#few sex moves on each other at least once but i dont think they see each other as romantic prospects. like unlike majima and saejima | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikethestatue · 3 years ago

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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.

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!”

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lesbobiwan · 3 years ago

Note

Congrats on 100! 🥳 I was wondering if I could request #100 and Wolffe 💕

thank u so much for the request!!!

#100: "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you." + Wolffe

warnings: kinda public sex. you dont fuck in front of anyone but its kinda close, jealous sex, clothed sex, creampies

You could think of a million different things you'd rather be doing right now.

You'd rather clean the barrack bathrooms after the boys don't have the heart to turn down Plo's well-meaning attempt at cooking. You'd rather be dropped off on an abandoned planet and be told to find a way off. You'd rather be getting shot at by fucking Seppies.

But, no. You're here in this ridiculous dress for some party thrown in the name of the GAR's brave and selfless troopers.

What a load of shit.

As if any of those senators give a shit about any of these men aside from how a picture of them shaking hands will boost their approval ratings.

You know you were invited as a deliberate political move. As the only volunteer nat-born medic for the 104th, you make the war easier to look at.

Look, Senators will say while they point to you, we don't rely solely on the creation of clones who are made to fight and die for a war they have no choice in! We have regular people involved in the war too!

Again. What a load of shit.

It's sickening the way that these politicians will pretend to care about the well-being of the soldiers who fight and die for them when it will make them look good. These people, if you can even call them that, don't know what it's like on the front lines.

You can barely understand what it's like on the frontlines, but you see the aftermath. You see the shell-shocked shinies and the trembling hands of even the most veteran trooper after a battle gone wrong.

Politicians are a disease, you think to yourself, and the sooner you can get out of this ridiculous dress the better.

The only benefit to this is the free champagne and the way Wolffe acts as a deterrent to any smart Senator or politician that comes your way.

Dressed to impress in a sharp gray suit, Wolffe cuts an imposing figure next to you. The tight suit jacket makes his already broad shoulders look impossibly broader and the buttons of his dress shirt strain against the muscles of his chest.

Your dress seems to compliment Wolffe in every way. Your dress is mainly white, but the gray accents serve as a subtle call to Wolffe's suit. Claiming you as his, you like to think. The same designs etched into the cuffs and collar of Wolffe's suit jacket are present at the bottom of your dress, circling the hem before fading as you look higher up the dress.

You think you'd enjoy the night if it wasn't for the Senate's... everything. You may be in a war, but you enjoy looking and feeling pretty. You think you'd feel very pretty if the meaning of the night didn't make you feel sick to your stomach.

With the commander acting as your shadow for the night, you've had little trouble keeping pesky Senators looking for a quick fuck away from you.

At least... the smart ones.

"As I was saying, my father is one of the main beneficiaries of the GAR," the boy — and truly he isn't enough to call a man — prattles on in front of you, totally oblivious to your uninterested expression and the clone commander hovering over your shoulder. You think he might be a senatorial aide and his father might be the Senator?

You wonder if you should adjust the plunging neckline of the dress so that the hickey Wolffe left behind last night peeks into eyesight.

"And I tell him that he shouldn't waste our family money on this war. Honestly, there's no need for clones," he continues, eyes flickering to Wolffe before he turns back to you, "I mean, what could clones possibly provide that a real man can't?"

He leans towards you, and with his last few words he drags his knuckles lightly up your arm. A smile that he must think is charming slithers onto his face as he continues to caress your crawling skin.

"Better company, for one," you mumble into your champagne glass before you can cause a scene. You drain the rest of the drink before you say something stupid.

You don't think you muffle it well enough because Wolffe's shoulders shake in muffled laughter behind you.

"Would you like to dance?" The aide blurts out, and once caressing fingers turn into a greedy grabbing hand closing around your wrist.

Wolffe stiffens behind you, jolting against your back before stopping himself.

