#but I do not doubt that he would chose his kids over the law

[jackdaniel69nice]

How about Tokoyami and Aizawa relationship together? They don’t seem to interact very much but I feel like they would share the same vibe.

You know it’s funny you say that…I have a bit of a controversial opinion on that haha.

Look I love dadzawa content but fanon goes a little off the rails making him a caring and supportive father…this man is not that. He is cold and critical and purposefully discourages his students to weed them out. His actions show more than his words by doing everything in his power to saving them. He does care about them but he does not show it well. He purposely keeps a distance between himself and his students. While tokoyami and aizawa prioritizes rationality above all else that similarity actually strains their relationship more than anything else.

Because tokoyami is so strict on himself and doesn’t allow himself to feel emotional responses to anything the extra criticism from aizawa is encouraging these bad habits. Tokoyami is already so hard on himself for his failures and Aizawa just creates more pressure with his threats of expulsion or reminding him he will die if this is a real battle. Tokoyami already knows this and the stress is slowly breaking him.

This is why he gets along so well with hawks I think. Hawks is very free spirited and encourages a more emotional and even silly side from fumikage. Even if Tokoyami doesn’t realize the reason he feels better around hawks is because he’s actually being more open and emotional. At first hawks ignored him which is a sort of neutral stance but then after tokoyami decided to catch up to him on his own he became encouraging and inspiring. He took him flying, he said he has potential, he said “those who can fly, should fly” and totally flipped Tokoyami’s world view on his head. No one has ever believed in him before, no one ever encouraged him, it was ground breaking.

As far as UAs teachers go Tokoyami actually likes aizawa the least for this reason. A teacher should be someone who encourages you and also pushes you to be better. Aizawa is a “firm hand” and while that may work for other students tokoyami has had far too many of those hands strike him down to feel believed in or even safe around aizawa. He needs a gentle and kind teacher, someone he can feel safe enough to go to for advice and support. In case it wasn’t obvious toko has had lots of problems with teachers in the past and is slightly afraid of them. He has also had problems with heroes. He tries to be on his best behavior around adults in general.

The thing that obviously scares him most about aizawa is his quirk. He doesn’t like when shadow is erased, it makes him nervous and shadow is always a bit disoriented afterwards. He keeps thinking that if aizawa tried to attack him he wouldn’t be able to escape (even if that situation is very unlikely…unless shadow was in a rampage…). He feels bad for not being able to trust aizawa when the man has clearly shown he will do anything to protect his class. He just doesn’t believe Aizawa would protect him specifically :(

Shadow is also afraid of aizawa for the same reasons. No adults have ever listened to them before and Aizawa doesn’t seem very open minded (dark shadow is actually wrong about this assumption). Dark shadow tries to keep from talking in front of him as much as possible. It is inevitable that they would slip up eventually but aizawa seemed surprisingly cool about them being out when they’re not supposed to?? (Shadow you are wrong about him he is nice and understanding I promise). Maybe Aizawa talks to nezu about Dark Shadow and understands a bit better about what they need and how their training should look. Both birds are very surprised when he starts addressing shadow directly in training. It says something about shadows past treatment that even if aizawa is the teacher they don’t like the most that the man still treats shadow with common decency.

Regardless I think toko stays to the shadows of 1-a so to speak so aizawa doesn’t pay much individual interest in him for quite a while. Once shinso joins class 1-a (however you imagine that happening) he has more free time for one on one training so he offers tokoyami a chance for training at night. Tokoyami immediately refuses. Aizawa makes it obvious that it’s not actually a request but an order and tokoyami relents. After getting erased several times in a row shadow is very sluggish and disoriented, after a few more times toko is having trouble getting them to manifest or wake up at all. He doesn’t want aizawa to think he is making excuses so he keeps trying to train without saying anything. Eventually tokoyami also becomes disoriented and passes out and aizawa is very upset toko didn’t mention anything (not to mention worried because he doesn’t actually know what’s wrong).

Once they are feeling better aizawa immediately berates them on keeping their discomfort a secret. Something snaps in toko and he says “why would I tell you anything when I don’t even trust you.” They have to have a long talk about Tokoyami’s frustrations with Aizawa’s teaching style. Even if Aizawa doesn’t suddenly become a reliable and empathetic teacher he is more careful about beating toko down and no longer a direct hinderance to their progress. Maybe shadow even feels good enough to come out during his class~

(This doesn’t have to be the only scenario where a resolution occurs but what’s important is that toko will not say anything about his issues until he is prompted or his hand is forced)

Eventually tokoyami could be forced to talk about his fear openly with aizawa and could be reassured that aizawa would never hurt him. Once again Aizawa would need to be paying close attention to Tokoyami’s behavior and subdued behavior around him. Then he could truly become a reliable figure in tokos life which would be nice.

As far as aizawa’s opinion on tokoyami goes when nezu told him about toko’s…history he was expecting a problem child but toko didn’t seem to stand out at all and never caused any issues. A good but albeit confusing kid. He quickly learns dark shadow is the actual trouble maker and doles out specific punishment for them if they act out. I’m not sure if aizawa is fully aware of how bad it was when toko lost control at the training camp but he did place his room next to aoyama in the dorms so he probably knew something happened.

I just want a final result of aizawa giving him head pats (without him flinching) and shadow coming over to his desk to play with his stapler and capture scarf while toko is trying to take a test and needs to focus.

PS if anyone has any different hcs for aizawa and toko with good reasoning I’d love to hear it!

[yujo-nishimura]

"Rubber Duckies"

You are stuck with your studies and your research and you decide to use your crew members as rubber duckies to explain to them what you are doing in the hope of overcoming your writer's block. 

Words: 1023

Comment: This is something I wrote while I am really stuck. I hope his helps other people who experience the same right now or need a little motivational booster for their papers/exams. The whole fic is fluff with a hint at smut (Law and Kid just always leave me feral).

Let me know in the comments if I should add any characters.

Luffy

He would listen patiently the whole time, lowering his head, his eyes covered by his straw hat. After several minutes, you realize he has fallen asleep. When you ask him a follow-up question, he jolts awake and gives you his brightest, most infectious smile. Despite your frustration, you can't stay mad at him.

"It all sounds very complicated, Y/N," Luffy says. "But I believe in you, and I'm sure you'll excel at this. Now come here, we can cuddle and snack on some of the crisps I swiped from the kitchen!"

His boundless enthusiasm and unwavering faith in you, even when he doesn't fully understand the details, leaves you feeling a little less stuck. 

Robin 

As you explain your research question and methodology, Robin listens with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving yours. When you finish, she pauses thoughtfully before speaking.

"I think the only thing this study lacks is your confidence, dear Y/N," Robin says, chuckling lightly. Her words strike a chord within you - she has a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Can I give you a hug?" you ask, feeling deeply grateful for her patience and wisdom. You know her insights have been invaluable, not just for this project, but for the whole crew.

Robin opens her arms widely and smiles at you. "Of course," she says, enveloping you in a warm embrace. At that moment, you feel the weight of your doubts and insecurities start to lift. Robin's faith in you is a precious gift, and it's exactly the encouragement you need to find the courage to complete your work and submit it.

Law 

You decide to explain your work to Law, hoping his keen analytical mind will provide valuable feedback. As you begin speaking, however, you can see his face growing increasingly impatient. He clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hold back interrupting you.

When you finally finish, Law wastes no time in his critique. "I think the structure is off, Y/N. I don't understand why you chose this theoretical framework, and I'm lost - did you even have a research question?"

You gulp, suddenly realizing you may have forgotten to explicitly state your core research question. Law's piercing gray eyes have a way of making it difficult to maintain focus.

Seeing your flustered expression, Law sighs. "How about you give me the paper to read, and I'll go over it with a red pen?" he offers.

You nod enthusiastically, immediately moving to retrieve the document. "Not now!" Law interjects, grabbing your arm before you can turn away. A mischievous smile plays on his lips beneath his white hat.

"It may not be the best study," he admits. "But the way you've explained it, showcasing your intelligence, has left me wanting more."

Zoro

Falls asleep immediately. Despite your best efforts to engage him, Zoro remains unresponsive, his gentle snoring the only indication that he's still present. You continue talking, but it's clear you're essentially just speaking to yourself at this point.

In a way, Zoro has become the most authentic "rubber duckie" of all - the perfect listener, oblivious to the intricacies of your work, but providing a soothing presence nonetheless.

Sanji 

As you dive into the details of your research, you can't help but notice the adoring way his eyes are fixed on you. It's clear that Sanji is enamored, and would likely listen with rapt attention no matter what you chose to talk about.

You continue your explanation, confident that Sanji is absorbing every word, even if he may not fully grasp the intricacies of your work. When you finally conclude, Sanji erupts into enthusiastic applause.

"That was amazing, Y/N!" he exclaims, his face alight with genuine admiration. "You've done such an incredible job with this research. I'm in awe of your brilliance!"

You can't help but sigh, knowing that Sanji's feedback, while well-intentioned, isn't exactly the critical analysis you were hoping for. But as you look into his sincere, shining eyes, you also feel a sense of pride and relief.

Even if you haven't quite overcome your writer's block yet, having someone so genuinely praise your hard work feels like a reward in itself.

Eustass Kid

As you begin explaining the details of your research to Eustass Kid, it's immediately clear that he has little patience or interest in the topic. His brows are furrowed in what can only be described as an annoyed scowl, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat.

Despite his clear disinterest, however, Kid sits through your entire presentation, never once interrupting or trying to leave. You can't help but appreciate the fact that he's making the effort to listen, even if he doesn't seem to understand or care about the intricacies of your work.

When you finally conclude, Kid simply yawns and cocks his head to the side.

"So what's the problem with all this?" he asks, his tone bordering on disinterested. "Sounds like a solid piece of work to me."

You sigh, explaining to him once again that you feel stuck and unsure if you've done a good job. You're hoping for constructive feedback, but it's clear Kid isn't the right person to provide that.

