “Thanks.”

He left Phee and Tech’s house and simply started walking with no particular destination in mind. He just needed to sort his thoughts and make sense of everything going on with Omega.

He was well aware that she wasn’t going to need him forever. She was getting older, and was now wanting to be more independent. He just wished they’d had more time together. He liked being there for her, guiding her when she needed guidance, or simply lending an ear when she wanted to talk. In short, he enjoyed being a father.

Hunter felt no worse or no better by the time he got home later. He’d spent a good portion of time just walking. He was surprised to find that several hours had passed, and he hadn’t even been aware except for the changes in the sun.

Wrecker was sitting at the table in the dining nook, diligently oiling his gun. He liked to keep everything in working order, just in case Phee needed them for a job, which was sporadic at best.

“Where’ve you been?” Wrecker asked.

“Walking,” Hunter answered.

“Thinking about Omega, huh?”

“Yeah. She grew up on me. I don’t know how I feel about that. Phee thinks there’s a young lad in her life.”

Wrecker shrugged. “You mean Rohne.”

Hunter frowned. “You . . . know about that?” He felt bitter suddenly, knowing Omega told Wrecker everything but not him. What was he, chopped liver?

“Nice kid. He likes to go fishing.”

“Huh. I didn’t even know there was a boy until now.”

“I thought it was obvious,” Wrecker said, using Tech’s favorite expression.

Hunter scowled. “Very funny,” he said.

The front door slid open and he looked, expecting to see Omega and what’s-his-face. He planned on employing a healthy dose of intimidation to let the kid know he better watch himself, or there was going to be trouble.

But it was just Crosshair. Racer was in his arms, asleep with his head on Crosshair’s shoulder.

“The lovebirds wanted to be alone,” he said. “I offered to watch the kid.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

“I know.”

Hunter regarded him. “Do you know about Rohne, too?”

Crosshair smirked. “The tall kid with the long hair? Sure I know him. Wanted to know all about my position as the squad’s marksman. I even let him see my kit.”

Hunter was beginning to feel real low right about now. So everyone knew who this Rohne kid was except for him. He didn’t like being left out like this. If his daughter was running around with a boy, he had a right to know. He had a right to meet this kid, see what kind of character he was.

“What’s with him?” Crosshair asked Wrecker.

“Oh, he’s just sore ‘cause he’s the last to know about Rohne,” Wrecker answered.

Hunter didn’t bother to respond. He sank down in a chair and heaved a heavy sigh. Just to keep his hands busy, he un-sheathed his knife and fiddled with it.

“What’s your reading on this Rohne?” he asked his two brothers.

“He’s a good lad,” Wrecker answered. “Says please and thank you. Very polite. Likes fishing.”

“You said that already. I want to know about his morals. Can he be trusted?”

“If you’re worried about this kid, don’t be,” Crosshair said. “He’s aware of what will happen to him if he puts even a single toe out of line. I made sure of it.”

Well, at least that was comforting. But that was supposed to be Hunter’s job. He was supposed to be the one to let the kid know nothing good would come to him if he hurt Omega in any way.

He didn’t despair, though. He was going to make sure he got to meet this kid. He was going to ask Omega to invite him over to dinner, then he’d see for himself if this Rohne was good enough for his daughter.

His senses prickled. He looked up at the door, knowing Omega was approaching. He sat up straighter.

The door slid open and Omega entered, followed by this tall, gangly kid with long, dark hair. He suspected this was the infamous Rohne.

“Hi everyone,” Omega greeted warmly.

“Hiya, kiddos,” Wrecker returned.

Crosshair just nodded.

Hunter stared at Rohne. Rohne stared back, unflinching and curious. Hunter was begrudgingly impressed by the kid’s audacity.

“Oh, Dad, this is Rohne,” Omega introduced, smiling shyly. “Rohne, this is my dad, Hunter.”

Rohne stuck out a hand. Hunter grasped it and they shook. The kid had a nice, strong handshake. Hunter considered that a good quality in a man.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Rohne said politely. “Omega has told me all about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Hunter said, smiling.

“Good things, I promise.”

“So you like fishing, is that right?”

“Oh, yes. I enjoy it very much, sir.”

“Rohne wants to take me out in his boat later,” Omega said. “If that’s okay with you . . .”

“I’ll have her home by eight,” Rohne promised.

“Well . . .” Hunter looked at their hopeful faces, then decided it wouldn’t hurt. Rohne seemed like a nice young man. He suspected the kid would keep his word. “You’ll have her back by eight on the dot?” he said, and Rohne nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Just do one thing for me and stay for dinner. I’d like to get to know you better, son.”

“That sounds just fine, sir,” Rohne agreed. He and Omega smiled at one another.

“We’re going to go study now,” Omega told Hunter. “We’ve got a big test tomorrow.”

She hurried off to her room with Rohne close on her heels.

Hunter just stood there for a moment, thinking he’d overreacted. Omega had good judgment. If she liked Rohne, it was because he was kind and courteous, and he treated her well. That was all that mattered to Hunter.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Wrecker said suddenly. “I’ll have my eye on ‘em the whole time. That boat won’t get out of my sights.”

“I’m not worried,” Hunter said, meaning it. “We’re forgetting that each of us has taught Omega valuable combat skills. If Rohne steps out of line, I suspect she’ll handle him just fine on her own.”

“Yeah! I bet she’ll kick him right in the—“

“Shhh!” Crosshair hissed, covering Racer’s ears. “Not in front of the baby.”

“Right,” Wrecker said. “Sorry.”

Racer lifted his head from Crosshair’s shoulder and smiled. “Kriff,” he said.

“We’ve got to teach him to say something else,” Hunter decided. “Hey, kid, can you say mama?”

Racer stared at him and blinked his big, brown eyes. Hunter had a feeling the baby understood the task, he was just being very selective about participating. It had to be on his terms.

“Say mama,” Crosshair encouraged.

The front door slid open and in walked Echo, looking dour as usual.

Racer pointed a finger at him. “Mama!” he cried.

Echo startled. “What?”

Hunter sighed. “Well, at least he’s not saying kriff anymore.”

[ansbobcar]

EP 11. What a lovely night

WORD COUNT. 1560

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

Seina Ontarin, formerly Seina Onoji, is a divorced old lady who lived in the forest outside the capital. With no formal background magic education, it’s a surprise that she’s capable of casting complex teleportation spells, noting the appearance of a new table in the streets from thin air. But he shouldn’t expect any less than that. She was the only woman to have been married to the current head of the Onojis, a family revered for their specialty in the mental manipulation spells and loyalty to the Bureau’s magical security force. Indeed, with Rinka’s personal Sangs magic, she was practically a black sheep among them.

Perhaps it’s due to those factors that the elderly woman had pulled her daughter into a tight hug with a friendly glare at the bespectacled man. “What are you doing here mother?” Unsure of how to get out of her hearty embrace as she patted her back.

“They needed some more vegetables since Autumn is arriving soon, they’ll be submitting a request for the Autumn Festival after today.”

“The earlier the better,” Orter interrupted their conversation, slowly removing the bright brunette’s grip on her. “What brings you both here?” She wondered, with a step back.

“Patrol,” they both said in unison. “Is that so? My-my, aren’t you a dutiful duo!” Wasn’t that just an excuse to go on a date? She deduced to herself. “I’ll let you both enjoy the rest of the day then!” Leaving them alone again.

“She’s… cheerful,” he uttered, readjusting the earmuffs he wore. Maybe a bit too cheerful, as the woman had disappeared to another stall. 

“I know right? Since we’ll continue past dinner, do you want to snack on anything else?”

“Anything’s fine by me.”

“Even Kaldo’s monstrosity?”

“Don’t lump me with such horrendous taste,” he hissed backed at her. “I don’t have a favourite food anyways, everything’s rather bland to me.” As she picked up a candied apple he commented, “and don’t you like savoury food?”

“Eating sweet stuff first makes the savoury stuff hit better,” she explained without any evidence. But she sounded convincing even for someone who has read almost all there is to know. "Is that why you said the hangover soup wasn't salty enough?"

He hummed, “possibly.”

Maybe it was her presence, which could only be described as unsettling elegance, lacking daintiness and yet soothing like the spring sun. Perhaps it was the combination of her complexion and her hair that reminded people of such a star. But a dying star would be more accurate with those hues of purple at the ends. ‘She never had those in high school.’

_ _ _

Nothing problematic had occurred for the remaining 4 hours of their patrol. The moon had risen amongst the clouds and returning to them again was Rinka’s mother!

“You’re still around, mother?” Ready to usher the shorter woman back to the comfort of her own abode. She seemed even less composed around her own mother, as her typical facade kept tearing at the seams while the smiling woman continued to laugh in amusement.

“Why don’t you bring him along for a night, dear?”

At these words she grew even less composed. “I thought you hated it when people went to your house? You used to tell me to lock out Ryoh from the door,” only to be waved off. “Well you seem to be comfortable enough since the news came out,” the older woman hummed. “I definitely need to know my possible future son in law, you know?”

With a glance towards the taller brunette for any input, she conceded as they were guided there. It took roughly 40 minutes of pure walking to enter within the vicinity of her abode, noticing the plots and signs of her plants, some being less than edible ingredients definitely before his eyes landed on a comfortable house with two storeys. 

“Take him inside, I need to check up on some of my babies,” she instructed her daughter who obeyed without a problem, entering inside they were greeted by stacks of books on the dining table before noticing the empty set of couches. The walls were a bit new, and the slight smell of wet soil seemed to pervade throughout. If it wasn’t for his knowledge on the woman, it would certainly taint the kind impression she showcased as he held up his lit wand, the earmuff now hung at his neck.

“So you stay over once a month?”

She nodded as she walked up stairs scrambling for a knitted throw and a pillow. “Just in case you end up sleeping over, the couch works right?” As if she hadn’t tucked a blanket over him for the past few weeks. “We’ll see,” noticing research papers regarding the construction of sigils from the corner of his eye.

Sigils are a form of ancient magic that can only be taught in a high schooler’s 3rd year if they score well in the advanced magic class, and is the only time it is taught. Although they are sturdier to typical magic spells due to the lack of finesse needed in channelling the sigil, the activation speeds by the average user makes it terribly inefficient though. It’s a lost magic art.

“It’s a surprise she has access to such papers,” he noted as she placed the items down on the couch, picking one of them up. “Ah, I forgot to return these copies back to Sophie! That’s why she’s been trying to schedule a time to see me alone,” she let out a shaky laugh. She’s so screwed tomorrow. Recent events certainly have shoved back the mental note she made regarding these texts like ‘Deconstructing commonly used Sigils in Agriculture.’ 