Your face morphs into one of distain before you can stop it, "Actually," you begin, yanking your wrist from a sweaty palm, "I promised Commander Wolffe my first dance," your smile is so obviously fake it's painful, but the aide doesn't seem to notice.

"Well, maybe after you're done with the trooper, we can —"

"It's Commander," Wolffe finally speaks up, and his gravely voice has goosebumps spreading across your skin.

"Excuse me?"

Wolffe's hand splays across the small of your back as he steps beside you, "I said, it's commander," he repeats, voice cold like stone. Fuck, it makes your thighs rub together beneath your dress.

The aide's nose scrunches up, "Yes, well, when you're done with the commander, maybe you'll come my way?"

What is it with men not taking a hint?

"No, I don't think so," Wolffe answers for you before the hand on your back shifts from just a grounding touch to a guiding one, and he's leading you away.

Your skin is alight with excitement. You look up at the commander, whose jaw in clenched in obvious irritation. It makes you feel guilty, but Wolffe looks extremely attractive when he's pissed.

"Wolffe, we just passed the dance floor," you whisper as he rushes you past the chunk of the room marked out for couples to hold each other close and sway to the music.

"I know," Wolffe says shortly, leading you to the nearest exit so fast that you nearly fall out of your impractical shoes.

He practically drags you out the door and into one of the hallways you know you aren't allowed to be in.

"Wolffe, where are we — Oh!"

The commander cages you against the wall, hands on either side of your head as his hips press flush to yours through your dress. You can feel the bulge of his cock even through the layers of your clothes.

He breathes in deep through his nose before he speaks, "You're mine, you know that, right?" he rocks his hips against you as he speaks, and you don't get the best friction through the poofiness of your dress, but it's his words that make your thighs clench.

"Yes," you whisper into the space between you, "only yours, Wolffe,"

And it's true. You are Wolffe's no matter the setting — battlefield or ballroom — and no matter the outfits — hard plastoid armor or dashing suits and dresses.

Wolffe stares down at you, breathing hard through his mouth, searching for something in your face before he leans down to crush your lips together.

He kisses you like he's fighting. It's vicious and he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth until you whine, and it's only then that he lets it go. "Call me selfish," he whispers in your ear before he flips you around so that your face is pressed flush with the wall, "but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

Wolffe's hands are desperate as he begins to wrench the layers of your dress up and up until it's all bunched up above your hips, leaving your lower half exposed to him.

He inhales sharply at the sight of the lingerie the women who helped you into the dress had given you.

You never know whose going to unwrap you by the end of the night, one of the women had whispered like a secret to you.

But that wasn't true. You knew exactly who was going to unwrap you.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, dragging one of his hands across the delicate lace that covers your ass. "You wear this just for me?"

You pant against the wall, hands scrambling for purchase as Wolffe leans down to bite the meat of your ass. "Shit!" you gasp, just a bit too loud for comfort.

Wolffe drags his teeth down the curve of your ass, nosing at the wet patch of your panties. "How long have you been this wet, pretty girl?" he demands, pressing the tips of his fingers against the wet lace over your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. It's exhilarating to thing that only one door and a left turn separates a room full of Senators and Very Important People from the two of you.

It's filthy what you're doing. You're sure if anyone were to see you — pressed face first into a wall with little regard for the makeup that was applied to you with more caution than one treats a bomb and your expensive dress hiked up around your waist to expose your soaking cunt, you'd single-handedly ruin all efforts to draw support for the GAR.

"Answer me," Wolffe spits out as he drags your panties down your ass to let them fall around your ankles. One broad hand swats at your ass, right over the pulsing bite mark he left behind.

"All night!" you sob into the wall, biting your hand to muffle the groans you want to let out. "As soon as I saw you in that suit!"

A part of you wishes Wolffe would turn you back around. You want to see him in that suit — want to watch his muscles bunch and flex beneath the delicate fabric.