Suddenly, Kid reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you forcefully towards his chest. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as his low voice speaks calmly.

"You're asking the wrong guy about this, Y/N," he says. "I can't tell you if any of the things you did for this research make sense. But if you're struggling right now, I know a way to make you feel better..."

You blush as you realize the implication behind his words, and without further thought, you give in. Perhaps a brief break from your studies, spent in the comforting embrace of someone who cares for you, is exactly what you need to recharge and tackle the problem with a fresh perspective.

[satrs]

Heyyy I was wondering since it's like mothers day tmr

Could you do blue lock boys meeting your mom for the first time or like celebrating mothers day with her idk I thought it's a cute idea

Also Happy mothers dayyy

I loveee this!!! Tysm, happy mother’s day to you too and every mother out there🫶🏾🫶🏾

Son in law!

synopsis; meeting your mother for the first time!

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Shidou Ryusei. Michael Kaiser. Itoshi Sae. Bachira Meguru.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ;0.8k.

Tags; mention of a stroke(once). mention of kids/marrige. fluff. nothin else me think

ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ 18+!

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You were freaking out at first (understandable), but to your surprise, he was on his best behavior, amazing even.

He gets along with your mother very well, even brought her flowers and compliments her until no end.

"Now I know where your daughter got her gorgeous looks from."

Helps your mother with everything, bringing the food to the table, taking the dishes and cleaning them, all that.

Is all ears when your mom spills teaaa about your childhood. Intensely listens and snickers when she shows him embarrassing baby pictures of you, triggering you to pout with a frown on your face because you knew damn well he would tease you about it to no end.

You honestly fell in love with him a second time. And your mother sure did too.

She adores him. At some point, you even get jealous at how much of his attention is solely on your mother. But you're really glad it turned out better than you imagined (you thought he would be a literal menace and give your mother a stroke).

MICHAEL KAISER.

A TOTAL MOTHERS FAVOURITE I JUST KNOW IT. Everyyy mother wishes to have him as a son-in-law. And your mother is more than happy that he chose to fall in love with her child.

Doesn't even have to do more than greet her with a handsome smile, and kissing the back of her hand in a charming manner, and she's already giving you her blessing for marriage.

"Yes, when are we getting married, love? And your darling mother sure wants some grandkids, right?" His voice is drenched in charm, causing you AND your mother on the opposite side of the table to blush.

Won't shut up about his love for you. At some point, even makes sure your mother heard him say what he just said, LMAO. But your mom can see, and also hear from the way he talks to you, how much he loves you.

She's sure he's the right one and has not a single doubt about you both devotion for each other.

Already has the perfect marriage planned out in her head, fingers tingling to call up her connections.

Man. Just marry that man already and do your mother a favor.

ITOSHI SAE.

We got THE gentlemen of the gentlemen right here. He is kinda nervous to meet your mother for the first time, so he tries to do his best.

And with his best, I mean, buying ridiculously expensive gifts for her. Be it exquisite wine or jewelry from Cartier, he got it all.

You can only shake your head at his behavior, trying to explain to him that your mother will like him nonetheless, to no avail.

"I know, but, just to be sure."

And your mother was overjoyed when you both came over, almost jumping up and down as she got gift after gift from the young man.

He was actually pretty nervous??? But tried to not make it really obvious. It was kinda obvious. You noticed, but your mother didn't, too busy in inspection all the gifts he spoiled her with.

With time, he calmed down, less tense and cautious about the way he talks and what he talks about.

Your mother welcomed him in a heartwarming way, making him feel just as comfortable he is with you, all his worries flying right out the window.

BACHIRA MEGURU.

He's just the best. Literally.

You couldn't quite understand his worries, when he told you he fears that your mother might think he's an 'oddball' or 'weirdo'.

You assured him that your mother would love him just how you began to do years ago. He felt at ease at your words, taking a deep breath and checking himself in the review mirror of the car again before heading to the doorstep with you.

"I don't smell or anything, do I? Are the flowers alright?", you chuckled at his behavior, acting as if he was about to have an important job interview.

Well to him, it was an important interview, the interview of 'getting your mother to like him and maybe even accept him as her Son in Law in the near future'.

As soon as your mother open the door and embraces you and him in a tight, loving hug, all the nervous tension left his body in an instant.

He began to learn that he is a sucker for your mother's cooking. Babbles of how it's 'so good' and 'the best food he ever had' while still having chunks of food in his mouth, causing loud laughter to erupt from your lungs.

Most definitely takes the leftovers home with you, making sure to let her know again how delicious it was, causing your mother's heart to jump at the recognition of her lovingly made food.

ᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ k-azus.°

[bobauthorman]

The Luffy-Kid Connection

With the recent chapter of One Piece being released, I thought I should talk more about Eustass Kid This isn’t an in-depth analysis of his character and motivations, but instead delves into how he parallels our main protagonist, Monkey D. Luffy.

From the very beginning, Kid is introduced as a dark reflection to Luffy, from having roughly the same bounty (Albeit a little higher) and having a Number 2 with a 9-digit bounty of his own. They even want the same thing, to be Pirate King. Hell, when they are first seen fighting together, they unveil the thematically same technique.

However, while Luffy and his crew have saved numerous nations from destruction and freed them from tyranny, Kid is infamous in-universe for wreaking havoc on the common folk. It could be easy to write this off as propaganda or exaggeration, but as we see in chapter 594, Kid has no problem with crucifying people he’s beaten. This is a level of viciousness we’ve only seen on the worst of enemies, and a sign that whatever’s said about Kid may not be entirely fabricated. And while Luffy has always been concern about non-coms getting caught in the crossfire, Kid makes it clear he doesn’t care who gets hurt outside of his crew.

Furthermore, there is the matter of humility. Luffy always had people question or mock his dream of being Pirate King, but he just shrugs them off, only throwing down with those who plan on trying to get his way of that. Kid, on the other hand, admits to killing people who laughed at him. Remember the time in Mock Town when neither Luffy or Zoro bothered to fight back against the Bellamy Pirates for mocking the concept of dreams? I sincerely doubt neither Kid or Killer would be so restrained.

When the story brings Kid back into the spotlight, we see he is trying to form an alliance among his fellow pirates…just like Luffy, at the time, went into an alliance with Law to take down one of the Four Emperors. And while Luffy made it clear at the time that he wanted to beat the Emperors except for Shanks (Or, more accurately, that Shanks not be the first), Kid’s prospective alliance was made for the explicit purpose of beating Shanks. And while Luffy’s alliance works out, Kid ends up betrayed and cheated by the pirates he tried to trust.

In Wano, where both men are beaten and captured by Kaido, Luffy and Kid end up in competition over who can do the most labor (And, I am deeply impressed that Kid can carry just as much as Luffy with one arm). But while Luffy helps Old Man Hyo and learns a new Haki technique, Kid walks out as soon as he can, and doesn’t.

And finally, we reach Elbaf, where Kid finds himself in a rematch with Shanks. A very short rematch, to be precise (I was rooting for Shanks, btw), but it’s here that we see two more old friends, Dorry and Broggy from Little Garden. The same technique that once cleared the path for the Straw Hats to sail on their way, it is used to sink Kid’s ship. And speaking of this fight, recollect back to Alabasta, when the Straw Hats saw the Barogue Works fleet but chose not to attack, not wanting to waist their time on small-fry. Kid, on the other hand, made the choice to attack the lesser pirates in Shanks’ fleet…which played a big part in why Shanks waisted no time stomping Kid.

In short, Kid’s role is in part how integral Luffy’s natural kindness and empathy is to his becoming Pirate King…by showing how screwed he’d be without it.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Captive to a Shelby-Gina 4

________________________________________________________

Chapter 4 

Gina stretched and yawned, her body feeling like it had been weighed down by sand bags. She slowly sat up with a dull throbbing in her head. She hated this pain, felt like a blow to her head. 

She rubbed the back of her head gently in little circles checking for a wound. Nothing. 

She hadn’t felt like this in days. She rubbed her head taking care around her temples. What the hell had happened? Gina blinked rapidly trying to adjust to the light flooding the room and felt the panic flood her system like a typhoon crashing over her. 

10 a.m. The kids would already have been up and off to school. She’s missed her alarm….or it had been shut off. True to his word Tommy had let Gina sleep alone, but she could help but fear that he’d come in and shut it off. Not because it had gone off….but because it had been shut off. 

She felt the tears well up in her eyes as the panic set in. 

Her journal, she kept a journal the last few days. She slid down off the bed and gingerly unto the floor groping around for it under the bed. She found it immediately. 

Pages were torn out or scribbled on aggressively. Who’d done this!? 

She slammed the book on her bed and stood looking at the open door. She’d closed it last night and locked it. She doubted he didn’t have a key. 

She flung open the bedroom door. She’d had it. She felt fine when he wasn’t around, then coincidentally the day, the very day she chose to do something Emperor Thomas had forbidden her to do, was the day she fell ill again? No, it wasn't right. 

She headed for the stairs and instantly saw him.Rage blinded her, she felt her nails dig painfully into her palms leaving little crescent moons in their wake. She was going to kill him.

 Ada and Tommy stood frozen, eyes wide gasping at her. 

Gina stopped by the base of the stairs, internally screaming. 

“This is you, you did something…”She screamed at him. He stood blinking as if he was unable to process what language she was speaking. 

“Gina, you're not well. You're in your bloody nightgown, yelling at me again…. after your little episode last night. Love, you need to rest.” His voice sounded strained as he reached up to grab her waist.

“Don’t you touch me! I know you did it…you took the last few days out of my journal. Why? To make it look like I’m crazy!?” She roared, she could feel the lump of pain in her throat getting lodged and threatening to choke her breath from her. 

“Make you look crazy? Gina, sweetheart, look at you?” His sister Ada pleaded with the other, her hands outstretched to grab her sister in law. A look of pity settled onto her face.