“Have you successfully activated one before?”

As if a match had been lit, she craned her head and shuffled around the space almost tripping and bumping her shin into the furniture. “There should be a light sigil that’s activated by pressure somewhere,” scrambling for the light switch somehow with each step. Until she smacked to the floor and unnaturally, a ball of light formed on the ceiling and illuminated the room. Orange splattered on the floor. With some ache, she slowly stood up and dragged a stool to replace herself. 

“Are you alright?” he walked closer to her. There was a lack of softness and care in his voice’s projection compared to his expression, solemnly earnest.

“Yeah,” twisting her torso and limbs a bit. “Just stings a little, nothing terrible.”

“You’re terribly efficient.”

_ _ _ 

Without another word, they began to put aside the Knowledge Cane’s copies that overstayed their welcome. To be completely frank, neither knew what to do beyond simply dozing off at the couch. So in order to please the owner of the house, the two kept themselves busy instead making the both of them ignore the return of her mother with fleshly plucked herbs.

“I’m surprised, Sophina let you borrow so many copies,” having counted a total of a dozen research topics into sigils. “A few of them were used for the storage’s security system after all, so she didn’t mind back then.”

“Back then,” she only nodded at his repetition as he looked over a student’s research on ancient spells. Easton allowed Orca dorm students to publish their research either towards the Magical Research Administration, or in magical research journals, of which only 3 existed due to the Knowledge Cane’s ironfist in regulations. “You used a student’s research for the security system?”

“Although a student’s understanding can be rather elementary, this particular paper focuses on the significance of the medium which the sigil is inscribed with and onto. I conducted my own experiments as well with Tsurara to see if they made any differences since the paper was purely theoretical. We ended up finding out that blood and charcoal were the most consistent mediums, that’s why the majority of sigil instructions required animal blood or a sacrifice,” she hummed at their findings.

‘Doesn’t that mean they used her blood to make the security system?’

“How much blood?”

“Under 2 litres.”

“You should really start taking care of yourself,” he sighed, drained by her rather bright demeanour. It’s nearly 9 o’clock now, how was she maintaining this attitude? “Doesn’t your mother get worried?”

“Oh she knows I worry a lot,” returning with a pot of tea and cups, and passing some to them both. “Ever since she became a Divine Visionary, she’s always made me cry myself to stupor once a week.” The jovial mood displayed felt offputting as he took a sip of the warm tea to keep himself alert, the conversation spilling out his other ear. He’s just trying to being polite.

“The amount of men who went after her when she was a teen made me so senselessly sick!” She huffed, listing the incomparable ages the rejected suitors were with the brunette still pouring some more to drink for himself. “Thankfully, everything worked out,” thankfully reminiscing about the past as she watched him rubbed his rather droopy eyelids to keep himself awake. “But I’m rather shocked, dear, I thought you’d already introduced me to my son-in-law?”

Wordlessly, other than his vision blurring, the familiar Blonde’s features had completely disappeared from it. “Rinka?” He called out, unsure of the situation but he was greeted by nothing as he drowned into the night’s lull.

_ _ _ _ _

LORE IDEA TIME!

Yeah. I personally think sigils should be a thing. Why? I was binge reading The Dark Lord's Confession which talked about sigils. But I do think based on the Mashle Society that sigils are an ancient form of spellcasting especially. Wands became easier to do with technology and education advancements and required no animal sacrifice, just innate magical power. Hence the society which outcasts those without magic. Lolol I love worldbuilding randomly in the author comment/note.

At the rate things are going I need at least 20 episodes to end on the things I want to end on (we haven't gotten to the character angst yet or enough close calls!)

Any other theories of yours are much appreciated (whether it's regarding the plot, the characters or the world)

[presidenthades]

Where do you get such ideas?

Awesome update on Lavender's blue altough it made me a bit sad reading that Rhaenyra longs for Daemon and Alicent longs for Rhaenyra - Viserys really knows how to screw things up. Also I love Jace's POV but I find Aegons much more interesting and the whole thing with the tea for a moment I thought it was Larys doing but no he is not that sloppy this was pretty stupid and I really dont think that Mysaria or Daemon would do something like this Daemon would have drowned Alicent's kids with moontea if that was his intention I believe that even if they are not together he would still not do anything to harm Rhaenyra.

This smells like something a jilted lover would have done, a pretty stupid one at that.

Also Jace's educational methods I will never forget about it and Aegon was like where have you been my entire life I need you.

I kinda see the kids being part of Aegon's future Small Council Aemond the history nerd maybe as Master of Laws, Luce as Master of Coin Joff perhaps as Master of Whispers Daeron I still need to think about that but marybe some sort of diplomat and Jace well she is not a pretty consort she is the brains of the marriage she will be the Hand or maybe Aegon will say she is my equal she is the one wearing the pants here

Honestly, sometimes I read Asks and Comments that get my brain going, and suddenly I get an idea that I might never have thought of without a reader planting that seed in my head!

Rhaenyra definitely lost a lot in this AU. She still has a nice life on Driftmark, but she’s never gotten over how everyone she cares about has seemingly rejected her. 😞 She really only has her kids in this universe.

No comment on the moon tea, only vague emojis ☕️ 👀 🤐

I mostly read on AO3 not Tumblr, so I may have missed some fics, but I’m honestly kind of surprised that I have yet to read another story about someone using sex/striptease to motivate Aegon 😂. It’s the ultimate incentive for him lol.

Aegon is almost definitely going to clean house one day when he’s king.

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait (Season 4) Chapter 5

New Homes and Wedding Dresses

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: Sean and Lorelei move into their new home and a date for their wedding is set.

***Sean’s POV***

“Your new home must have cost a small fortune.” His mother commented as Sean gave her a tour of his and Lorelei’s new home. Sean had been able to find and acquire it quickly. They hadn’t move in yet, although he’d had people transferring their belongings from the old place most of the week.

“Thank god you had one.” He replied and she chuckled. “Security here is far better than what I had before.”

“Good.” She said as they descended the stairs. “Because I can only save you that way once.

Sean glanced at her as they approached the double doors leading to the balcony. “I know what that must’ve cost you. I’m very grateful.” He told her, glancing out at the magnificent view of the city.

“Did you happen to meet the young woman staying with Nick and Juliette?”

“I did. She seems very capable.”

“She decapitated a hundjager.”

“You think she knew that?”

“She’s a Grimm as well.” He told her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Another Grimm in Portland. What is that? Three now. Once Nick gets his powers back.”

“Yes.”

Mother turned to face him. “I sense that about. Just as I sense something about you.”

“What?”

“You want to tell me who has my eldest granddaughter.”

Sean sucked in a breath, looking back out at the view. “I do, but it won’t do any good. No one knows where she is.”

“Tell me who has her.”

“Kelly Burkhardt.” He said, looking at his mother. “Nick and Lorelei’s mother.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Also, a Grimm?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “A very dangerous one.”

“You know I’m going to find her.”

“I know you gonna try.”

She smiled at him, as she turned to face him. “Let me look at you.” He gave her a strange look. “I need to make sure you’re ok, there’s no lingering effect of what I’ve done.”

Sean considered it for a moment, knowing what she wanted to see. He woged for her. Her smile widened. “God I’m good.”

Sean woged back. “You are.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before his mother glanced around at the deck and living space. She returned her gaze to him. “How many guests were you planning to invite to the wedding? Around 20, was it?”

Sean looked, eyeing her suspiciously. “Yes.”

“And you trust these people?”

“I trust them to keep Lorelei and Olivia safe.” He said slowly, wondering where she was going with this.

“What if we had the wedding here?” She said, gesturing to the area they were standing in.

“Here?”

“Yes. This deck has some gorgeous views, it would be perfect for the ceremony and the reception. And then you two don’t have far to go to get home.”

Sean glanced around, considering it. “I think Lorelei would love the idea of being married in our home.” He said, a smile crossing his face at the thought of his love.

“I sense her brother, and his partner will be choosing to restore his powers in this coming week. How about we set the date for next Saturday. It will give us time to get everything together.

***Lorelei’s POV***

“Elizabeth, what a pleasant surprise.” Lorelei said, stepping back to allow her mother-in-law into the suite.

“I hope you don’t mind me popping by unannounced.”

“Of course not.”

“I wanted to see if you were feeling up to going out.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lorelei asked her.

Elizabeth smiled warmly at her. “Wedding dress shopping.”

Lorelei returned her smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been looking online for ideas, but I haven’t seen anything I like yet.”

“Perhaps seeing them in person and trying them on will help.”

An hour later, they entered a store, Elizabeth pushing Olivia in her stroller. Lorelei looked around; she shouldn’t be surprised that Elizabeth had chosen a high-end bridal store. A woman approached them and addressed Elizabeth. “Ms Lascelles?”

“Yes.”

The woman, Cecilia, led them to a private area before telling them their consultant would be with them soon. She directed them to sit and asked if they would like some champagne. Elizabeth made sure to tell her to bring Lorelei a non-alcoholic one as she was breastfeeding. The drinks arrived at the same time as the consultant. “Elizabeth. It has been too long.” The older woman said.

Elizabeth stood and Lorelei followed suit. “It has been too long Madeline. Lovely to see you again.” She put her arm around Lorelei’s shoulder. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to my daughter-in-law, Lorelei.”

Madeline turned to Lorelei. “The pleasure is all mine, Lorelei. Although I fear any dress I have will pale in comparison to your beauty.”

Lorelei ducked her head, feeling her cheeks warm up. Madeline than noticed the stroller and stepped forward, peeking in. “And who is this precious child?”

“My granddaughter, Olivia.”

Madeline returned her gaze to the two of them. “Congratulations. She is absolutely beautiful.” She clapped her hands. “Now, how can I help? Do you have any styles in mind?”

“Not really. I’ve looked at some online, but nothing pops out.” Lorelei said, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Not to worry. Why don’t I pull a few and we can go from there.”

Lorelei was enjoying herself, trying on dresses, however none felt like the right one. “Not to worry dear. We will find the perfect dress for you.” Madeline told her when she noticed Lorelei looking disheartened. Madeline than gasped. “I think I might know the perfect dress for you. It is a little different compared to the other dresses, much more understated. It is maternity and breastfeeding friendly as well. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, please.” Lorelei said, starting to feel a little excited. While Madeline may think this next dress was understated, Lorelei had a feeling it may be more her style.

Ten minutes later, Lorelei was wearing the dress, checking herself out in the mirror before she would model it for Elizabeth. Madeline was right, compared to the other dresses this one was a lot plainer. But Lorelei loved it. It was comfortable and flowy. There was so much she could do with this dress and a vision was starting to form in her mind. “Oh yes.” Madeline said from behind her. “Your inner goddess is shining through dear.”