Wolffe's huff of laughter blows a puff of hot air against your cunt, making you clench around nothing. "You like me in this suit, sweet thing?" He raises to his feet and you can hear his hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. "Well, I'm about to fuck you in it,"

You whimper into the back of your hand. Your own slick starts to drip down your leg. "Please."

The blunt head of Wolffe's cock presses against your entrance. Usually he would make you cum at least once before he fucks you just to get you ready for his girth, but in this moment you couldn't care less.

You want Wolffe to fuck you, and you want to feel the stretch. You want him to fuck the feeling of that grimy aide touching you out of your head.

"S'that what you want?" Wolffe breathes as he starts to slide in, "you want to forget that boy? Huh? You want to be fucked by a man?"

A keen catches in your throat as he sinks in halfway. Fuck, you feel like you're being split in half. His cock just keeps going and going in this position, and all you can do is take it.

You bite down hard into the back of your hand as Wolffe finally bottoms out, but Wolffe grabs your hair, fancy curls and accessories be damned, and pulls your mouth away from your hand.

"Don't you dare," he hisses as his hips set a deafening pace. "Don't you dare hide your noises from me. I want to hear you — I want them to hear you."

Your moan echoes through the hallway.

There's something feral in the way that Wolffe fucks you. With his suit still on, totally presentable besides the cock that's been pulled out of the fly, he's beautiful.

You, on the other hand, look filthy. Your eye makeup is smudged with the tears that Wolffe forces out of you, and you know your hair will be a lost cause by the end of this. Your dress is already wrinkling and your delicate stockings are ruined with the slick that drips down your legs from your cunt.

"Wolffe!" you cry out as pressure in your core tightens.

"'m gonna cum," Wolffe grunts, hips pistoning even faster.

He's ruining you, you think through the haze of pleasure. He's ruining you and you love it.

"Please," you sob, one of your hands leaving the wall to grab at his hips. You almost can't hold on due to the force and speed of his thrusts, but your fingers claw into the fabric of his jacket and you hold on for dear life as he brings you closer and closer to release.

"I think I'll come in this tight little cunt, what do you think?" Wolffe drags the blunt edge of his teeth along your neck and up your jawline, ending just under your ear, "Stuff you full of me, and send you back into that ballroom,"

You clench at the thought. Fuck, you want that so bad.

You're nearly incoherent with pleasure. You're just babbling in agreement to the filth that drips from Wolffe's mouth like the slick that drips from your cunt.

"You like that?" Wolffe asks even though he knows the answer, "You want me to send you in there smelling like sex and dripping my cum?"

One of his hands snake around to circle mercilessly around your clit. The pressure nearly has your knees give out.

"I think I'll keep your panties with me," Wolffe whispers in your ear, "so I'll drip out of that pretty cunt and down your thighs for the rest of the night."

The pressure in your core snaps and you cum around him with a wail.

Wolffe clamps a hand over your mouth as his thrusts turn more into grinds. His teeth sink into your neck as he finally spills inside you.

The feeling of his cum flooding your cunt has you clenching around him even more.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, fucking his cum into your spent cunt with an obscene squelch. "Fuck, you're so tight, pretty girl,"

You moan faintly, thighs trembling as he finally pulls out. A gush of his cum starts to drip out. You clench weakly, trying your best to keep it in.

Wolffe presses a kiss to the back of your neck, "Step out of your panties, sweet thing," he whispers into your skin, hands on your hips to steady you as you do what he asked.

You stand on coltish legs, wobbling in your heels with the aftermath of your orgasm, as Wolffe bends down to grab your ruined panties and stuff them in his pockets.

They ruin the line of his suit, and anyone who looks at him for more than half a second will know he's got something in his pocket that shouldn't be there, but you think no one will be looking at him when you're there.

Not with your hair a mess and mascara smeared just so around your eyes. Not when you reek of sex and sweat and there are bite marks littered across your skin. Not when your dress is so obviously wrinkled due to less-than-appropriate events.