“Still trying to accuse me of hurting you, yeah?” Tommy looked confused and visibly pained by her behavior and attack. “ Mary, Francis Sandra, Come here please.” He patiently waited for the three staff maids Gina hated most to appear. They always seemed to have it out for her. 

“Have I done anything to hurt my wife? Eh, or have I done everything to be a patient and loving husband to her?!” He yelled and rubbed his large hands across his face gently cursing in a language she’d never heard before. 

Her eyes widened. If they've been married for seven or eight years. Then how come she didn’t recognize the language? Surely he would have used it before, right? 

“No, Mr. Shelby” The maids said in unison. 

“You’ve been good to her and kept her safe at home.” Francis added after the others had agreed in unison.

“Of course they'll agree with you. You pay them!” Gina yelled. She tossed her arms up in defeat. She wasn’t going to win. Everyone was on his side. Everyone was against her. 

“Oh Tommy, I didn’t realize it got this bad again.” Ada rubbed her brother's arm reassuringly. She looked pathetic to Gina. “I think it's time you reconsider and send her back, yes.” Tommy looked absolutely gutted by his sister's suggestion. 

“No, she’s been great with the children this time, Ada. I can’t do that to them again, or to Gina, or to me.” He bent down on his hunches and took several deep breaths. He looked exhausted.

“She just had a busy day yesterday and this is the result. She’ll be fine. She’d been fine.” He bargained with everyone but her. 

She wasn’t fine. 

“I think you need a break Tom.” Ada said, rubbing his back. She looked at Gina and shook her head.

I wasn't going to win. Minds as well play along, right? 

[tojikai]

okay so i know i said i’d have a full review but it’s coming i promise lmao. but i had to say this due to some revelations in your answered ask.

- i still think gojo chose naomi bc its easier for one (bc to have that perspective of love like people don’t fight a lot and that arguing doesn’t exist is peak delusional behavior). the second one is bc she’s giving him more attention (and from my experience guys fold when it comes to attention especially from someone who encourages their bad behavior) and bc of reader’s monster-in-law gojo’s mom bc from personal experience if the mom is heavily involved in his life he will disregard your feelings for her even if she is wrong or just overall a bad person (i still think the timeline is sus i know you said he didn’t cheat but i’m still sideyeing it and have doubts bc of how permanent mark unfolded 😭) he is deliberately ignoring his responsibility to me over his ego. he couldn’t commit to trying to actually reconcile with his baby mom even after telling her to keep the baby only to leave for someone else, which is the number one issue for me bc she didn’t have to go through this if he wasn’t so selfish and a shit person. then is trying to propose to someone he left is baby mom for who hasn’t even been with him for a year and is actively thinking about more kids when he doesn’t even respect his baby’s mom and doesn’t know how to coparent. honestly just throw him away, just leave reader and yui alone fake love isn’t needed atp. for crying out loud you trying to have another kid after all of this too!!! i can’t with this slut 🙄 (bc guys can be sluts too)

- also him wanting to do better only due to the threat of his image to his daughter eyes is screaming narcissist like really big narc vibes. idk how he will be redeemed in my eyes since it just seems like he has overall issues with accountability and ego. i just feel like he’s trying to be better for the wrong reasons. like what about the reader she kept the baby bc of you and now you’re on demon time torturing her for something you wanted. i’m not as strong as reader, i would have already went no contact or just unalived and trusted her care to someone else that i trusted.

also have a question… if naomi knew what the reader dealt with that night would she still want him or would she break up with him bc she can’t be that dumb to realize that if he can do that to the reader then what are the chances of it happening to her? marriage isn’t permanent all the time that’s why divorce exists. and even if reader had money she would still have the issue she does now bc the education isn’t the biggest issue. it’s sluttoru

- paragraph/theory anon

wow, this is amazing, i enjoyed reading it. i like the part where u mentioned that perspective of love where people don't fight a lot is very delusional. i definitely agree w that. nothing worth having comes easy, so fight 😉 i love it. and the attention one too !! as for your question, i think it's gonna be answered in part 4 !! thank u so much for this, paragraph nonnie~ it's such an interesting read !!

[wyvern-of-the-evening]

“I want to be able to marry, have kids, and be a stay at home mom. This choice was not influenced by the patriarchy…”

Yes it is. Choice feminism isn’t feminism. You calling yourself a feminist and choosing something doesn’t make it a feminist action. On top of that, everything we do is influenced by the patriarchy. It’s seeped into everything. Even feminism is influenced by patriarchy, in the sense that we (women) are trying to liberate ourselves from it. Because that’s what feminism is, liberation for women. No one is trying to stop you from doing these things. However it’s not a feminist lifestyle. It’s demanded of women and expected of us to do these things.

Marriage is inherently patriarchal and to men is viewed as the woman’s “owner” essentially handing “ownership” over to another. Marriage (primarily heterosexual marriage) treats women as property, which is inherently anti-feminist. Women are viewed as both birthing machines and home appliances, so being a stay at home mother only further accentuates this idea. You’re staying there to birth, and clean, and cook. You might say you’ll demand he pick up as well, help with chores. Realistically he won’t. He’ll tell you flat out that he won’t with some sort of excuse (either that it’s your duty as his wife/SAHM, or he’ll be “too tired” from work as if you haven’t been chasing children around all day, doing chores and grocery shopping, meal prep, etc) or he’ll do a few and over time do less and less till it’s you picking up where he left off.

This type of relationship style opens you up to financial abuse. And trust that even if he’s “one of the good ones, he will at some point use his money as leverage. It’s a power imbalance and every man who has a SAHW knows it is. So if the lack of house help or constant financial threats wear you our to the point of divorce, good luck getting anything. Good luck getting custody. Because HE can afford to get good lawyers, and you can get stuck paying him even more with child support. You base all this on your childhood being enjoyable, and while I don’t doubt it was for you, don’t you think your mother may have wanted more from life? I’m not sure how old you are but was it not expected of women to be stay at home wives in her time?

Women weren’t able to open their own bank accounts until the 60s, and it wasn’t until the 1974 that a law was passed prohibiting credit discrimination based on sex. A lot of women were already in the position of stay at home mother, I doubt it was a free choice made by your mother. Again, that’s what the patriarchy expects of us. As stated before the patriarchy influences everything we do, but for the sake of argument let’s pretend your choice specifically is not. You would still be doing something expected of a woman in a patriarchal society. No one is actually keeping you from doing these things. No one is telling you that you can’t, or advocating for you to be prevented from it. The “you’re just putting yourself in a different cage” doesn’t really work when one cage is being viewed as a subhuman object, and the other “cage” is thinking about what would benefit women as a class, and have is freed from patriarchy.

You start off your comments suggesting that feminism should be about choice (whether you meant it or not, the implication is that any choice a self proclaimed feminist makes, is a feminist choice) and then acknowledge that these aren’t feminist choices. If feminism is about liberation (which it is, as you also acknowledge), you’re actively choosing something that doesn’t liberate you. No one expects you to be 100% perfect, but calling yourself a feminist and putting your physical, mental/emotional, and financial well being in the hands of your oppressor is not feminist, even if you chose it.

[psylockexs]

What's going on...?

Morgyn opened his eyes to a familiar voice. Mikhail? No, it was too soft to be him. But...wasn't that Mikhail standing with someone else? What was going on? Morgyn's head was spinning. It was almost as if he was waking up from an unspeakable hangover, and the grating voice of annoyance wasn't helping either.

Lore: You're finally awake, sunshine 🤨...

Morg: Nnngh...Lorelei....? What...looks around, then almost jumps out of his skin Where am I?! Why am I in bed like this?!

Lore: Yeah, about that. You're in my bed, that I apportioned for myself.

Morg: How did I get in here?!

Lore: Maybe because I found you on the verge of death outside my room while I was deep in my sleep 🤨.

Morg: What the hell do you mean?!

Morgyn stood up, with a lot of effort, and looked from Lorelei to Mikhail. Mik had a very sour expression on his face, almost certain because someone grilled him 😬.

Mik: I wouldn't say on death's door, unless you're talking about yourself, Lore 🤨...

Lore: Oh we definitely are. And the fact that I heard from a little birdie that you two were at each other's throats last night. What's that about, huh?

Morg: What?! Everyone was asleep by then! Who could have possibly heard us?!

Mik: Or maybe if you didn't try to dredge up shit from a whole month ago, you wouldn't have to be watching your back!

Lore: A month ago? Is there something I should know about?

Morg: He barged into my place while I was sleeping then tore my wards down. Left me with the same stomping headache I have now.

Mik: And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have needed to disturb your beauty sleep if you didn't go rounding supers up like they were fucking sheep!

Lorelei couldn't believe what she was seeing. Two goddamn grown men, arguing like little boys in the headmaster's office. An old grandpa and a magic  Sage  of all things arguing over something petty 🫢.

'Grrrrrrr.... WILL YOU BOTH SHUT UP??!!!'

The disembodied voice shook Morgyn to his core. He'd never flinched so much in his life before. Even Mikhail had to swallow his bruised ego. Neither of them could look Lorelei in the eye after that pathetic show.

Lore: Out of everything you chose to argue about, you pick some shit that happened a month ago! A MONTH! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY KIDDING ME? I BRING Y'ALL OUT HERE TO HELP ME WITH SOMETHING LIFE CHANGING AND YOU ARGUE LIKE LITTLE BOYS IN THE PLAYGROUND! 😡

Morg: 😨In my defense, he started it-

Lore: I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHO STARTED WHAT!!!! If it's that important for you to hash out, you can hash it out in the crypts.

Mik: Oh come on, now!

Lore: My word is law, Mikhail. You two will take care of each other in the crypt. And if you kill each other before bringing back anything tangible, I'll resurrect you, take the shit and then kill you again. Go.

They hesitate...

Lore: What? I got something on my ass? MAKE YOURSELVES SCARCE! Tsk walks away in a huff

Said birdie was fortunate Lorelei walked right past him. He was not expecting that...

The tension was so thick in the air, to say one could cut it with a knife would not do the situation justice. The knife would blunt and snap in half!