When Lorelei stepped out to show Elizabeth, her mother-in-law gasped, her hand coming to rest on her chest. “Oh Lorelei. That dress…it’s perfect.”

Lorelei’s smile grew. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes.”

“The designer for this dress was inspired by the Greek goddesses.” Madeline told them.

Lorelei looked at her image in the mirror. She certainly felt like a goddess. “This is my wedding dress.”

***Sean’s POV***

Sean looked through the file Nick and Hank had put together, as they briefed him on the case they were working on. “Gabriel’s records claim he has a medical degree from the University of Sao Paolo.” Nick told him. “Had a private practice in Rio for 15 years. Got his green card when he married Ava eight months ago. He has no criminal record in Brazil, so, at least not one we’ve been able to find.”

“Ava’s the sole heir to her family’s import/export business Esperazar Brazil.” Hank continued. “I don’t have an exact figure, but it’s worth about 50 million.”

“So, we’re thinking Gabriel is involved because he has the most to gain?” Sean asked glancing at them.

“Only problem is, Gabriel tried to stop her. When she drove away, the wolf was in her car.” Nick told him.

“Either he’s innocent or he’s working with somebody.” Hank said.

“There’s a hearing tomorrow to determine whether Gabriel gets control of her estate.” Nick informed him.

“So, you have to confirm whether or not Gabriel is a Luison?”

“Yep.” Nick confirmed.

“And use Theresa?” Nick was silent. “Well, she’s a Grimm, right?” Nick glanced down. “Look, Nick, Theresa stopped Weston Steward from putting an extra bullet in me, so I’m feeling a little protective of her myself.”

Nick sighed. “I’m trying to not involve her too much in what we do” He said, as Sean sat down in his chair. “She’s still got a lot to learn. I’m using Monroe on this one.”

“You know, one of these days you’re gonna have to make a decision. Or you’re going to have to back off from these investigations. Now, I personally think that would be a mistake, but I’m not gonna tell you what to do with your life. You’re also gonna have to deal with Sergeant Wu, because I don’t want him getting any closer to bringing Theresa down.”

It was getting late when Sean returned home. He had let Lorelei know, so she could order dinner, and they could eat when he arrived. The two ate together, discussing their days. Sean learnt that Lorelei had gone wedding dress shopping with his mother. Sean wasn’t surprised to learn his mother was moving fast. “My mother suggested a location for the wedding.” He told Lorelei.

Lorelei looked at him with interest. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “She suggested our new house.”

“We have a new house?”

“We do.”

The beautiful smile graced her features. “I’m happy to hear. I’m starting to feel a little cramped in this suite. And I miss my pets. When can we move in?”

Sean smiled at her. “How does tomorrow sound?”

The next day, after they finished packing their belongings, they checked out of the hotel and Sean drove them to their new home. After pulling into the driveway, Sean got out and went around to open Lorelei’s door. She stepped out, looking up at the house in awe, as Sean moved to get Olivia out. “What do you think?” He asked her.

Lorelei looked up at him. “It’s beautiful.”

Placing his hand on her lower, he escorted her to the front door. “Wait until you see the rest.” He told her.

Sean slowly gave his future wife a tour of their new home. He knew it was risky, purchasing a home without completely consulting Lorelei. However, he felt he knew her well enough to choose one she was love. And he was correct, Lorelei loved the house. It was a large, spacious house with five bedrooms, three and a half bath, and a large yard. It was still close to the city with plenty of privacy.

After leaving Olivia to sleep in her bassinet, the two of them sat out on the back deck off the main level. They were seated on one of the outdoor lounges, Lorelei curled up against him. “You know, my mother suggested having the wedding here.” Sean told her.

Lorelei sat up a bit to look at him. “That’s a good idea. This house has plenty of space and would be great for entertaining. And, we wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

“I thought it was as well. How would you feel about getting married this Saturday?”

A smile broke across her face before she kissed him. “I’m in if you are?”

Sean laughed. “I am definitely in.”

“That explains why your mom took me wedding dress shopping yesterday.” Lorelei commented. “And why there were a lot of questions about what I would like to do for the wedding.”

“Hmm, Mother is usually more subtle.” Sean said with a smile. “So, we’re getting married on Saturday.”

Lorelei kissed him again. “I can’t wait.”

Next Part

Taglist: @zoexme, @nu1freakshow, @star-yawnznn, @bella250

Banner by @cafekitsune

[anonarat]

I've spent the last week or so in London doing a number of things, so I figured I'd do a quick rundown on here:

Saturday I went to see Dune part 2. Honestly, it was quite disappointing in that it was a 7/10 film where I hoped for a 9/10. It didn't really pay off the promises of part 1, and the changes from the book were far more noticeable.

I then went to the Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds Experience. This was another 7/10 where I hoped for a 9/10. It actually reminded me a lot of what York Dungeon is currently like, albeit with some VR bits (Thunderchild being a particular highlight). To my suprise it wasn't the VR that set off my motion sickness, but a sort of planetarium thing they did for Brave New World.

Sunday was spent with my parents, brother, sister-in-law and my nieces for Mothers Day. It was a nice get together.

Monday I went to the Natural History Museum. Thanks to the advice of a friend, I went in through the side entrance and there was no queuing at all. I was surprised to discover (to my delight), that about 1/3 was geology, and I spent about 2/3 of my time in the geology section. Land of the Lustrous has definitely warped my perception of such things. Speaking of, I did manage to see one piece of phosphophyllite, as well as many other major characters.

I also went to see Operation Mincemeat. This was a time when I was expecting a 9/10 show and it delivered. I'm pretty sure I laughed more in that 3 hour period than I had in the previous 6 months.

Tuesday I lay around and read in preparation for Wednesday.

Wednesday was why I was even down in London in the first place. Ado's world tour playing in Troxy. I arrived an hour before the merch line was due to open and it took about 3 1/2 hours, but I got the merch I wanted, so a win I guess. Rather than immediately queuing for entry, I went to a nice Turkish restaurant nearby. My back then reminded me that I'm no longer young and I'd just been standing outside in the cool for a while.

Next was (more) queuing for the concert. At least I'd sprung for a VIP ticket, so it was comparatively painless; plenty of other people have commented on the GA queue. The cloakroom was also pretty straightforward.

My feelings on the concert itself are complicated. Now I'll admit it was partly my fault as I later learned, but without earplugs, the audio wasn't the best. It was crowded and loud.

And yet it was the most overall positively memorable experience out of everything. Some highlights included:

I was in the 3rd row, so you can spot me in at least one of the promotional videos. I'm pretty sure I'm in the other as well, but it moves too fast to be sure.

Ado's outfit. While you could only make out the general shape, it looked sharp.

Tot Musica - it normally goes hard, but with an entire audience singing along, it was phenomenal

While Ado does sing in silhoutte, you can occaisionally catch a glimpse of her, not enough to make out her face, but... at the end of Kura Kura I think I saw a big smile (in profile). It was less than a second, but it was a reminder that Ado was enjoying this just as much as we were.

Ado's MC in English.

Odo.

The other fans. Even with all the queuing and waiting they brought some great energy and helped each other out.

Going forward, I'm not really sure concerts are for me. But perhaps now armed with further knowledge, I might consider it. At least I'd be sorely tempted to see Ado again.

When I left, my everything hurt, including getting a ringing in my right ear for about 24 hours. There was a moment on the DLR where I was facing another fan, and we nodded at each other in acknowledgement of how we were both wiped, but happy.

Thursday was scheduled for recovery, and I spent most of the morning lounging about, but I decided to go and do some London shopping. I basically walked up through Soho and ended at Forbidden Planet. During this time I managed to snag The Moon on a Rainy Night volume 2, which had been rather elusive.

Kuzushiro is probably my favourite yuri mangaka at present.

Friday I went to the Tate Britain, as I don't think I'd visited it before. It was fine. My personal preference was for the Turners where he did architectural scenes. Then I went to see the Frozen musical.

It was good. It painted Elsa's parents in a better light than the movie did, and I appreciated that they gave Kristoff more songs. However, they cut For the First Time in Forever (Reprise) and replaced it with a different song. Considering that's my favourite song on the soundtrack, I was disappointed. The replacement was fine.

Saturday I visited a friend who lives down South. It was really good to see her again. That evening I went up to Camden Town and had some good street food.

Sunday, I returned to my home.

[passerkirbius]

Considering that my previous set of posts around the Rusty Quill article attracted so much attention, I thought it only fair to give some discussion to the Editor's response to Rusty Quill. For those who may not have read my previous post (and may not know who I am or why I'm commenting here), you can find that post through this link.

First things first, it's quite gratifying to see a quote of mine in the response:

There seemed to be a lot of people trying to imply conspiracy and malice which simply wasn't warranted. As I mentioned on another ask, once a Kickstarter hits 1000%, there simply is no way you can knock a Kickstarter off course in the last week, no way at all.

Other than that pleasant surprise, I have to say that I have very little to fault in the editor's response. They have done a meticulous job in laying out the data they can lay out, providing clear context of where they're coming from, not to mention some very important discussion on journalists and journalism generally, and why "objectivity" and "balance" is a poor goal to aim for when it comes to reporting.

I certainly continue to agree with the editors that the fact that there are so many inconsistent statements of experience from Rusty Quill collaborators is probably a very clear sign of management failure. I stated before, and I continue to state, that the overall impression I get from the evidence provided is not that Rusty Quill are moustache-twirling villains who wish to suck the very life-blood of those who collaborate with them. Instead, I feel that RQ had a massive success, got a lot of money thanks to that success, had big goals about what they wanted to achieve once they had that windfall, but lacked the management skills (and perhaps the cash) to achieve those goals. In the process, that lack of management skills meant that they simply couldn't manage everyone the way they wanted.

It's such a common failure state, and it's common because the skills needed to be a creative are very different from the skills to manage a creative organisation. RQ's response doesn't even change that calculus that much - They released it within 24 hours, which is absurd - No organisation with a decent management structure would send out a response that quickly, because part of that response is actively going through your business and verifying what they've talked about. Considering the sheer number of points about law and contracts, they should have, at a minimum, engaged with their legal representative (which would have taken time), should have sent feelers out to current and former employees, and pulled up examples of contracts to provide clear understanding for everyone. Only once they knew they had the information should they have started drafting a response. At the very least, waiting a day probably would have cleared some of the sheer defensiveness that was a part of that response, and maybe would have avoided the accusations of conspiracy and sabotage.

Anyway, if people do want to discuss the editor's reply, or want to ask general questions about fiction podcasting and the fiction podcasting scene, my asks are open. Remember to engage responsibly, assume good faith, and for fuck's sake don't hurl abuse at them or anyone, frankly.