Still, you walk back into the ballroom with your arm linked with Wolffe's and his cum sliding down your thigh and soaking into your stockings.

The senatorial aide doesn't bother you for the rest of the night, but that might have something to do with the clone commander flashing him a bit of lace from his jacket pocket.

When you get back to the barracks, Wolffe fucks you with those same ruined panties in your mouth to make sure none of the boys hear you two.

#ok. this one is my favorite #i love this so muc #if this doesn't happen to me once than what is the point #100 follower celebration #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader

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bangtangalicious · 4 years ago

Text

cancelled (2) | myg, jjk

summary: you cheated on your boyfriend, one of the most sought after boys on campus, with the nerd from the back of the lecture hall. now a video has leaked across and everyone is turning against you for hurting such a perfect s/o.

pairing: yoongi x reader ft jungkook

wordcount: 3.7k

genre: smut, yandere!yoongi and nerd!jungkook exyandere!jungkook

established-relationship!au college!au cheating!au

warnings: reader discretion is advised. penetrative sex, unprotected sex, really steamy sex, ring tease (is that a thing), yoongi is a master with his tongue but we knew this, manipulative behavior, yandere behavior, controlling, dirty talk, guilting, mentions of past dubcon activity, illicit filming, mentions of mental illnesses, gaslighting, toxic behavior. this is pretty dark so dont read if it bothers you

twoshot: part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

There are some scents we find comforting. Not necessarily because of the nature of the scent itself, but because of a memory associated with it. For you this scent was Yoongi’s burnt pancakes. They were not good, he knew that and so did you. But your heart would almost burst with joy at the gesture, and you could never quite deny him when he would ask to make you breakfast. The way his kitten like eyes would be full of excitement, eager to please you.

In this case, the scent made you feel guilt. A common theme over the past few days after the entire school had access to a livestream of you cheating on the most loveable, pure and kind guy on campus.

But he was not mad.

Something stirred in you. You wished he was angry, wished that you two would fight it out. At least that would result in a resolve of some sort. You were now simply immersed in a stale mate. Not forgiven, but not accused. Not innocent but not guilty.

You had blocked Jungkook right away, not even entertaining how he would be handling the situation. You had bigger problems.

And those problems manifested into your sweet boyfriend making you pancakes.

“Here you go baby” He handed you a plate. Not an ounce of negativity was seen in his eyes. You felt like you were going insane.

Your phone beeped, another notification. You were not even shocked to see it was just another random person yelling at you for what you had done’ You’d seen it all— death threats, people telling you you were the scum of the earth. Internet hate knew no boundaries. You had lost all your friends. Even your family caught news and did not want to speak with you at the moment. All you had was Yoongi.

“Listen y/n” Yoongi kelt down in front of your seat, placing his hands on your knees affectionately. “I know things are hard right now. If you want, you and I can leave this place. We can leave and go somewhere else where people won’t know about all this.”

Tears escaped the edges of your eyes, “We can’t just leave…No one will hire me, a background check will show up with PornHub on the first search result. I’m ruined.”

“I’ll get the video taken down y/n. Clearly that guy did not have your consent to post it.”

“That isn’t the point” You screamed, grasping his hands firmly as you sobbed, “Everyone knows it happened. They know I was unfaithful. To you. The love of my life. Literally the most perfect angel of a human ever. I’m so horrible I don’t even know why I did it I just…”

Yoongi kissed the tops of your hands. “I know…he manipulated you didn’t he? Guys are the worst. He made you think you wanted it.”

For some reason you were not that mad at Jungkook. Maybe it was because you were too occupied with your own guilt. You did not feel like he coerced you, but telling Yoongi that wouldn’t have really mattered.

“Come on baby. Let’s move somewhere. And let’s get married. I’ll be able to give you what you need. You’ve been such a good girl for holding out so long. We can start over, together, away from all this. There’s nothing else here for us”

The idea was tempting, but your heart clenched thinking you would never see this beautiful campus again. Your friends, your classmates, none of them.