Mik: stares daggers at him

Morg: What? It's your fault I keep having nightmares, anyway. Don't know why you're glaring at me.

Mik: If you don't want to feel excruciating pain this early in the day, get a move on and come with me. And find something warm. I doubt your skinny ass will be able to stomach the cold.

Morg: sighs heavily You're the boss...

The tell tale winter colors had been making themselves known in Ravenwood, and it was just the boys' luck that it had been snowing heavily all night. No telling what the crypts hold for them... 😬

Narrator's talk:

Now! Does most of this seem haphazard? Yes it does. But why?! True. Why? What's gotten into Morgyn and Mikhail? They certainly weren't arguing like this before, regardless of their bumpy meeting.

Well then...hope you have enough popcorn to last... 🫢

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

@alsethwisson The Council did not, I repeat, did not codify male inheritance of the iron throne into law - all it did was demonstrate a preference by the lords for male inheritance. Just because green supporters viewed it as setting an iron precedent doesn't make it so, it certainly doesn't make it 'universal law'. And even if it was, in an absolute monarchy the king does have the right to change the law. Was Good Queen Alysanne behaving like a tyrant when she abolished the long-established precedent of the First Night and banned lords from raping peasant women on their wedding night? I suppose the answer depends on whether you ask the rapists or their victims. In the annals of tyrannical rulers of Westeros, I doubt many are ranking either Viserys or Alysanne among the likes of Maegor the Cruel or the Mad King. Something tells me GRRM intended readers to use the part of their brain that is capable of nuance when considering whether 'universal law' is even worth upholding.

While there was a long-established precedent of male inheritance among the noble houses in Westeros (that Viserys did not overturn) there was no long-established precedent of male inheritance of the Iron Throne. At the time of the Great Council, there had only been three generations of Kings ruling the 7 kingdoms - long-established precedent favours separate independent kingdoms. The existence of Westeros as a single kingdom under one monarch is relatively recent - and that monarch having to be a male was decidedly undecided, at first due to circumstance. Rhaena being passed over in favour of Jaehaerys is complicated by the fact that she was her uncle's prisoner and forced bride, while Jaehaerys was free and being used as a rallying point against Maegor the Cruel by their mother.

Then Alysanne full on expected that Daenerys was naturally Jaehaerys' heir, and was surprised and angry when Jaehaerys kept dodging the issue with half-assed evasions like "yeah she'll be queen when she marries her brother" "NO JAEHAERYS". Then Daenerys died before the matter could be resolved and her little brother was next in line anyway. Then Alysanne was furious at Jaehaerys for not backing his grand-daughter Rhaenys as the rightful heir, and Jaehaerys went for the half-assed approach of "I'll call a council - its obvious what will happen but this way I have deniability" "FOR FUCKS SAKE JAEHAERYS".

Yes Viserys definitely did not do his grandmother or his mother Alyssa Targaryen proud when he displaced Rhaenys. I imagine he partly named Rhaenyra heir as a guilty corrective. Which he had every right to do as monarch. And no, he wasn't setting a dangerous precedent at all, because he wasn't just naming any random kid he liked as heir. He was naming his firstborn child - a perfectly legitimate thing to do. A dangerous precedent would be something more along the lines of Randyll Tarly - forcibly disowning his oldest son and sending him to the wall because he liked the younger son better. Or what Otto did.

In sum, so far the heirs being male had been decided due to there being only male heirs (Aenys & Maegor), circumstance (captivity or death of female heirs Rhaena & Daenerys), then Jaehaerys cowardly refusing to officially settle the matter while counting on the misogyny of the lords to pick the male candidate. Then Viserys chose his firstborn child.

Upon choosing her, as I stated above, he made her his cupbearer. Again, it is not the dumb 'girl made to fetch the drinks' role it is in the show. Cupbearer is a ceremonial role, its an excuse for the chosen heir to learn at the King's side and attend meetings, it is training from an early age. Rhaenyra has been cupbearer since she was named heir aged 8 - so there you go, there's her training. The show may have misunderstood the role and made her cupbearer before she was named heir, but she still attended the council meetings. Learning from the meetings is the entire point, otherwise the king would just have a servant serving drinks (its also so dumb that she was serving the whole council - they could have had their own cupbearers, if the writing was intelligent then Alicent not being made Otto's cupbearer could have been a way to demonstrate the opportunities being denied to her that are open to Rhaenyra). Think how Jon Snow was made Jeor Mormont's steward - it was to place him at his side and raise him for command.

Beyond that, even with the show rewriting Rhaenyra to make her appear less trained for the role, we have Rhaenyra resolving the crisis at Dragonstone and continuing to attend council meetings as an adult. The tragedy of the council scene in 1x06 is that both Rhaenyra and Alicent's suggestions are right, and if they weren't in opposition to each other then they could have cooperated on a solution. The Blackwood/Bracken issue - Alicent is right that they should be able to delegate it to the Tully's and encourage them to take responsibility, and Rhaenyra is right that the particular risk of the conflict escalating into violence means the crown should step in. There's a middle ground to be found there. Then the Stepstones - Alicent is right that military holdings are expensive, and Rhaenyra is right that not defending an important trade route has high long-term costs. The solution, work towards the most cost-effective defence.

Meanwhile, in the book her move to Dragonstone is the King's decree - it is considered the heirs seat, which is why it was so controversial when Daemon tried to claim it in 1x02. Holding Dragonstone is a symbol of political legitimacy. It is also a ruling seat in its own right, with responsibilities of any ruling seat in Westeros beyond 'playing house'. It is also extremely convoluted in the show that Rhaenyra, a dragonrider, can't hop over the blackwater on dragonback in a jiffy. The only purpose of that detail was so the show could have a scene of Rhaenyra reacting to the Red Keep being redecorated.

Also, Aegon, attending court functions and behaving as a prince should? In the book he is described as lazy and gluttonous and prone to groping serving girls. In the show he is a drunken rapist who watches children forced into fighting rings for fun, and even describes himself as unfit to rule. I know the bar is low for princely behaviour and having a penis is considered all the qualification he needs, but come on. They definitely made him worse in the show, but since they had also rewritten Rhaenyra to be less trained they kind of had to. Since the whole point is that the only advantage Aegon has over Rhaenyra is that he has a penis - in every other way Rhaenyra is the better option, and half of westeros agrees. The other half would have been able to do no more than grumble, if it weren't for the greens deciding to plunge the realm into war.

Otto is the reason why this stupid Dance happened.

Otto’s the Villain and if Alicent need someone to blame for her poor predicament, it’s Otto. UGH!

Got two of the same asks, thought it would be better to answer them together.

I believe the dance is more nuanced than that, if Viserys married another Lady from another House, the Dance would still had happened.

Otto was just closer to Viserys, any other Hand would do the same.

This is clearly speculation on my part, but the reason why Viserys chose Alicent was because she was the daughter of a second son, meaning no power. But the Hightowers were willing to fight for their own, which is probably why Aegon and Heleana were married, to stop them from making alliances.

If Laena married Viserys, Corlys would fight for his grandson, he was willing to do that for Rhaenys and then Laenor. If Viserys married a Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Tyrell, the Dance would still happen.

The only way to avoid the Dance would be marrying Rhaenyra and Aegon, but then they still would have to worry about Daemon.

The dance happened because there were too many Targaryens and dragons, the Blackfyre rebellions lasted for years, imagine if they had dragons?

Even if by some miracle, everyone got along well and Rhaenyra became Queen. The dance would’ve happened between Jace and Aegon, or Jace and Aegon the younger because Daemon would 100% want his trueborn son on the throne and that would be even more bloody because there would be way more dragons.

In conclusion, the dance would’ve happened with or without Otto.

[writingwithcolor]

what are some things I shld be careful of when writing jewish-coded magical characters? One of them is a romani jewish necromancer and the other is a russian jewish ice-magic witch. Their universes dont have western christianity, only judaism, islam & eastern orthodox christianity. Magic is normal and widespread and considered part of nature. Are there any stereotypes i shld be aware of avoiding when writing them? especially since the necromancer is meant to be morally grey (but def not evil)?

Witches: Romani Jewish Necromancer, Russian Jewish ice-magic witch

From a Romani perspective, a necromancer would be problematic as most Romani people have very strict traditions and superstitions regarding death and the dead. A Romani person with any ties to their culture would never be a necromancer; additionally, making them morally grey is a bit concerning to me as this is dangerously close to stereotypical. 

-Mod Tess

One thing you will need to decide is if your ice mage’s powers come from secular magic or from, like, prayers. I chose to go with secular magic in my fantasy series because the most important magical character is sometimes morally gray while the totally nonmagical protagonist (Queen Shulamit) is fairly moral and devout. But there is also Jewish folklore where magic is being used by a rabbi to do holy things, so that’s really a writing decision on your part. Since you also have a morally gray character doing magic, you may want to go the same route I did.

There is probably Talmud and stuff about necromancy (it’s probably forbidden but I am not familiar myself and I’m hoping one of the other Jewish mods will know. The ice mage will be easier to handle as far as representation. I’d say with Jewish witches avoid any connection with the Western image of the witch with the exaggeratedly hooked nose, avoid the idea that kids (especially gentile kids) are an ingredient in her portions, and avoid magic that somehow invokes pop Christianity/demonology aesthetically. 

Here’s an older post of mine about writing Jewish witches: Jewish Witch Characters

-- Shira

I agree that the ice mage is the easier answer: the only other example I can think of of Jewish representation in fantasy with regard to ice magic is Naomi Novik’s Spinning Silver, which is a masterpiece of positive Eastern-European Jewish fantasy representation and also doesn’t on its own constitute a representational trend. 

As far as the other character, I’m not sufficiently educated on Romani culture to understand how and in what ways it would mix with Jewish culture for any individual, and it looks like Tess is advising against that aspect of their background, so let’s just talk about necromancy and Jewishness. 