Here is my and Wil's response to Rusty Quill's statement on the "opinion piece" that we edited. It includes new information & sources, as well as some corrections & clarifications.

[togetherweflyhigh]

Chronicles Of Owning A Hybrid| Chapter 1: Here You Are

Pairing: Ragdoll Hybrid! Yoongi x Owner! Female Reader 

Genre: Hybrid AU, slow burn, eventual romance

Trigger Warnings: Brief mentions of past harassment/bullying, brief mentions of being gaslighted

W/C: 2.2k 

A/N: So, I wrote something. This was very spontaneous of me but this is my first BTS and hybrid related fic. I very much have plans to have this as a small series. From short to long chapters. I have no idea how much this will be updated. 

Comments and kudos are encouraged! 

It wasn’t supposed to happen, truthfully.

You were asked by a friend to attend a consultation with them because they felt nervous about going in alone. They needed some support so, going with them was going to be fine. Because that’s all that was supposed to happen. 

Now, here you were at your appointment, alone because you weren’t sure how to ask your friend since they were home still getting associated with their hybrid. Nobody knew you were here doing this. Reviewing over a cat hybrid- a Ragdoll- that was on his fourth strike. 

Past families that adopted this hybrid before only saw the breed he was. A pretty Ragdoll cat. Not the human he mostly presented as. They thought that just because he was mixed with a Ragdoll meant he would be gentle, calm, and sociable. A known cat breed to be perfect with families. What they got was the complete opposite.

The most they seemed to be able to tell you was he’d been adopted four times already, the longest housing being six months. He was quiet and didn’t interact much with the other hybrids in the shelter. Mostly stayed in the same areas in the room they had for them. The way they spoke about him, made you think they were trying to discourage you from adoption. You couldn’t see what was so wrong with him even when they were describing him as distant and antisocial, overall unfriendly. It still didn’t make you rethink it for some reason. Something in you wanted to give him a place to call home after hearing all this.

---------------------

A few weeks went by with no word from the shelter. You were starting to think the extra shifts for the past month and a half at work for preparation were in vain. Perhaps they were being more cautious of his strikes and worried you would return him like all the others. If it was, for this reason, you really couldn’t blame them to be picky about who was to attempt adopting him next. You could only hope they cared so much for those in their care.

As you washed some dishes that had been a bit overdue, your phone rang. You weren’t quick to answer, at first, as hope had gone from high to low in the few weeks. Though, you still dried your hands-off because it could have been work. Who knew you’d be seeing the number you’d familiarize yourself with. Your heartbeat must have doubled as you stumbled over, sliding the answer button. “H-Hello?” You answered, cringing over your nervous voice. “This is Hope’s Shelter calling for (Y/N)(L/N), we were wondering if you were still interested in adopting?” The words felt like they were going through one ear and out the other. You weren’t all too sure what to expect when answering the call but hope had suddenly being reassured. “Yes, of course!” You answered almost too quickly. The eagerness felt as if it was spilling out of you at this point. “Great! Would Thursday be fine for you to come in?” It was currently Monday, another few days was nothing to wait for after these weeks. “That works out perfectly.” 

After the short goodbyes were said, you stood there in your kitchen nearly dumbfounded. You were officially days away from adopting a hybrid. Suddenly, the mixed feeling of excitement and worry came over you. The first week was only filled with thoughts of not living in your apartment alone anymore. In the past, you had roommates. Some worked out just fine and others not so much. To the point, you never wanted to experience them again unless it was a close friend. 

The second week was filled with doubts of if you even seemed worthy enough to take care of another, especially when the other couldn’t exactly take care of themselves. Hybrids didn’t have much freedom. They couldn’t go anywhere alone without their owners. Unless they were service hybrids, which there was a lot to go through to get them certified. They really couldn’t do anything and suddenly thinking about that, you realize how weird it’s going to be for someone to call or to even refer to you as their ‘owner’ will be. 

There was no way in hell you could treat hybrids as a pet. They were way more human than human and capable of feelings of understanding, not at all saying normal animals weren’t capable of such. There were a few times you’d gone over to a friend’s house and they introduced you to their hybrid. Sure they had some traits of the animal they were mixed with, but they acted like their human part in front of you for the most part. This was nearly the only time you’d interacted with hybrids. So, the experience was on the low of how they truly acted behind closed doors.

-----------------------

The few days of waiting went by sluggishly. Mentally you had a list of things to do or things you thought you needed to do before Thursday. You went out and bought a few different types of clothes, not much as you had no idea of what he would like. Bought more food than you’d ever stocked your home with before, again, not knowing what he would like. There was so much you didn’t even know about him yet, not even his name.

Standing in front of the shelter, the weeks and days of waiting were finally over. The nerves and enthusiasm had mellowed out in the slow waiting days. Though, you couldn’t help feel a little nervous walking into the shelter.

Almost immediately, you were pulled into an office to go over some paperwork. It was nearly the same as papers to adopt a normal animal. It didn’t seem as strict since you didn’t need things for an animal. Though, you were surprised at how they didn’t seem so… disheartening towards you anymore.

Signing the papers felt unreal as the pen glided across the paper. You had officially adopted a hybrid.

---------------

Being a hybrid wasn’t all it was cut out to be, at least, not for Yoongi. Spending nearly all his life in the shelter. Maybe a year and a half were in actual homes. It was probably not even that if he was being honest with himself, but after the third home, he stopped counting the days and hoping.  

The first time he was adopted, he was around ten years old, a little old for being adopted but nothing too bad. The family was looking for a hybrid around their twin son and daughter’s age, and Yoongi just happened to be two years younger than them. It was perfect they thought. It seemed like a happy family a month in but there was change. The children were constantly harassing him, pulling his ears and tail, pressured him to do things that would get the adults involved to the point of punishments. 

It went on for months before they returned him, saying he was a deceiver and untameable. Yoongi was unsure of what they meant by this as it was their children who were the liars. Even when he told the caregivers of the time he had with them, it never seemed like they thought he was telling the truth either.

It was some years before Yoongi was adopted again. Age thirteen going on fourteen. He was adopted by a young couple. Must have been between the ages twenty-two to twenty-five. He never got around to asking because as soon as he was there he was brought back. The couple seemed to want to prove to themselves that they could take care of another breathing being. That is what he gathered by overhearing them a few times. All it did was tear them apart in the end over disagreements on how to take care of him.

The next two times were practically the same. One was lonely while the other was another person trying to prove something to themselves. Yoongi was done with these humans and their selfish ways. He didn’t want to attempt to get close with them anymore when he knew that they would return him like a replaceable item in the end. 

Yet, another was trying to adopt him again. ‘I’m too old for this.’ He thought to himself when he was dragged into the office to be told someone was interested in him. Being twenty-five years old as a hybrid was considered old. Unadoptable. Plus he was on his fourth strike. A fifth- and by law- would mean he would have to be put to sleep. 

The weeks dragged on because of him constantly denying to see through with this person’s desire to adopt him. It was an actual decision between life and death. He thought about it though. Would he rather be stuck in here? Wasting away inclosed in white walls or to live out in the world just a little bit longer, if the person would let him out that was.

-----------------

The introduction of you and the hybrid, who you now knew as Yoongi was, well, short and awkward. Was it to be expected? The short answer is yes. Yoongi seemed unfazed and distant right away which, in a way, you know he would be like this. The real question was, was he always going to be like this. You were new to each other, so feeling like strangers was going to be present for a while. 

The taxi ride home was silent. Nothing but the sound of wheels on the pavement with random songs playing on the radio softly. You wanted to make some kind of conversation with Yoongi, you did, but with awkwardness still lingering heavily in the air, it was difficult to start with anything. It was interesting to spot his ears out of the corner of your eye, twitching ever so often.

The climb up the stairs was just as silent. Nothing but the taps of feet with some huffs from you nearly the top. No matter how many times you’d walked up these four flights of stairs, you were sure to always be out of breath before reaching your door. 

By the time you reached your door, you were indeed out of breath, and with the last huff, you pulled out your key unlocking the door, pushing it open revealing the seemingly small apartment. “And home.” You spoke out as you began pulling your shoes off, placing them on a rack before slipping into house slippers. “Oh, here’s some slippers for you. If you want to wear them.” You already owned some for when you had guests but you went ahead and bought new ones specially for Yoongi. Looking at them now, they seemed a bit… small. Though it didn’t seem to matter as Yoongi slipped off the shoes the shelter provided and ignored the slippers. 

“I have a room for you ready.” You spoke again after a moment of silence. Seems silence between you two was something you were going to have to get used to. Walking through the kitchen and living area- either side had a room the same size. Though the room to the right used to be your storage and office space, you were able to move things around in your room for your desk and got rid of some stuff you’ve been meaning to. Now the once-office turned back to a bedroom. It was pretty bare besides the matching wood bed and dresser you’d bought.

Moving aside to the doorframe, allowing Yoongi in the room to inspect it. His eyes never seemed to stop taking in things. His ears moved with him as he looked around and his tail was low as the tip curled to one side. 

As he took in the new home, you took in his unique hair color. It was probably the Ragdoll genes but the contrast between his hair and the fur on his ears and tail were a bit different. His hair was silver-grey and as for the fur, it was a bit lighter in the same color. You wondered for a moment if his DNA was manipulative to make the animal features stand out more but you quickly shook the thought away. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable even though it was just a thought. 

“There’s some clothes in the dresser. I wasn’t sure what you like so, there are a few things in the dresser. Just for until we go shopping.” The response you got was nothing but an ‘mhm’. Yoongi seemed uninterested but curious about the clothes you’d gotten. He wanted to know if it was the type they would get him. Well-fitted ones that rubbed and itched all over. As he pulled them out, sure enough, there were the ones he knew he would find but as he kept pulling out and unfolding the clothes he found some that were baggy and much softer. Something about watching him digging through the clothes felt endearing and it showed on your face with a small smile on your lips.

As you turned away to allow him to have some privacy you wondered to yourself what Yoongi would want to have for dinner. 

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #26

Prompt: “I’m doing it, shut up“

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Rating: G

Pairings: Camille/Richard

Richard is not nearly as much a stickler for rules as she first assumed, or he pretends to be – really, he loves playing the stiff British man despite a tendency to bend the rules when he can and feels it’s right.

Even so, Camille knows that, between the two of them, she’s always been the one to think on her feet and perhaps do things in a rather… unusual way, rather than check the rule book. It’s part of the reason she did so well in undercover work.

Richard, for the most part, has come to accept that she will now and then rush in where angels fear to tread, and has even more than once covered her tracks when it needed to be done.