As is often the case when discussing practices we now consider to be magic, attitudes toward necromancy in Jewish writings are all over the map. 

Torah forbids it outright. Talmud restricts that prohibition to certain methods and situations. Medieval writers have opinions on methodology, while historical folk practice has a variety of practical suggestions. Welcome to the history of the Jews. 

Necromancy in the sources I was able to find for this answer seems to refer to questioning the dead, a form of fortune-telling or advice-seeking. I didn’t find any mentions of animating the dead for tasks other than conversation. If your Jewish necromancer has other uses for corpses, you’re going to have to extrapolate. 

In Torah, the prohibitions on consulting spirits and mediums come as part of longer lists, alongside cultural-identity laws like observing shabbat, banned religious practices such as human sacrifice and self-harm, and societal norms such as deference to elders and fairness to immigrants. Scripture clearly has no doubt that necromancy works, however, since it makes much of King Saul’s hypocrisy when he consults a medium after making the practice illegal and driving its practitioners out of his borders or into secrecy: the ghost himself has harsh words for the king and offers no comfort. 

The Talmud mentions a variety of examples of people consulting the dead, whether invoking a spiritual apparition or reanimating a corpse to consult with. In medieval writings, there’s an argument that being called to the living world is a hardship for the dead, and that the reason for the prohibition is out of compassion. Medieval literature also offers gleanings such as that the deceased can only be interrogated within the first year, after which the soul is no longer within reach, and that the dead observe shabbat and therefore cannot be invoked between Friday evening and Saturday night. This last one raises the fascinating question of what time zone is it in the World to Come, but that’s a Talmud-style question for another day. Interestingly, the Talmud does specify that humans don’t have jurisdiction to punish necromancers: that offense is between the individual and God.

The upshot of all this seems to be that your morally-gray Jewish necromancer is transgressing a Jewish law by practicing their skills, but that the transgression is not more severe than more mundane transgressions such as eating pork or shellfish, except in that it is unpleasant for the deceased. 

In a Jewish context, the word for the soul or animating spirit of a human is the same as the word for breath. If your character’s necromancy doesn’t restore the deceased’s consciousness, maybe all of the above is irrelevant, and the sin they’re guilty of instead is desecration of a corpse; since the character is intentionally dark, having them wonder which category of sin they are committing would be a valid dialogue choice. 

As always, I would warn you against having your Jewish character commit murder themselves, especially of a child, consume blood in any context, or act with a motivation of xenophobia or greed for wealth or power. A morally-gray Jewish character with a complex relationship to their Jewishness can have the potential to be interesting, but not if they reinforce existing negative portrayals. 

I hope this small-scale tour of Jewish writing and thought on the subject has helped you imagine how your Jewish characters might approach the relationship between their abilities and their backgrounds, and that you had fun following me on this journey. Good luck!

-Meir

Hi, Meir did a lot of external research with sources for this one so I’m gonna toss his Ko-fi link in, in case anyone feels like tipping him for this since we’re all unpaid volunteers. 

https://ko-fi.com/meirmakesstuff

-- Shira

[ariaadagio]

Thoughts about S6

This is gonna be a little all over the place. Just me rambling, really. 

So, I went up to LA to watch the show with some fandom friends on Friday. We had an absolute blast. I loved the finale season of the show. LOVED. I had some quibbles, of course, but none worth lingering on at length. I know the ending was controversial for some, but not for me. It worked on all levels. 

I didn’t have much love for the end of 5B (I know, y’all are probably shocked, given some of the things I’ve written re: Lucifer becoming God or godlike) which is why I never really chimed in on the post-5B discussion. I just couldn’t muster much enthusiasm about it, and I didn’t want to froth about or hate on it when other people were having fun and gushing. 

But my main issues at the time involved: Lucifer suddenly wanting to become God felt poorly setup and unearned, and Chloe suddenly quitting the force to support Lucifer becoming God felt incredibly impulsive, perhaps almost out of character. 

S6 not only was perfect for me in its own right, it actually went back and fixed my S5B issues retrospectively. Lucifer suddenly wanting to become God felt poorly setup because it WAS poorly set up. On purpose. He never actually wanted to be God. It wasn’t his calling. And Chloe dropping her Detective job so suddenly WAS impulsive. On purpose. She really didn’t think that one through and ended up being bored out of her fucking mind without that job to engage her problem-solving brain. So ... kudos to the writers for that. I am so pleasantly surprised by that backtracking and never expected it.

As far as season 6 goes ... oh my gosh, what a brilliant roller coaster. Like @tarysande, I also spent a large portion of the season wondering what the evil trick was with Rory. I didn’t trust ANYTHING she said for many episodes. I kept waiting for a shoe to drop that never did. I really appreciate that Deckerstar did not get married—I never felt like a marriage was necessary for them given where they were in their life (a divorcee and a Devil who isn’t beholden to human constructs of law). I actively did not want a Deckerstar baby, but the show did it in a way I found absolutely lovely. Rather than using Rory as a magical “happily ever after” button as so many shows do, she was a tool to create massive character growth in Lucifer, and I am so on board with that. 

I cried during this season. Frequently. Which is something that rarely happens for me when watching or reading fiction. I am just ... so stupidly emotionally involved in these great characters. 

Some people may fixate on the separation between Lucifer and Chloe until her death, but to me ... it worked. Lucifer found a higher purpose and chose to fulfill it, to keep his promise to his daughter—to be a better father for Rory than his father was for him—and he does still ultimately get a “happily ever after” with his family and friends and dearest loved ones. It just starts a little later than planned. Chloe, meanwhile, gets to live her life knowing without doubt the love of her life is not only okay & pursuing his calling, he’s waiting for her on the flip side. They’ll have eternity together—ETERNITY, in exchange for a few decades apart. Bittersweet? Yes. Tragic? No. So I am okay with this. This is a level of certainty no real human ever gets—and as someone with zero certainty about the future whatsoever, I can’t express enough how much this foreknowledge alone would be a comfort in difficult times. It really resonates with me as a meaningful gift.

I do agree that there’s plenty of room for Lucifer to see Chloe without Rory’s knowledge, though I’m on the fence about how realistic this is. I think Dan called it, honestly. Having to watch and not participate is more torturous than not participating at all. And, as I said, he gets to see everybody eventually. He knows his daughter will understand—actively consents, even—and he knows their reunion will come.  He knows Chloe will come back to him, too, because he’s grown to trust and love her fully.

Along those lines, Lucifer showed amazing character development this year. Once this man figures out his feelings and commits, he is ALL IN. I was so proud of him, talking out his feelings, and saying I love you, and hugging people left and right. His goodbyes made me tear up, particularly the scene with Maze. Which. OMG. These two. That scene was a long time coming, and so heartfelt. i loved it. I also loved how comfortable in his own skin he finally seemed this season. He utilized his wings SO MUCH. And his devil face where appropriate. And there was zero angst about any of it.

Time travel is a trope that tends to break my brain, but ... I think Rory showing up is what enabled her own conception. Lucifer didn’t think he could have kids until he finds out he does in the future and then boom, suddenly he can conceive. He self-actualized working swimmers. I know this creates a chicken or the egg paradox—how could this loop ever even start if Rory hadn’t existed at least once on her own—buuut, I’ve definitely seen this trope used in other shows, such as Netflix’s Dark. So, imho, there was an added level to Lucifer’s sacrifice at the end—he wasn’t just trying to preserve his own epiphany via a promise to his daughter, he was actively choosing to save his daughter’s entire existence, and he was choosing to be different from his father.

People who think Lucifer was robbed of choice ... I beg to differ. For the reasons stated above, and also? He was the one who came up with the idea of returning to Hell. No one forced that on him. The only thing Rory did was speed up his time table. And I think there’s a beautiful kind of symmetry to the idea of him returning to Hell and choosing to reframe it as a place of healing, rather than eternal suffering. In a sense, he’s making his own Plan for himself. He’s defining his role in the universe: the Devil, not God. He’s defining his family: Chloe, Rory, Trixie, Dan, Maze, Eve, Linda, Amenadiel, Ella, and all the great friends he’s made. He’s defining his home: not a place, but where his heart is. For the first time in his life, the Devil decided who he is and what he wants to do with his life, instead of letting external forces do it for him.

And I fucking loved every minute of it.

A perfect ending for a long, thoughtful journey.

P.S. If you disagree with me, that’s fine. There’s no wrong way to interpret art and media. But please know I’m not really in the mindset for debate right now. I just want to live in my happy post-S6 bubble. I’d appreciate it if you let me :)

[lilac-5ky]

I just thought about something interesting... do you think shinsuke's dad (and mom) is still alive?? and if yes what do you think was his reaction and he heard about his son's actions ? what did he think when shinsuke chose to leave with shoyo? does he even know his son died ? what does he think about the kiheitai ? just so many questions... I really wanna know what you think about this

poor format doing this on ipad ;-;

That’s actually something I’ve also been wondering about! Ever since we watched that flashback with Sakamoto’s arrival, you know the one where Gin teased Takasugi about his dad buying him legos and him being the firstborn son, I really started giving it some thought.

First of all, Takasugi has siblings?!?!? It’s only unexpected because he’s never mentioned it, but if you think about it, that can explain why his family didn’t have a hard time disowning him. If there is someone else behind him to carry on his family’s legacy (most likely a younger brother at the very least, idk his father seems to me like a real traditionalist to let a sister take up on that), then it shouldn’t be the end of the world for them to lose a son.

Also, there was someone else in his household who cared enough to feed him, judging by how his father asked him to stop giving him food. Now I am really not sure who that person is, could be a sibling, could be a servant, or anyone really, but it shows that there is someone who at the very least has immediate relationships with is family, and cares enough for him.

Now that I’ve sorted that out, hmmm whether his parents are alive or not, there is no telling. His father was a samurai who cared about what others had to say, considering how he freaked when Takasugi began to associate with Shouyou, a man who was already plagued by rumors. It wouldn’t be wild to assume that his father was pro amanto or at least not anti amanto, and so I doubt he participated in the war. Perhaps the anti sword law could affect him, considering he was also a samurai, but in the end he strikes me more as the conformist who cares about preservation of wealth. I don’t mean to say that he licked their boots for sure, but I’m trying to play profiler here with the few hints we have.

Whether his mom or siblings are alive, I suppose it depends entirely on his father, considering they used to wipe out clans and families very easily. If they survived the war, like no random casualty taking their lives, then they could be alive!

Moving on to his father reaction regarding his son’s “accomplishments”. Supposing his father is alive and he doesn’t live in an igloo, he must have heard about what’s become of him. I believe his opinion of Takasugi remains negative, considering how he’s been “soiling” their family’s name. He wouldn’t reach out to scold him or anything (That’d be funny to see), but it will just reaffirm to him that kicking Takasugi out was for the best. I don’t think that he’d ever acknowledge him, even if he succeeded everything on his agenda. People like him are very specific about their values and beliefs, and anything that strays from that road is inherently bad.

Minor mention that this is an interesting difference between the two father figures in his life. Shouyou told him he can choose his own path, whatever that is, while his father chose a path for him to follow, whether he wanted to take on such a path or not. This should also be one of the reasons why Takasugi favored Shouyou over his own family. He must have felt so oppressed! Imagine not knowing what you want to do with your life, while having people over your head telling you what you must do. What must be done and what someone wants to do are completely different things and while Takasugi didn’t have an answer for the latter, he knew he didn’t want to choose the life his family wanted for him. If he did, then he would have been satisfied with going to the Military Academy, he wouldn’t be nagging to Katsura or beat kids up, and he wouldn’t have joined Shouyou.

Also I feel like, if Shouyou gave him some sort of criteria as to what makes a samurai good, then Takasugi wouldn’t bite it. He is someone who does what he wants to do and hates being told what to do. By choosing Shouyo, he chose freedom, one that his family didn’t offer. Oh and another thing; it’s not that he opposed becoming a samurai. He wanted to become one, he just didn’t want to do so while following his father’s Bushido, which might as well be a career change in their eyes. I think that if his family was supportive, then rather than running and sneaking around, Takasugi could have had a healthier family environment. He is not a bad son or anything, he just wanted to find his own way, something he couldn’t do within his family. Had they accepted that he wants to take on their wishes but follow them in his own way, then things would have been much better for him.

Abou his reaction when it came to him joining Shouyou hmmm, perhaps he didn’t see it coming. Disowning someone is a big thing and it didn’t come from the first “mishap”. It looks to me like his father gave him many chances to “get his shit together” because he didn’t really want to do it. Maybe his other kids weren’t as skilled as he was, maybe he knew that Takasugi deep down was a good son. But, if Takasugi is anything like his father, then pride would have kept either party from reaching out, even if there were some regrets in the way. Most likely, the moment he chose Shouyou, Takasugi died to him, considering how he wouldn’t think that his son would actually give up on everything he’d build for some random dude.

Whether he knows of Takasugi’s death, that’s hard to say. I don’t think he’d get to know, unless Katsura or something personally informed him of it. He strikes me as the “no contact, you are dead to me” kinda guy, but if he found out what he did at the end, then maybe he’d feel a sense of pride as well as sadness. I’d like to believe that Takasugi’s father wasn’t a complete monster and like all parents he did have some love for him. Any parent who finds out of their son’s death would be sad, even for a minute.

And about the Kiheitai well, maybe he finds it stupid that so many people followed someone as incompetent as him. That’s one side of the coin. The other would be him experiencing failure? What I mean to say is that perhaps his father knew that he wasn’t doing a good job as a parent. He couldn’t support him nor guide him but now his son has managed to do that for many people. Everything he couldn’t give him as a father, he found in others, and while the vast majority shunned him because you knew, terrorist, there were many inspired. In the end, he wouldn’t admit it okay, this is all personal thinking stuff.

Final paragraph of this madness of a post lmao I could go on all night long, but I feel like my eyes will pop out from all the tears they shed. Based on clues, Takasugi’s father is a prideful and stubborn man, who values society’s opinions more than the well-being of his children. In a time and age where honor and public opinion mattered most, it is unsurprising for him to be like that. However, considering how the frequency and severity of his grounding increased (up until disowning), he should be someone who has the minimum consideration for Takasugi. Whether that’s because he valued him as an heir, or because he loved him as a child, there is no telling. After all, his pride would never allow such a man to show actual affection, which should explain why Takasugi is not great at displaying such emotions either. Shouyou was warm and affectionate, he took him in without second thoughts and offered him a different path. He have a love starved boy everything his pride wouldn’t let him admit he wanted, because in the end, Takasugi is a human being with human needs. He wants to have bonds with others, to be happy and to make his own choices. The end.

THIS TURNED INTO A HUGE MESS AND I WENT FROM ONE POINT TO THE OTHER BUT ITS 3 AM AND MY EYES ARE BLOODSHOT AHAHA I JUST REALLY WANTED TO ANALYZE AND REPLY TO THAT! i don’t know what I’m yelling for smh. oh and if u have more questions and wanna discuss things further, lemme know, im a sucker for such conversations :p

[spookykittyboo]

Dear, Michael

Part 2

Summary: Few years before the happening of Halloween 2018, Michael has managed to escaped the sanitarium for 6 month before he was captured back. PART 1

A little change of plan; There will he a part 3

Honorable Tag: @spookyscaryslashy

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"A bus crashed, involving many mental institute patients around the highway of Haddonfield, Illinois. With the number of 15 passangers, including a driver and 2 law officer involved, 2 passengers still in search. Police say-"

She threw the remote far, to the red couch pushing her head down and tried to breath out of her own fear. A small light ignited deep in her chest the moment she started to realized the horror she might face tonight, might be more than the constant knocking from little kids wearing eye catching classic costumes.

A sudden need, pushed her feet to move and pressured herself to go earlier than she planned. "I need to..."

...

The night was still young, a laughing sound of those running little kids were heard from outside, on the street. "What am i supposed to think? He's on the loose again and search for redemption?" she was in doubt, as to what has the man she once felt, turn into now? Is he still the soul she once saw deep inside or he's drench in more blood than he ever was? Did the hunger consume him? She feared.

"Come baby, we have to-" as she put him im her arms two knocking was heard from the front door. Then came the third and fourth before someone called her name.

"Yes?" she left the door open, entirely.

"We need to assure everyone is safe in this neighbourhood, there's been 2 people found murdered and we need, once again to make sure that everyone stays inside and lock their door..."

"Do you know who is it?" she shot the question straight from her head. Too afraid to know the truth he will spit right at her face.

"We... uh... we'll keep everyone in touch. For every new updates to come." the officer was awfully drenched in sweats and fear.

"I-i was planning on to go out of-"

"Miss, we suggest everyone to stay inside and be safe of whatever it is around them and that includes you." There was a resemblance on both of their faces, but her was sprinkled with a little bit of forlorness.

She missed him. But was it worth it, all those nights she spent longing for him, was it worth for all those life he pulled from each of them?

He excused himself. Leaving her alone with an opened door. "Michael, is this your doing?" she asked to the air surrounding her. The idea of him being free, on his own will turned her stomach sick, the thing he can do just with his own two hands.

Where is this feeling of missing him?

Am i afraid of him?

Am i turning my back from all of those memories?

...

She watched the little boy toying around in front of her. A laughter and a little noise of his tiny steps. She realized the burning flame tormenting her in her chest. Something she wouldn't confess, the truth she chose to pushed away. A cruel yet something she can't avoid.

It's not you around me, that i fear... her eyes were glistening with tears.

It's how you're nature would react to a part of you being born... the reflection of the little boy was shown on her eyes. It was all him that she can see now.

....

"EVIL DIES TONIGHT!"

The screaming of those who were in rage by the angel of death. The way he painted red all over town with the blood of his victim. And tonight, he brought more than he can count.

The mass brought themselves passed your house, armouring themselves with whatever they can land their eyes on.

You were alarmed as their voice echoed through your head. It was a signal, warning of the danger circling around. You rose from the chair you sat on, went to the window to see the raging crowd. You pushed the white curtain to the side, but before you could focus on the one thing you wanted three knocking were heard on your wooden door.

Are they looking for me?

Do they suspect anything from the many months he spent in this house?

...

"Yes." she open little of the door, showing only half of her face. An action difference created by her doubts and fear of being caught sympathizing a monster.

"Michael Myers, he's on the run. He killed 3 teenagers and a few other people, we have a plan to end him. A lot of people are coming with us, do you want to join us?"

"I-i don-"

"We need more people with us..."

Then, a sudden noise made his eyes moved to the side, wondering what's inside the half opened door, other than the pale, saddened face. A sound worth of suspicion present itself behind the door, followed by a little voice of awe. She dropped her head to the air, while it felt like all the air inside of her lungs, sucked out of her body in a second.

She knew. He was there.

"Is there... someone other than you here?" the man asked, still with his eyes wandering, trying to sneak a peek of what's behind the door. "I can just-" he tried to push the door away to make a way for his entrance, but she was quick to turn his offer down. Pushing the door front a little to deny him, she put all five finger behind the door to hold it. "N-no no. I-i-it's me and my son. He's a kid... a baby..." she stuttered. "We'll be okay. Thank you for your offer." she backed away as a sign of cutting the conversation to an end. Closed the door and leaned her back on it for a few inhale of air.

She started to feel the creeping horror of what it could went to. But it was all now behind her. They're gone. But now...

...

They say it alls well and ends well if you just let it go and put it well behind you. Put it in a well made box, crafted by two of your hands. Nevertheless, it's all nonsense. I still think about him yet, the fear still strikes me each time. Fear of the future to come, to see him again. Either it's once in forever or a stay put romance, the thought of him will always haunts me. The good and the bad.

I collected all the courage i had, shove myself to the living room, with no lie i lay to myself my eyes were trying so hard not to close themselves as i brace myself for the worst possibilities to come.