Anyway, here they are, watching Dan Allen drink in a bar. He’s suspected of being responsible for at least sixty percent of the contraband that flows into Saint Marie, and of course Richard feels very strongly about this, strongly enough that he didn’t complain when customs asked them for help.

“If we could just talk to him…” Camille muses.

“Yes, but we don’t have any evidence that would hold up at court” Richard reminds her.

“Look at him and tell me that man isn’t guilty.” Before he can say anything, she adds, “Yes, it’s a gut feeling, but humour me.”

It’s one of his sayings she has adopted, and it seems he accepts her request, for he frowns at Dan. “I suppose he does have a certain… air about him.”

“What gave it away” she says dryly as he knocks back another drink. “Say, we can’t talk to him as police, but he wouldn’t mind speaking to  a pretty woman who happens across him at the bar, would he?”

After all, one of the few things they know for sure is that Dan Allen is a bit of a womanizer.

“Camille, you’re not saying…”

“What? No law against it, is there?” After a pause she cannot help but add (as has become somewhat of a hobby for her because… well… she loves to see how he reacts) “Unless you don’t think I’m good-looking enough to catch his attention?”

“I – I didn’t say – of course you are – there is no – I just don’t think that –“

"I'm doing it, shut up" she decides because she can see that Allen is getting ready to leave, and she really wants to get something out of this – well, apart from having had another excuse to spend some time with Richard, but that’s neither here nor there (Again, as he would say).

So she gets up and, without giving Richard a chance to process, walks up to the bar, guessing correctly that he is the sort of man who prefers to approach the woman, rather than the other way around.

“Hello there beautiful.”

She forces herself to smile at him and is about to greet him or make some flirtatious comment when she sees the look in his eyes and the alarm bells start ringing.

She has met her fair share of men, and she knows that look. This is the kind who won’t accept No for an answer once he has decided he wants someone, and they can’t risk –

She decides to play naïve and simply ask, “Yes?”

But it seems that Richard read her body language correctly, because even as Allen licks his lips like a predatory animal and gets ready to answer, he calls out, “There you are, my love!”

And he strolls up to her, looking much more confident than he usually does – play-acting, she realizes. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He hesitates and she makes a split-second decision to press a kiss against his lips, since they are clearly meant to be together. Richard blinks at her, but quickly recovers. He turns to Allen. “Hello, I’m the husband.”

Camille takes his hand and, to her surprise, sees Allen back down. He must be one of those who doesn’t like being challenged by other man, since he immediately backs down.

They leave soon after that.

“Richard, thank you so much. Really” she says as soon as they’re a few streets away. “I had a bad feeling about this. You played the jealous husband rather well, really.”

Richard flushes scarlet and clears his throat, shaking his head. “Yes – well – it wasn’t difficult, not at all –“

A pause.

“To pretend” he then hastens to add, “That I was jealous. Or your husband. That’s what I meant.”

“Of course” she agrees happily because it’s too late – she has already realized what actually happened, and her heart is singing in her chest.

Not that cold and British after all, just as she knew all along.

She steps up and kisses his cheek. “Still – thank you. Again.”

When she pulls back, his face is still bright red, and she can only laugh.

She is ready to bet the next weeks and months will be very interesting in more ways than one.

[stereax]

alright guys gals and nonbinary pals it's time to talk about the new york rangers, perhaps the most hated team in hockey! (well, according to that one poll it was the blackhawks BUT they don't exist, neither in my heart nor in the standings :) )

now, I've got a few reblogs by rangers fans asking how the rangers are villain coded. and I promised I'd write this when I had the time so... here we go. and yes I chose to reblog this particular one because I need the world to see that I'm stupid and didn't know that zibanejad is a forward :)

disclaimer: I am a very outspoken devils fan (if my entire blog wasn't proof enough of that). the first rule of being a devils fan is you have to hate the rangers, basically. I'm going to be trying to keep bias to a minimum here, though.

that being said...

why the rags are villain coded (point 7 will surprise you!)

point 1: franchise holier-than-thou attitude

no, seriously. why do people always consider the rangers so good? they're not. why do people want to be traded specifically to the rangers despite them being not good? (see point 3 for more on this.) why are the rangers venerated for being so mid?

also, it's like, a tradition at this point that the rangers trade for a few big name rentals like, every damn trade season, who tend to specifically want to play for them - and then they still suck anyway. and the rentals still want to go there. why???

and don't get me started on the fans...

there's this LEGENDARY copypasta on the devils subreddit about the rangers franchise, please read it before you continue:

going through the rest of the thread will give you even more perspective, but it's not necessary.

the rangers exemplify new york city: looks nice but you don't want to actually be there. "history of the jets, attitude of the yankees", as another commenter in that thread put it.

point 2: individual player scumminess

okay, so the organization is eh and the fans suck. it's not just that, though - there are also several players who are the creme de la merde of hockey.

let's start with trouba! even the rangers fans in my tags don't like trouba, which. damn. you made this dude captain? why? captain elbows, as we call him in deviltown, is mid at being a defenseman but very very good at dirty hits. don't tell me a flying elbow is a clean hit. we all know it's not. I'm on tumblr and not reddit so let's have some correct takes. everyone hates trouba. we all know why. next, please.

your newest acquisition in kane! oh, what an upstanding gentleman. punched a cab driver over 20 cents. knew that kyle beach was being sexually assaulted by a coach and didn't do anything. great guy all around.

we can also talk about k'andre miller's recent spitting drama but i don't want to have to look at that. thanks. was it intentional? don't know but it sure looked like it to me. hopefully the kid learns from it.

it's not even just your current players either. remember sean avery? the dude infamous for screening marty brodeur and creating the avery rule? who bullies and harasses everyone he meets, including his own mother-in-law? read more about him if you're not convinced, it's honestly appalling.

point 3: embarrassing cup record

"one since hitler" is a chant. literally enough said.

you're an original six team. how do you only have like, four cups??? and most of these between 1920 and 1940 when there were ten or fewer teams in the league. literally the only time the rangers have won a cup where there were more than six (6!) teams in the postseason, in the modern era, was 1994. and in 1994 they rented out the oilers' team to do it. (messier, graves, mctavish, anderson...)

you had a 54 year drought between cups. 54. you're lucky the maple leafs are even worse and just eclipsed you in that department...

point 4: kakko and laf

(or, the one where stereax begins crunching numbers for way too long.)

oh boy. remember when rangers fans were cheering when the devils took jack hughes 1st overall in the 2019 draft? cause they wanted kakko?

wasted fucking potential. the both of them. here's a hot take: if your fucking 1oa and 2oa, that you drafted literally two or three years ago, are playing on your third line, you're doing something wrong in development!!! since yakupov (up to 2022, as the 2022 draft class is mostly still developing) I cannot find a single 1oa that isn't routinely playing on top two lines... except for lafreniere, who's buried on kid line with kakko and chytil. even expanding into top three picks, the only outliers I can see are dylan strome... and laf and kakko. (also nolan patrick, but nolpat is a completely different story :(. )

now let's talk about how badly the rangers botched these kids' developments. we'll be using my favorite measuring stick: the devils. specifically, we'll look at jack hughes and dawson mercer. (for the uninitiated in devils hockey, mercer was taken 18th overall in 2020.)

first, let's chat mercer versus laf. mercer's 18oa, laf is 1oa in the same draft, so the stick should measure pretty evenly. mercer has played in 142 nhl games. 37G 48A 85P. lafreniere? 195 games, 42G 39A 81P. to be fair I took the data just after mercer's four point night against colorado... but even looking at their seasons thus far. both have played in 60 games. mercer has 20G 23A 43P. laf has 11G 18A 29P. and, although mercer is currently playing top line minutes as opposed to lafreniere on the third, mercer has not been this fortunate throughout the season - he's bounced around devils lines like a ping pong ball before the pairing with tatar and hischier took off. and honestly, i'm sparing you a comparison of laf to stutzle. don't make me compare laf to stutzle. devils hockey depresses me enough without rangers hockey to worry about.

alright, so maybe the laf pick wasn't great, or he needs more development, or whatever. let's prove this isn't a one off and take hughes versus kakko. for the season: kakko 61 games 12G 19A 31P. hughes 56 games 36G 38A 74P. so hughes has more goals than kakko has points. (laf too, btw.) careerwise: kakko 218 games 38G 51A 89P. hughes? 222 games 80G 102A 182P. hughes literally has as many goals as kakko and laf COMBINED and more points than the both of them together over their careers. in fact, this one SEASON of hughes is comparable to the CAREER so far of either kakko or laf.

okay, but hughes is an exception, he's the next mcdavid, you can't compare kakko and laf to him. firstly, great to hear you say that :) . secondly, let me find a devil who's actually got similar points to kakko and laf. we already talked about mercer... ah. sharangovich. this season, shango's got 60 games, 12G 15A 27P. careerwise, 190 games, 52G 51A 103P. the reason I pick shango is because he, like kakko and laf, is frequently on a third line that gives limited returns. (shango also tends to be quite streaky.) so... more points in shango's career in fewer games than either kakko and laf, and quite comparable this year alone. and he was drafted... 141st overall. fifth round.

okay, guess the devils are just freakishly good at choosing late round picks. I mean, have you seen that jesper bratt? wasn't he drafted in the sixth round, 162nd overall? yeah, he was :) I'll shut up about my team now.

so kakko and laf still need to develop, I guess. now here's the problem with that: they're being buried down onto the third "kid line". the top six is basically locked in right now with kreider-zibanejad-tarasenko and panarin-trocheck-kane. the LWs and Cs are locked in long term, the RWs are the only give - and even before tarasenko and kane, kakko and laf weren't getting top six minutes on a consistent basis, with that time often going to vesey and/or goodrow. if tarasenko and/or kane extend with the rangers, the kids can kiss goodbye almost any top 6 opportunity for the next few years at least. will they be able to move to top 6 at 25, 26, when the contracts expire and the older crew are close(r) to retiring? or are they going to end up as career middle sixers?

you're destroying these kids. villain move.

point 5: all your fucking rivalries

is there a team that likes you? no? just you? ok.

this was actually the original point that inspired my poll and the rangers are so crappy it went down to five. damn. the rangers have way too fucking many rivalries or teams that just hate their guts.

the islanders-rangers rivalry has its own wikipedia page. so does the devils-rangers rivalry. flyers (has a wiki page), penguins, capitals (has a wiki page), even the bruins hate the rangers enough for it to be considered a legit rivalry. the blue jackets dislike the rangers, so do the hurricanes, and apparently the canadiens dislike the rangers too. so that's basically... all of the metro and spare change. literally the only reason the isles and devils don't hate each other is because we both hate the rangers more.

when you're so bad you have other teams truce with each other because you suck worse, you're villain coded. sorry, I don't make the rules.

by the way, there's a really cool rivalry tracker called knowrivalry where you can take a quiz on your team's rivals and then browse stats about team rivalries. check it out -> New York Rangers - Know Rivalry . and literally, the rangers have so many rivalries they can't prioritize any of them.

point 6: the guy who owns your franchise sucks BALLS

have you read about james dolan recently? no? here are the highlights:

he uses facial recognition technology to ban people who are suing him from coming into MSG.

he even has people in tier lists of how "bad" you are so he can punish you accordingly.

when confronted about said technology he said... he'd ban alcohol at a future Rangers game and also spoke out against migrants.

and then he hired Hope Hicks, former Trump spokeswoman, to act as a lobbyist.

you have no control over this and I'm sorry for you. villain coded behavior through and through from this dude.

point 7: pride night + contemporaries

so the philadelphia flyers fuck up pride night because ivan provorov says he's not gonna wear the pride night jersey and tortorella defends him, right? and all the queer hockey fans destroy the flyers for this. hell, even moneypuck puts his name in a rainbow color and makes his profile redirect to the trevor project (it still does, so based). what are you going to do, as the rangers, when your pride night comes up a few days later? will you: a) put pride tape on your sticks (don't know if they were used in the game though, if someone who knows this game can clarify that I thank you in advance) even when it isn't your own pride night but your opponents'? or b) completely sweep pride night under the rug and not have your team wear pride jerseys thus preventing them from being auctioned off and the benefits going to pride organizations?

hint: the maple leafs are #1.

so obviously queer hockey fans (and ally hockey fans) were pissed. and, as usual, took to twitter and other social media to complain. and, apparently, the ny rangers' social media admin took offense to this...

this story seems to have been picked up by keith olbermann and will be featured in a podcast episode coming out soon. so keep an eye on it, contemporaries.

Keith Olbermann on Twitter: "Pride Night @NYRangers scandal blows up" / Twitter

point 8: chris and mika

all good villains are queer coded. that's all I'll say about this one. you funky boys keep doing your thing. only redeeming factor in this whole damn franchise. [pat pat]

it's... 6:30 in the morning. I've spent all night writing this. but it's overdue. I promised and now I deliver.

please don't take this as "just a devils fan shitting on the rangers". "villain coding" is not necessarily a bad thing, but, while some of these points are clearly intended to be humorous in nature, there are others that really deserve attention. there seem to be some fundamental issues in how the rangers are run and I hope, for the sake of the fans as well as the players, that the situation improves.

if you're a rangers fan and actually read through ALL of this I applaud you. please, let me know if I'm right or wrong. if you're not a rangers fan and actually read through all of this I still applaud you. please, let me know if I'm right or wrong.

stereax, signing off.

what it says on the tin boys. don't overanalyze this, simple yes-or-no question here. you can ofc reblog and put your specific thoughts in the tags tho!!!

will offer my own thoughts on this matter when the poll concludes, taking everyone's input into account.

[kanonsarchivedblog]

Burn For You

Word Count: 5856 Genre: Smut Rating: E Characters: Uchiha Madara, fem!Senju Tobirama, Uzumaki Mito (briefly) Ship: Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama Warnings: Unprotected Sex Author's Note: You can read it on my ao3 here! This was inspired by Burn For You by Abigail Barlow! It suits Tobirama and Madara really well, imo. Also, this was just fourteen pages of smut. I hope you all enjoy this! ━━━━━━━━━━━━ It all started with a confession.

“I burn for you.”

The admission had taken her off guard. She’d agreed to stay behind after a meeting, going over the development plans for the Nara clan to settle in the North Eastern part of the village outside of the gates so that their deer would have plenty of space to roam and not fear the wrath of hunters. Madara had additional ideas that needed to be looked at by a different pair of eyes- constructive criticism before presenting it officially to the council. The night had grown long, the candles burned so long that they were more melted wax than actual candles. She’d ended up sitting atop the table, her legs crossed as she read over Madara’s ideas, comparing them with her brother’s. Truth be told, Hashirama seemed to be distracted- his plans were barely finished, whereas Madara’s were completely finalized. It was nice to see work actually getting done.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just think you actually fancy me, Uchiha,” Tobirama had taunted, a smirk curling wine colored lips as she glanced over. However, unlike their normal banter, he hadn’t responded. “... That was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh now. Ha-ha.” She mumbled, lips turning down into a pout as she turned her gaze back to the papers.

“Senju.” His voice was soft, low- nearly resembling a growl as he stepped closer. Instinctually, her legs spread slightly, the cloth of her kimono parting with the movement, feet barely meeting the ground. Prepared to run, to bolt, Madara noticed. Or perhaps to fight, with how her hands gripped the edge of the table. “You’re a nuisance, you realize that, yes?”

“A nuisance?!” She exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. “You've some nerve, calling me- what are you doing?” All heat vanished as he settled between her spread thighs, his hands braced upon the wood of the table on either side of her hips. “Madara, are you ill? Is something the matter?” A hand reached up to touch her wrist to his forehead to see if he’d come down with a fever, only for his hand to capture it-

And press a searing kiss to her wrist.

“I burn for you,” he murmured against the pale skin, lips brushing so gently, delicately- as if afraid that the mere movement would cause her pain. “I burn for you, day in and day out.”

“Madara-” her voice was barely above a whisper, chest rising and falling quickly as her heart began to race. When he looked up at her, her breath halted all together: three black tomoe stood out against ruby irises, yet she could not look away. Heat gathered in her cheeks- and lower, much lower, to her own embarrassment. “This is- inappropriate.” Even so, she did not pull her hand away.

She leaned closer.

That is, until the sound of footsteps approaching had Madara backing away, Tobirama cradling her wrist delicately as the door opened, revealing Mito. “Pardon the intrusion,” she murmured, giving a small bow. “My husband forgot his files, and instead of coming back himself, he sent me.” A sharp roll of the eyes showed her annoyance, even if her smile was soft.

“You could have told him to fuck off,” Tobirama stated simply, shoulders rising in a shrug.

Mito let out a bark of laughter at her sister-in-law. “I think that would have given him a heart attack!” Shaking her head, she flashed the pair a smile before turning on her heel. “Don’t work too late, you two.”

“We won’t,�� Madara called after her, though his gaze was trained on Tobirama. The only way she could describe what she saw in his gaze was hunger. Pure hunger.

A fire had been started- and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to douse the flames, or fan them.

“We should… Head home for the night, yes?” Tobirama asked, scooting off of the top of the table to settle her feet on the floor once more, gathering her scrolls. She could sense Madara lingering behind her, yet he did not touch. His gaze was akin to their famed fireball jutsu, scorching the back of her neck. “Do get some rest, Madara.”

“You as well,” Madara murmured, though he made no move to follow her out of the door. Her footsteps were calm at first, until she was outside of the Hokage’s office. Only then did she sprint, pressing chakra into her legs to make her move faster, to get back to the Senju compound quicker. Alone, she needed to be alone to process what just occurred. ━━━━━━━━━━━━ That had been a fortnight ago. Ever since, she’d been busy overseeing the building of the Nara compound while Madara saw to his own clan, making sure they were comfortable as the Uchiha compound began to expand. And every night since, her thoughts had been consumed with the feeling of his lips against her skin, his gaze boring into her own, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs-

A sharp shake of the head causes wild snowy locks to sway with the movement. Not now, not while she’s reading reports. Even so, her foot tapped on the floor, a movement that spoke volumes of her unease, her need to get up, to demand to know why he’d done it. His office was across from her own. All she’d need to do is rise from her desk, walk across the hall, and demand an answer.

Burn for you.

The words held weight, especially for an Uchiha- known for their innate ability to control fire. To burn for someone is to be completely overwhelmed by the flames of passion, of lust. To think only of them.

Her thighs pressed together beneath her desk.

“Fuck,” she groaned, leaning back in her chair, head flopping back as her eyes closed. This was annoying, she decided. A nuisance. Yet, the Uchiha had kept her thoughts entertained. The night prior had been spent with her face pressed to her pillow, her hand between her thighs, working herself over and wishing it had been something much thicker.

The current bane of her existence knocked on the door before opening it, his gaze settled upon the paper he held. “Did you know that Hashirama put in for an expansion of the Senju compound?” He asked, annoyance clear in his voice as Tobirama forced herself to focus.

“I had no idea,” she replied dryly, her brow furrowing. “We don’t need more space. We’ve got plenty already.” Her gaze drifted, studying Madara for a moment. He wore no armor- they never did when in office. The summer yukata did little to hide what lay beneath.

Perhaps that was why her underlings were so distracted.

“Hm,” a sigh escaped his lips as he set the paper down onto her desk, only to pause for a moment. “Can we speak?”

“We’re speaking now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit clearer.”

“About what I said.” Madara caved, shaking his head at the Senju. “It was uncalled for, and I was out of pocket-”

“Tonight,” Tobirama cut in, raising a hand, causing Madara to pause. “Meet me in my quarters tonight, and we will talk about what you said. Not now- I’m busy.”

“Busy.” He repeated, gaze trailing over the stack of papers to be signed. “Right. Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” Tobirama agreed, her gaze never lifting from her paper. “You’re dismissed.”

“Dismissed?! I-”

“Out of my office, Uchiha.” She snapped, feeling a touch smug as Madara turned on his heel and marched out, all but slamming the door on his way out. A snort escaped her as she leaned back. Tonight, they would speak. Tonight, the truth would come out- one way or another.

The day had passed quickly, leaving her spinning in the aftermath. Tobirama drug a hand through her hair, down from it’s normal high ponytail, the wild, curling tresses free for once. Her footsteps carried her across the room in a quick pace, her heart a staccato beat within her chest. Any moment now, she’d be able to feel the familiar flicker of Madara’s chakra entering the compound. To the East, Mito sat with Hashirama- no doubt the pair beginning to bed down for the night.

There, at the southern edge- the flicker of warmth, of red-tinged chakra that felt like standing too close to a bonfire. Her breath skipped a beat as she turned, studying her reflection in the mirror across from her bed. The sleeping yukata did little to give modesty. In a last moment effort to try to compose herself, she snags a robe and quickly ties it around her waist.

The sound of footsteps had her turning, studying the door the moment before it opened, revealing Madara. “Right on time,” she commented idly as she reached back, pulling her hair out from beneath the robe, inadvertently causing the fabric of both robe and sleeping yukata to rise.

“I hope it’s not too late?” Madara asks, head tilting, gaze drifting to the pale skin that was revealed. The barest hint of red on those thighs- did the tattoos stretch that far down? “I’m afraid I was caught up in clan business.”