But he was nowhere to be found. The thought of finding a tall, bloodied figure in the middle of the fire bright living room turned to a wind flying in open air. Nothing. He was all i found laying on the floor, with no tears, no death worth of screaming. Just in his usual self, looking up to me. I lifted him up, carried him in my arms. "Hey, baby, look at me. Are you okay? Do you-" a noise was heard coming from he kitchen, of a heavy untensil fell down to the floor. Unsure of the occurance happening there, i stepped my left feet to start moving myself, before i was stopped.

I just stopped. My whole body froze, as i was nailed to the ground, and he was there. Appeared with one step from the kitchen, came to the light. I saw him. In his glorious figure, in a never before seen flame that burned him, even burned half of his skin. That goddamn mask...

"Michael?"

With a clear reason in front of my eyes, i held him tighter, with no worry of suffocating him. He was a bit uneasy of the view the tall man present in front of him. He lingered his hands around me, desprately tried to seek for help.

Oh, sweet little boy.

"Y-you're back." a failed attempt of holding back my tears met the reality i was in. It was all over the place, my head was going to split in two. But he was finally here.

------------------- To be continue ------------------

[myonepiece]

Law, Kid, Marco he slaps you

Law x Reader,   Kid x Reader,   Marco x Reader

Requested

Description: He slaps you during an argument 

Warnings: Angst, abuse

A/N: I love doing this theme! I’m sorry this took so long, I was having trouble coming up with the right poems, and I wanted to get this out soon so I kind of rushed them, but I think it turned out well

Disclaimer: this is romanticizing abuse, I do not support any type of abuse in any way, this is for entertainment purposes only

TW

Kid is horrible at controlling his emotion, anger most of all- which is why even after your tears started falling and you held your reddened cheek in your hand, Kid didn’t stop yelling. “Go!! Get out!!” he threw his hands up, scaring you more ad causing you to stumble and fall back. Kid faltered slightly, but he could feel the sting of tears collecting in his eyes, refusing to have you see that, and afraid he would hurt you further, Kid grabbed your arm and pulled you up before pushing you out the door and slamming it behind you.

his breaths were rapid as he kept replaying the argument, trying to find where he lost control, searching for something that you had done that justifies his cruel actions. he paces wildly around the room, reaching the wall and puching through it with ease- and now tears of anger and frustration are running down his cheeks. he ran the cabinet he kept his personal alcohol in, taking all of the bottles out and falling beside his bed with a grunt, chugging down the first bottle quickly

his teeth were gritted, his fists were clenched, and he was crying. Kid was humiliated, crying because he hurt someone, even simply the fact that he was crying.

when an angel falls in love with the devil

the fight is excruciating 

when the world is against them

they tighten their hold

but when they are torn apart, it is not because of the world

it is because the devil realized what he was doing

because he was hurting his angel

and they were never meant to be

and even if you and I were never meant to be

I wish you could’ve stayed with me 

I love you still today, and tomorrow even more

because I would challenge fate

if it meant our love could be restored

when you stole Kid’s heart, that meant you would be there forever, because as much as Kid hated to admit, he couldn’t be without you. he knew what he had done was wrong, that you shouldn’t take him back, but his stubbornness refused to give you up, as did his heart. without you there was only 1 goal, and without you it did not seem as appealing.

probably not the best move, to stand directly in front of you at arms length after physically hurting you, but Law couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. for once in his life he was the one to hurt who he cares about, a thought that struck him like a knife to his stomach. “leave” he said, his tone dark and voice strained, as if he was holding back. he met your eyes for a split second before turning them to the wall. and when. the door shut he didn’t falter, he waited until he sank to the ground at the foor of the bed and brought his knees to his chest- and then the tears started.

he held his hand over his mouth, attempting to muffle the sobs. he was disgusted with himself, he knew the crew would be disgusted, Rosinante would be disgusted, Law had done one of the worst things he could do, and that was hurting someone you love. he thought of this action as something his enemies would, something celestial dragons would do, something Doflamingo would not only do, but be proud of Law for doing- and those thoughts made it all the more heart wrenching and sickening. 

the one person who had offered him safety, who he trusted and vowed to protect, had beenn hurt by his hand. if Law could take his heart out and not feel a single pinch of pain, he wouldn’t do it, because Law wanted to feel this, to feel the pain and the hurt because he needed to be punished for his actions, but even that didn’t give him a piece of mind- all he could think of was you crying alone and in pain because of him, it was eough to drive him mad, clutching his hair and gritting his teeth.

my heart whispered your name

and my soul made it stay

though our love was written in the stars

and traveled over the seas

you’ve sailed away from me

and if you choose to not return

I’ll understand

though if you wish for me you need to know

I love you still today, and tomorrow even more

if you choose to give me a chance

please grace me with a dance

because even if you give up

the stars are never wrong

they knew we would not be apart for long

Law didn’t know if he could forgive himself, and truth be told he didn’t know if he wanted you to forgive him. you were the one who made Law believe in fate, and destiny, and soulmates- and he knew that you were all of those to him. he wanted you back yes, but if you chose to leave, he would never take another lover, because he only has one soulmate and once you’re gone, his heart still beats for only you

Marco was completely and utterly shocked at his own actions, his jaw hung open and his eyes wide as he saw his handprint appear on your cheek. he tried to say sorry, but he couldn’t make a sound- until a sob escaped your lips and he tried to move towards you to help you, but you stepped back quickly and he froze. you kept your eyes on the ground next to him, and he realized he should leave before you get scared even more, he slowly stepped around you careful not to touch you at all, and he hurried out the door and down the hall

he hid in his office, sitting against the wall in silence- silence until Ace and Izo burst in looking furious, no doubt heard the two of you fighting then you crying. they had gone to check on you and saw the redness of your cheek, Ace didn’t understand at first but Izo was quick to put the pieces together, they left you with Vista and went to find Marco. all the men know Marco is smart and he would never want to hurt you, but it had happened and they demanded an explanation. of course after hearing Marco’s tearful explanation of how he lost control and couldn’t contain his anger, that he regrets it more than anything, after hearing their brother sob about how much he hates himself, they knew that he hadn’t truly meant what he did, though that didn’t stop them from throwing some punches.

they sat in the office with Marco, Izo leaning against the wall opposite Marco and Ace sat on the floor. it was silent once again as the boys thought of what to do, though Izo and Ace didn’t exactly share their ideas, their brother still needed punishment for hurting you- and punishment is exactly what Marco considered this.

 when my eyes met yours my soul began a conversation with my heart

carried on through our journey together

the two had become so indulged in our story,

they did not know you had chose to part

in my dreams I make you mine

I hold you til the end of time 

memories will always make me smile

if only I could have you back for at least a little while

if you choose to leave me

I will still love you secretly

but when I see that you’re not there 

I will always be in pain

wating for the day you say you love me again

Marco is smart, he knows that he’s done wrong and that he doesn’t deserve you. but the heart doesn’t give up as easily as it sometimes should.

[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!”

[shurisneakers]

shut in [10]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting, abuse

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: double digit chapter!!! like 3 parts to go everyoneeee woo!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The nostalgia was strong. 

The last time you and Sam were sitting like this, you were deciding on what to make of the bread supply that was now dwindling. The soup had ran out maybe a day or two ago and you were left with just bread, peanut butter and jelly.

You two had to devise an escape plan. You’d been there long enough and now with Sam making his first public appearance as Mob’s Most Wanted, even if it was for a good cause, there was no doubt that people would be after you.

“What if we go back to Ransone and let the rest sort itself out along the way?”

You made a note of it on the paper but you weren’t very convinced with the idea, not with the realisations you had made along the way.

“Do we know any other hideouts?” you asked instead, tapping the pencil against the paper.

“None that you don’t already know.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “What are your thoughts on caves? Think we can make a bed outta some leaves?”

You wrote down ‘Sam’s cave idea’, just to humour him. Stupid, but more plausible than other options.

“If we make a run for it, what are the chances we’ll survive?”

“With law enforcement, civilians and gang members looking for us, I’d give us about-” you said candidly, “-two months. Three max.”

It wasn’t like you had no experience running from the state, but it was never on this scale. 

“We’d have years if it was only law enforcement, but we had to go get the entire fuckin’ mafia involved,” he huffed in annoyance.

An idea occurred to you that made you pause, but you hated it.

“What if we split up?” you suggested halfheartedly. “It’ll take them more time to find the both of us, if they’re looking for us together.”

When he didn’t reply, you looked up at him from the sheet in front of you.

“We’re not splitting up,” he began steadily, just as you knew he would. “The same people who are after you are after me. We need to stick together.”

“I know. I’m not saying we can’t meet again after that, I’m saying that maybe it’ll be easier for us to hide.”

He couldn’t deny that it wasn't the worst idea, but something didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to do it.

“Okay, then how do we find each other after that? When? I don’t have your email; fuck that, I don’t even have your number.”

“We’ll schedule it, I guess,” you murmur, trying to work out the logistics. “Whoever gets there late has to buy ice cream. And I’m particular about the flavour I like.”

You tried to lighten up the mood but he wasn’t having it, as much as he appreciated it.

“I don’t care if it’s more difficult,” he said slowly. “But I’d like us to stick together. Not until we’re out of this mess. Then if you want to never see my face again, which you shouldn’t because it’s beautiful, we’ll go our different ways.”

He was adamant about it, and you knew he’d argue and poke holes into the plan until it didn’t make sense anymore. You weren’t going to argue.

“Okay,” you accepted. “We stick together.”

A smile spread across his face which equated to one of triumph. “You got any other ideas?” 

“We stay right here and fight off whoever comes.”

It was dumb. This place wasn’t yours, and staying here would be a death wish. That didn’t stop you from saying it since neither of you were holding back on implausible ideas.

“This is our house now,” Sam added with determination, playing along.

“Damn right,” you affirmed, cracking a smile at him.

Bringing your attention back, you stared at the list. There is one option you wanted to explore but you weren’t sure if you could because you didn’t have the resources. But he may.

“You got any friends whose help we could use?” you asked cautiously, unsure of how this would play out. 

He continued chewing on his lip for a second like he was analysing all options, before nodding. 

“I got a friend. Well, my only friend,” he corrects himself. “His name’s Riley.”

“He got a place we can stay, this Riley?”

“He does. But I don’t want to involve him. He’s-” he paused, trying to find the right words to frame what he’s thinking “-he’s been through a lot.”

“We’ll leave him alone then,” you assured, realising that it must be a touchy topic for him.

Sam didn’t move on, though. 

“I’m all ears if you want to talk,” you offered. 

He pressed his lips together, giving you a tight smile. He looked like he wanted to say more but was holding back. You reciprocated, hoping it would give him some reassurance, noting how he exhaled softly.

“When I joined the cartel, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to since everyone was much older than I was. Riley was the first friend I made. He was a mouthy li’l one.” Sam smiled wistfully and you found yourself smiling with him. “He talked so much shit and he had the spunk to back it up but he never really got that far because no one wanted to test their luck with him.”

“We spent whatever free time we had together. He didn’t have a family so he and I-” he trailed off but you knew what he was getting at. “Ransone found out. Didn’t like anyone in his stupid squad becoming all buddies because if we turned against him, he knew he’d lose.”

Shared experience. You didn’t have any friends in the organization either; they were always separated from you willingly or by force. You wondered if that’s why you had taken such a liking towards Sam, knowing fully well that it was the first time in years you were able to be friends with someone without having to worry.

“He started pittin’ us against one another. Combat training, preferential treatment, just plain out sabotage. Riley’s the reason my back’s all kinds of fucked up.” He gave a short laugh. “Tried everything he could to make sure we’d stay away or even kill each other if it came to that.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But we didn’t,” he confirmed. “Ransone fuckin’ hated it, so one day, he decided that he’s going to finish it once and for all. Sent us on a fake mission so that we’d be alone together, then told us that only one of us could come back. One of us had to die or else both of us would. Some sick fuckin’ form of entertainment.”

It was exactly something that Ransone would do. Dramatic, vile and utterly despicable, just for his own joy,

Your eyebrows knit together when his eyes glazed over. 

“Riley, he- he didn’t even let me have at the gun. Just straight up chose for the both of us that he was going to be the one who died. He was so tired, of everythin’.” The muscles in your jaw tightened at where this was going. “He didn’t do it though. We figured out another way.”

You didn’t realise how tensed you were until you forced yourself to relax.

“Faked his death.” He shrugged. “It was the only way. Let Ransone believe he bled out and that I buried him behind the warehouse he sent us to. Shot him in the leg to make it look convincing. He’s still got a limp.”

“He made a run for it. Found himself a place in New Orleans, changed his identity, basically made turned into a whole new person. Ransone bought it for a while because I’d make it a point to visit the grave, leave some flowers and shit. Told him that if he messed with it that I’d put a bullet in his head and I was angry enough for him to see that I wasn’t kidding. I knew he’d figure it out eventually but I was hoping I’d get rid of him by then.”

“He lived in New Orleans for years. Never had a problem until recently.”

Sam paused for a second, but it gave you the time to pull up an old conversation you had with him.

“He’s the one Ransone threatened you with,” you connected the dots. “He’s the one he found.”

“Said he’d kill him if I didn’t take out Pierce for him,” his words were bitter, confirming what you said. “Sent me a picture of him in front of his house to prove it.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathed, leaning back. Sam’s situation was more dangerous than you initially thought. Having Riley in the picture just made it more difficult to help Sam get out of the organization, especially since he was now leverage material.

“You asked me once what the scariest thing I had done was.” You didn’t get immediately what he was talking about until you remember the questions you had asked to get to know him better. “It was that. Getting him out of this life and trying not to get caught in the process.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“He’s the only family I got left.” The way his voice dropped made him sound so tired. “He’s already on their radar. If they find out I’m staying with him or that he’s helping in any way, they’ll kill him.”

You didn’t say anything, not like you had anything constructive to offer at that moment.

“That got dark real quick,” he remarked, the corners of his lips quirking upward.

Clearly he didn’t have anyone to talk to about this. To explain the entire thing from the beginning must have drained him completely.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” you said quietly.

He paused for a second, looking like he was thinking to himself.

“Me too.”

______

The sky’s beautiful, you decide.

You could stare at the clouds for hours.

Which is what the both of you have been doing.

“If you fucking say it’s anything other than a dog, I’ll push you off the roof myself.”

“It’s clearly a penguin, Samuel.”

“I hate you.”

The cement was cool against your skin even though there was a blanket serving as a mediator between you and it. The sun nipped at your skin and your back was aching from staying in the same place for a prolonged period.

Sam tended to think better when he was outside, unconstrained by harsh white walls and artificial light. So you grabbed a spare blanket, a bottle of water and the ladder to haul the both of you to the roof. It was filthy, as you expected but you managed to tidy a part of it to the best of your ability before laying the blanket down.

“I know why you brought me up here, Y/N,” he piped up.

You just knew that when you needed some space, he often implored you to go outside. You figured the best way to help him was to do the same, not knowing what else you could have to give.

“Just wanted to let you know that I appreciate it,” he added.

Okay good. It helped.

“That’s a tree.” You pointed upwards, avoiding his gaze.

“You get three more seconds to change that answer to a table.”

“That looks nothing like a table. You’re delusional.”

He laughed, not offering a counter argument.

The outside did him good. He was calmer than when you first came here a few hours ago. He didn’t let his spite towards Ransone show very often, especially at this volume. Talking about Riley only reaffirmed how much he despised the man.

“We need to get out of here eventually, you know?” you mused.

You don’t want to. You don’t want to admit that saying it out loud made it worse.

“We do,” he sounded sure and you wondered if he ever felt bad about it too, “but we need a proper plan.”

The clouds shifted. It looked like a kid on a bike; not that you’d ever tell him. He would never agree.

“We need help,” you stated.

“We can’t.” You knew he’d say that.

“You know we do, Sam.”

“There’s no one out there we can trust.”

You liked that he used ‘we’. The only other times you had been referred to as ‘we’ had been for things so sinister, so violent.

His elbow was touching yours lightly. You wanted to move closer, press against him.

“There’s one person who might be able to.”

He turned to look at you questioningly. You did the same.

You waited till he figured it out on his own. His face shifted the minute it clicked in his head.

“No way.” He turned away, almost laughing out of bewilderment.

“It’s our only option.”

“Then we’ll find another one,” he began to sound more insistent, realising you were being serious. It was a crazy idea, you’d give him that, but it’s the only one you had that had a sure shot of working.

“We’ve tried. You’ve tried. There’s only one way,” you knew that getting annoyed wouldn’t get through to him and you also understood his hesitations. “He’ll help.”

“We don’t know that. It’s too fuckin’ dangerous.” He couldn’t afford that; not this late in the game.

“I know it. Lis- Sam. Look at me,” you commanded gently, and he obeyed reluctantly. “I understand that this is absolutely batshit wild, but I promised I’d help you. This is the only way I can think of. But I need you to trust me.”

He looked unsettled.

He didn’t have anything to go on. Only your word and his faith in you. He could say no and he knew you’d spend countless hours pouring over multiple options just to find another way. He could say no and you’d take it in stride and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t about trusting you, it was about not trusting the others.

But he could also say yes and let you take control, trust your instincts. You had never let him down before and he knew you wouldn’t now. He could say yes and help you work on one solid plan that had equal chances of failing as it did being a success, but it was something that you could be sure of.

“I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

He felt your fingers trace at his face patiently. He scooted closer, letting your bodies press gently against each other.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

He didn’t know if he made the right choice or not, but the smile that appeared on your face made him think that maybe he did.

God, he was done for.

___

“You ready?” you asked him.

“No, but what the hell; let’s do it.”

You let it ring right to the very end.

“Hello.” It seemed gratuitous at this point because you knew the conversation wouldn’t proceed with that.

“Code?”

“1993.”

“Y/N. Hello,” his voice came back loud and clear.

“Hey.” You snuck a glance at Sam. He was completely stiff.

“How are you?”

“I’ve been… good,” you admitted.

“Oh?” he sounded amused. “That’s a change.”

“Yeah.” You shifted on your feet awkwardly. “Listen, I need help.”

“Help with?”

“We need to get out of here. We can’t do it without you. I mean we can, but it’d be better if you lent a hand.”

“When you say ‘we’, you’re referring to…”

“Me.” Sam stepped forward towards the phone. You shifted it so it was between you.

“Oh, hello,” he sounded surprised, and he had good reason to be. “You know about-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Y/N, you trust him?”

“Yeah,” you looked up at Sam, “I do.”

“Alright. If shit goes wrong, you’re both fucked. I’m not taking any responsibility.”

“We get that,” you sighed. “Can you help or not?”

There was a momentary silence on the other end as he thought.

“Tell me what you had in mind.”

“We got a hit.”

They turned away from their conversation with the person walking beside them at the interruption.

“This better be important.” They gestured to their companion who looked annoyed at being interrupted. He was too dangerous to have on anyone’s bad side but the agent didn’t care. This was crucial.

“Someone saw him. Wilson.” He was breathless from the flight of stairs he had run to come upstairs.

“Where?” They could hardly believe their ears, restraining to contain the excitement that was threatening to rise.

“A town, miles away from Pierce’s place. Said he roamed around looking for a store, bought some food and then left.” His eyes shone. “We think we might know where they are. A rough sketch at least. Couldn’t follow him too far because he kept checking.”

“Finally,” their face gleamed, completely discarding the guest they had and the confusion on his face. “Some good fucking news.”

“Do you want us to put a hit out on them?” The relief the agent felt was almost overwhelming. His partner may have died but it didn’t look like he was going to.

“No,” they said crisply, certainly. “This one’s on me.”

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