“Not too late at all,” Tobirama replies with a shake of her head. “Please, come in- close the door, too?” She adds as an afterthought, moving to where she’d set up sakazuki. Her room was nice- it got the morning sun, and the afternoon shade, causing it to be cooler compared to the other sections of the compound’s main house.

Madara walked over to the low table, settling down into an improper sitting position, crossing his legs. Tobirama settles across from him, easing herself into a polite seiza, though the yukata and robe part to reveal how her thighs press together. Such pale skin… “I’m surprised you would even want to meet to discuss what was said,” he commented idly, head tilting as his gaze tracked her movements; sake was poured first for him, and then for herself. “I’d figured you’d want to ignore it.”

“Why ignore it,” she asked as she raised her sakazuki to her lips, careful not to spill a single drop, “when it’s the truth for myself as well?”

Madara nearly choked on the sake- and not from the taste. “Pardon?” He asked, blinking rapidly. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“How did you phrase it?” Tobirama’s head tilts, her gaze narrowing, ruby hues settling upon Madara’s face- flushed, eyes wide, caught off guard. “I burn for you.”

“You burn for me?”

“I burn.”

“You… Burn,” he murmured, gaze growing heavy- hungry. “For me.”

“I burn, day in and day out,” she nodded, sipping her sake once more. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t envisioned you in my quarters.”

A moment of silence passed before Madara was reaching across the table, taking hold of the collar of her yukata to tug her over, their lips meeting in a kiss that was equally teeth and lips. Biting, hungry, her hands reached up to tangle in wild dark locks, tugging none-too-gently. A groan spilled free from Madara as he pulled back, her lip caught between his teeth in a gentle bite before he released her.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve pictured this moment,” his words were barely above a growl as Tobirama rose to her feet, the robe discarded, the collar of her yukata disheveled, baring a pale collarbone and shoulder. “How many times I’ve thought of you in my own quarters.”

“I think mine are more comfortable,” she teases as she settles atop his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her nails gently scraping at the back of his neck. “After all, my bed is made to fit… Multiple.”

Multiple. Oh. Madara’s gaze grows distant as he envisions just what she insinuated for a moment, lips parting slightly. “Multiple.”

“Come now- you didn’t take me for a prude, did you?” She murmured, leaning in to kiss along his jaw, lips trailing up to his left ear. “After all, you just admitted that you’ve thought of me. Tell me, Madara- what have you thought of? What positions?” The shell of his ear is nipped before he reaches up, gripping her jaw to tug her head back.

“Do you truly want to know?” He asks, leaning back as if surveying her. His other hand reached up to brush her hair back from her face before his fingers began to drift, tracing the collar of her yukata slowly, gently nudging the fabric to cause it to fall back, baring more pale skin and red ink.

Such flimsy things, yukata.

“Senju Tobirama wants to hear how I’ve thought of her at night?” His fingers leave her jaw to brush knuckles gently against her cheek. “How I’ve thought of her on her knees beneath my desk, her lips around my cock? Or how I’ve pictured her laying on her back, pleasuring herself in front of me?” His lips quirked into a smirk as Tobirama whined softly at that, her eyes fluttering shut. “Or how I’ve spent so many nights picturing you laying beneath me, begging for my cock, begging for me to fuck you harder, faster?”

“Please,” she whispered, eyes opening into slits, her cheeks flushed. “My fingers could never be enough.”

Fingers. Her fingers? Oh- oh, a groan spilled free as he leaned in, stealing a kiss that had Tobirama’s head swimming. His hands smoothed down her back, pulling her closer, causing her to rise onto her knees. No words were exchanged as his hands slipped to grip her thighs, holding her up as he rose to his knees, then his feet.

Huh. Tobirama pulled back from the kiss to glance down at the floor for a moment. “... One day, take me against the wall.” She spoke quietly, as if to herself, though it got a chuckle out of Madara as he carried her to her bed.

It was large, he noted- larger than his own. “Anywhere you want,” he murmured as he settled her down, not bothering to part as his lips began to kiss and bite a scorching trail down her neck. “Your office, mine- my compound- wherever you want, just say the word.” A soft moan filled the air as his hand came up to settle atop her left breast, gently massaging through the fabric of the yukata. Her hands tangle in his hair as she keens, her eyes closed, head tilted back against the pillows. He pulled back long enough to make quick work of the tie that held the yukata together before parting the thin fabric, baring Tobirama to the chill of the room. She doesn’t cover herself.

No, her legs settle down against the silken sheets. Nothing beneath. Oh, she’d been prepared for this! The realization draws a chuckle from him as his hands smooth across her thighs, marveling at the way the red ink settles into her skin. Her chest- oh, how it encircles both breasts, ending in a circle in the center of chest. The bands around her biceps, encircling her shoulders, how they encircle her throat. That’s why she preferred the high mandarin collars. The ink stretches further down, encircling both thighs. His fingers trace their paths, drawing forth gentle shudders that dance across her skin.

“Beautiful,” Madara whispers, leaning down to press a kiss in the center of the circle that laid upon her chest. “Every inch.”

“Who knew you’d be a sap?” Tobirama teased, though the flush in her cheeks gave away how affected she was by his ministrations- and the slickness between her thighs.

She receives no verbal response; instead, he continues to kiss a trail lower, feeling her stomach tense beneath his lips. A smile curls them as he glances up, meeting her gaze the same moment his tongue lolls out, dragging a slow trail back up towards her chest. His lips enclose around her right nipple as his fingers begin to toy with the left, pinching gently the same time his teeth graze against the other.

“I always- oh- knew you had a thing for breasts,” Tobirama snickers before flinching at the swat he gave to her thigh. Huh. “What with how much you try to- watch your damned teeth-” another swat, though he pulls back from her breast, “-try to peek down my clothes.”

“What can I say?” Madara muses, a cheeky grin curling his lips as he leans in to steal a kiss, his hand soothing the area he’d swatted mere moments before. “I’m a simple man with simple likes.”

“Gross.”

“Fuck off.”

“Take your yukata off and I will,” Tobirama mutters, reaching out to drag her nails down the portion of his chest that was revealed. “I’ve always wondered if you’ve got the dick to back up how cocky you are.”

“You little shit,” he hissed, falling for her words as he made quick work of his yukata, leaving him in his undergarments- which hid nothing, Tobirama noted, her eyes widening in surprise. “Ha! See? I can actually back my shit- oh,” whatever he’d intended to say died on his tongue as Tobirama had reached out, palming at him through his underwear, her eyes wide in curiosity.

Wordlessly, she sat up, gaze intense as she leaned in to lick a slow line down the center of his abdominals- a mirror of what he’d done to her, he realized belatedly. “Lay down,” she murmured against the sensitive skin of his stomach. He obeyed, settling back against the large bed, hair spreading out beneath him like a dark halo. She went to crawl between his legs, only for Madara to grunt.

“No.”

A blink. “Why not?”

“Come here.”

“Wh- oh.” Realization struck, and her cheeks burned as she swallowed roughly. “Right,” carefully, as if afraid she’d somehow crush him, she crawled up and turned. It was an intimate position, one that she didn’t often find herself in with her previous partners, yet Madara didn’t complain. This way, it left them both open- vulnerable, but gave her the perfect angle to reach out and tug his underwear down far enough to free his cock. “... Are all the Uchiha built like this?” She asked, half joking as she gazed down at it.

She couldn’t lie- it wasn’t a bad dick. Not at all- no, it was veiny, but not outwardly awful to look at. Thick; the stretch would hurt, she had no doubt about that. But a part of her thrilled at the idea of the pain. A jolt danced through her, drawing forth a startled gasp at the feeling of his tongue licking a slow stripe up her slit. “No, we aren’t,” he finally answered as his hands raised, settling on her most intimate part and spreading her wide. “I’m just fuckin’ lucky.”

Her eyes rolled, but any retort she had died the moment his tongue pressed against her clit. Gaze closing, she enjoyed the feeling for a moment longer, hips grinding back against his mouth, moans spilling free. Damn him- he was talented. Perhaps the rumors she’d heard were true. Reaching out, she cupped his cock, giving a light stroke before leaning forward, tongue lolling out to give sweet kitten licks at the head, enjoying the way his thighs tensed at the feeling. Two could play at this game, she decided as she opened her mouth wider, taking the head in to suckle on.

Madara groaned against her, lips closed around her clit before he pulled back for a moment, letting his thumb circle her clit in quick, tight circles. “What, is it too big for you?” He teased, only to eat his words a moment later as wet heat encircled over half of his length-

And she swallowed around him. His head fell back against the pillows, a groan filling the room as she began to bob her head in earnest. His fingers didn’t pause, tormenting her clit. Neither would last like this, not with how pent up they were. And as tempting as it was to let her finish him off like this, or to have her finish against his mouth-

That could come another time.

“To-Tobirama, stop, stop,” he murmured, tapping her thigh gently to get her attention. One last slow lick is given before she lifts her head.

“What?” Was she not good? She hadn’t gotten any sort of complaints before, but there was certainly a first time for everything. Her answer was given the next moment as he rolled her off of him.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” he mused, pushing himself up, his gaze drifting over her form, “I’d much rather have you coming around my fingers than my tongue. This time, at least.”

A shiver danced across her skin at the implication that there would be more than just this. That this wouldn’t be a simple one-night stand. A smile curled her lips as she adjusted herself, settling back against the pillows. Reaching out, she snagged his wrist and tugged him closer, pulling him in for a slow kiss, much more sensual than their initial- the heat still there, certainly, but no longer a fight of dominance. Her hand slipped beneath her pillows, retrieving the small glass vial of oil. “I’m sure you know what to do with this,” she murmured into the kiss, giving his bottom lip a nip.

A chuckle rumbled free from his chest as he plucked the vial from her grasp, settling back on his knees between her thighs. “I think I have an idea,” he agreed, uncorking the bottle with his teeth before letting the oil drizzle out over his fingers, coating two and letting a small stream drip onto her already-soaked cunt. With his clean hand, he replaced the cork before carefully setting the vial aside.

It might be needed again later.

His clean hand settled atop her thigh, massaging it as he eased a finger in, drawing a pleased gasp from Tobirama’s lips. Her eyes fluttered shut, cheeks a rosy hue as he crooked his finger, slowly drawing it back out before pushing back in- a slow pace. She was soaked- realistically, he didn’t believe she needed much prep, but he’d dreamed of this moment for too long to even consider speeding through this.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her left thigh while his right hand continued to work, thumb rubbing clockwise circles against her clit as a second finger eased in beside the first, stretching her out. She was relaxed, sure- but not enough, not to his standards. “Tobi,” he murmured, watching as her gaze fluttered open, brows draw inwards, lips parted to allow soft moans and whispers of “Yes,” and “right there,” to spill free. “Eyes on me,” the command had her tightening around his fingers, a pulse of arousal. He felt the shift when his Sharingan activated, the strain on the veins around his eyes and within as everything swam into a sharper view.

He wanted to remember this.

“The great Tobirama Senju, getting fucked by none of than Uchiha Madara- her sworn enemy,” he taunted, crooking his fingers up, pressing against the most sensitive part of her. A whine- loud, long- escaped, her thighs tensing on either side of him as his hand sped up suddenly. Wet, so very wet. “How lewd,” he crooned, giving her thigh a nip, enjoying the way the muscle jumped beneath his touch. “So fucking wet for me already- listen, Tobirama.”

“Sh-shut up,” Tobirama gasped, her hands gripping at her chest. Good, so good- she was drawing close. “Stop- ‘Dara, stop, too close,” she warned, but his fingers didn’t slow down. “Madara- oh, Madara, there, there, don’t-” her words cut off as her orgasm swept over her. Her head fell back against the pillows, snowy tresses spread about the dark sheets like a halo as she pulsed around his fingers, coating them and his hand.

A pleased hum rumbled free as Madara leaned down, pressing a kiss to her over-sensitive clit. “Good girl,” he murmured, giving it a lick, succeeding in drawing out a broken whine as his fingers withdrew. Sitting back, he reached out to grasp the vial once more to open it, using the remaining oil to slick his cock up. He gave it a few slow strokes, thumb drifting over the sensitive slit in the head to gather the bit of precum that had gathered.

“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” Tobirama murmured, reaching out to take hold of one of Madara’s hands. “I’m anything but glass.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, scooting forward to settle his hips against hers. A groan fell from both at the sensation of his cock rutting against her cunt. “You’ve never been glass. Iron is a much better word to describe you,” murmuring, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation of being so close to her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as his other guided his cock to her entrance. A slow push of his hips had the head slipping in, a gasp breaking free from Tobirama’s lips, her eyes squeezing shut at the intrusion.

Not made of glass, but still very much human.

The stretch was wonderful- the slight sting of pain eased by his thumb on her clit, by his hips slowly moving forward and not deciding to seat himself in her all at once. So much- almost too much, but she’d be the last to admit that. His hips settled against her own, his hand leaving hers to grip at her hips instead, thumbs rubbing small circles into the soft, unscarred skin. “Good,” she whispered, gaze opening to reveal hazy ruby hues. A moment passed as they both grew used to the sensation- her to how filled she felt, him to the wet heat that encased his cock. Curiously, she shifted her hips, a low moan leaving at the feeling of him moving within.

Madara took that as his sign, hips drawing back before shifting forward slowly, testing the waters. Tobirama’s breath hitched, her brow drawing inward, hands slowly gripping at the sheets beneath her. “Please,” she whispered, tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he grinned, shifting his knees before he began to thrust harder, faster, causing Tobirama to moan- a much louder sound than anything she’d given him before. Wordless little sounds, but gaining in pitch as his hips met hers, as he pulled her back onto his cock. “If I didn’t know any better,” he panted, gaze trained on her face, “I’d almost mistake you for a common oiran.” The way she tightened around him at the slight degradation had his hips slowing for a moment, much to her annoyance. “Oh, yes, I could see it so easily,” he continued, hips grinding, barely pulling out before pushing back in, rubbing against that spot that had her breath catching in her throat. “You in one of those little Tea Houses that have settled here, wearing a pretty little kimono, your lips stained red- laying on your back just like this, letting men use you like the whore you really are,” his voice dipped into a growl as he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms while the position shifted, her hips rising with his.

Bordering so closely to the mating press, he noted in the back of his mind. But that didn’t matter, not with Tobirama gasping out his name. “Madara,” she whined, a hand rising to cover her mouth- as if it would hide what they were doing. “Don’t stop, sweet Gods do not stop, ah-right there!” Her thighs tensed around his hips, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Oh, she wouldn’t last long- but that was fine.

He would.

His fingers dug into her hips as he pressed close, hips grinding against hers. A moment to catch his breath- and to have her last just a touch longer. Being so close, he could just… Tongue lolling out, he licked a slow stripe up the valley of her breasts, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips, a breathless smile rising to settle across her features. “I could stay like this for ages,” he murmured against her skin, pressing lingering kisses to the smattering of scars across her chest- small, given by shrapnel during their darker days, “just like this, fucking you until you cried, until you can’t remember your name.”

Tobirama shifted her hips, brow furrowed as Madara spoke. She could hear him, certainly- could understand him, but the words didn’t register, not with how close she was to her own end. “Then do it,” she whispered, reaching down to cup his cheeks, drawing his face up- and for once, didn’t flinch away from the triad of tomoe within his ruby gaze. “Make me forget my name. Make me only remember yours.”

Something seemed to switch, then- as Madara studied her flushed features, the way her hair spread out beneath her head like a silver halo and wings. Leaning in, he captured her lips in a slow, sensual kiss that ended in him nipping at her lower lip as he shifted, his hands smoothing up her sides before settling atop the blankets, holding his weight up. This position was far more intimate than their previous positions, yet he found that it didn’t bother him. No, rather, he preferred this- to see her face so clearly, to hear her whispers of his name as he began to thrust once more. Her legs shifted, coming to settle around his hips, her ankles crossing at the small of his back.

Closer, stirring the embers of the flame that had been waiting to come to life for some time, now. What had been a small campfire was quickly spreading, consuming like a wildfire, flames licking at their skin, settling in their veins.

His lips brushed against her chin as her head tilted back, the position allowing for Madara to push deeper. “Tobirama,” he murmured, brow furrowing. Perhaps he wouldn’t last long, not now, not with how she gripped his cock. “By the Gods,” he gasped softly, hips rolling, chasing both hers and his own release. Her hands reached up, one tangling in thick onyx locks, the other scrapping blunt nails down the expanse of his back. The sharp shock of pain drew a surprised groan out of him, much to her amusement.

“Good boy,” she teased, only to gasp a moment later at the feeling of teeth digging into the sensitive flesh of her neck. “Mad-” her voice cut off by a loud moan as he moved his weight onto one arm, his free hand slipping between them to brush against her clit. Wordless sighs and moans spilled free as she rolled her hips against his, creating a wonderful fiction that had them both beginning to become consumed with the flames that threatened to burn them alive.

Madara pressed heated kisses along her throat as he felt her shudder beneath him. “Close, darling?” He murmured in her ear, lips brushing against the shell as she whimpered. “Will you be a good girl and come for me, then? Come around my cock like I know you want to?” His voice was no longer smooth, growing more haggard as his own completion began to burn at the base of his spine. “Come on, Tobi, you know you want to.”

“Shut- shut up,” Tobirama panted, even as she tossed her head back as he gave a particularly hard thrust. So close, so close. “Don’t stop, Madara- oh- oh, there! Please,” her voice pitched into a whine as her hand abandoned his hair to clutch at his back. Her walls pulsed around him once, twice, three times before she stilled, her back arching, mouth dropping open to release a sob of his name, tears spilling free at last from garnet hues.

Madara pushed himself up to watch, searing the image of her coming around his cock into his memory. The way her cheeks were flushed red, her brows furrowed, her nose scrunching up- she was beautiful in that moment. She was always beautiful, but this was a new type of beauty, something so delicate and precious that he hadn’t ever imagined being privy to. He moved slowly, the thrusts dragging against her walls, dragging out her pleasure and inching him close to his own. It hit suddenly, coming over him like wildfire consuming brush that lay in its path. He stilled above her, his head hanging low as he groaned out her name like a prayer.

She lay beneath him, panting and whining at the feeling of him filling her- hot, so very hot, it threatened to send her over the edge by the feeling alone. Shaky hands reached up to brush through surprisingly soft onyx tresses as he began to slowly gather himself. A moment longer, she thought to herself- let this last for a moment longer. The feeling of him settled over her, shuddering, panting, the heat that radiated from his skin so very pleasant, it had her relaxing into her bed.

But all good things must come to an end. Madara was careful as he pulled out, rolling his weight to the side to settle beside her with a breathless laugh. “Oops,” he hummed, reaching over to drag his fingertips along her thigh, watching as her leg jumped. He traced the red tattoo up, along the top of her thigh and onto her hip. “Was I supposed to pull out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, reaching over to brush her fingers against his cheek, brushing away his hair. So messy… “Mito taught me how to make tea that will… Ensure it won’t take.”

“How soon do you need to drink it?” An innocent question as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his palm.

Tobirama hummed, shifting and grimacing at the feeling of his seed leaking. Oh, that’s why she hated it. “I’ll have it with my breakfast,” comes the simple response as she dips a hand down between her thighs to drag her fingers through the mess. “No wonder why there are so many of you Uchiha,” she comments idly.

A snort escapes Madara as he sits up, gaze drifting to the apex of her thighs. “Could always clean it up for you,” his fingers tap a slow rhythm on her thigh.

“Who said I wanted to be cleaned up?” Tobirama shoots back, legs slowly spreading. “Or are you just a one-and-done kinda guy?”

A grin spread across Madara’s lips as he slipped back between her thighs, pressing kisses along her stomach. “Do I look like the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied?”

“No,” she sighs, reaching down with her clean hand to brush his hair back from his face. “I feel that I will never be unsatisfied with you around- oh!” The feeling of his tongue brushing against her slit had her jolting in surprise, a chuckle rising to meet her ears.

Fires are awfully hard to extinguish once they grow out of control and consume everything within its sight.

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

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

“Would you like me to show you around?”

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

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

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

“What sort of business?”

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

“Flowers?”

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

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

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

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

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

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

“Um,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

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

“I heard,”

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

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

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

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

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

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

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

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

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

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

Gorgeous.

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

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

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

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

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian

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

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

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

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

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

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

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

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

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

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

Elain giggled.

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

“Only just.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting.

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

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

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You are welcome, by the way,”

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

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

He shouldn’t have asked her.

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

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

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

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

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use you?”

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

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

“I am not a flower expert,”

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

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

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

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

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

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

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

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

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

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

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

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

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

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

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

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

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

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

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

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

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

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

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

“I can take an Uber,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

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

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The third.”

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

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

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

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

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

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

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

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

Elain

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

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

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

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

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

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

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

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

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

She wanted to cry.

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

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

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

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

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

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

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

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

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

“Why?”

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

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

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

He sat up and rolled his neck.

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

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

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

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

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

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

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

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

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

She blinked at him.

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

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

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

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

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”