Yoongi reached into his pocket and brought out a small velvet pounch. In it was a dainty little diamond ring, the studs circling in a simple and elegant design. He held the ring to you and you simply gaped at him.

“Baby…You know I love you. I know you love me. So you messed up, who doesn’t? You’re human, and I denied you of what you needed and I am sorry for that. Marry me y/n. Marry me and leave this place with me. Let’s go where no one can ever find us, and be together forever”

You were too young for this. Sure, being in a long-term relationship might not have the same freedoms as being single, but being married was a whole other level of commitment. You knew it would come eventually, but it was still so sudden. But how could you say no? What right did you have to deny the kindness and love of this man after what you did to him? You couldn’t be an even bigger bitch and end your relationship after this could you? It would look so bad. People would think you dumped him because he didn’t want to have sex, which would make you look like a slut and then…

Your mind was dizzy. Yoongi simply chuckled, beginning to kiss the tops of your knees. Inching slowly in the direction of your thighs.

Once his lips were close enough to the hems of your pajama shorts that you were sensitive, you let out a surprised yelp. Yoongi grinned, face still pressed in the inside of your thigh, ring in hand. He wiggled his tongue in a way to push past the cloth, looking up at you briefly with a twinkle in his eye before his hot tongue barely traced your heat.

“Y…yoongi” Your heart rate picked up as Yoongi bit the crotch of your shorts and began to drag it down. It was an erotic sight, and you couldn’t help but feel shivers as you anticipated his next move. Then he did something shocking. He took the diamond ring and placed it flat against your exposed clit, his finger in the circle holding it against you. The cold metal felt amazing. He slowly dragged the ring along your folds, watching as you twitched. He lined the ring up with your entrance and next thing you know he shoved his finger through the ring and into you. You cursed loudly.

“Just say yes. Say you’ll marry me and I’ll give you everything you need baby girl”

He twisted the ring harshly against you causing you to squirm. “F…fuck yes. I’ll marry you. I love you. I love you” You were chanting like it was your mantra. Yoongi grinned and slid this ring onto your finger. He stared momentarily at your hand before returning his gaze to you and capturing your lips in a deep kiss. He kissed you with a hunger you had never quite felt from him before.

“I love you y/n. Now it’s just you and me.” He whispered as he trailed kisses down to your collar, using his skilled tongue and teeth to wiggle off each button, his hands planted on your thighs. He disrobed you, sliding your body to the edge of the chair in order to give him access. You let your legs spread wide. You almost couldn’t believe what was happening.

You had dreamt of this moment for so long. The day you would finally be able to have your boyfriend’s cock buried deep in you. The day where you could curse out his name in pleasure and love him right like he deserved.

Yoongi got up to take off his own clothes. You had never seen him fully naked before, just his chest. You always had an inkling he was big, after feeling him get hard after steamy make-out sessions. Him then politely stepping away to calm down, then cuddling with you affectionately.

His cock popped out, already hard and eager. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight. Yoongi shook his head to try to get his hair out of his eyes, and an evil smirked played his lips. He stroked his cock harshly while looking at you.

“Look at you” He sneered, “My little slut, so eager for me. You needed cock so bad you’d just go anywhere for it isn’t that right hm?” You shook your head.

“Yoongi…I’m yours…I just want you” You tried to spread your legs even wider, the chair beneath you pressing into your back uncomfortably.

Yoongi walked up close so that he was standing inches away from where your legs were splayed out for him. “Show me how sorry you are you whore” He spat. You whimpered, his words hitting too close to home. You blinked back tears as he slowly lowered himself onto you, the rails of the chair almost cutting into your skin, making you wince in pain.

“Yoongi…let’s go to the bed…” You suggested weakly as his kisses found your breasts and he nipped away at you. He shook his head, allowing his face to pummel in the suffocation of your tits.

“Do you deserve the bed?”

“No but…” You looked away, “It’s our first time”

Yoongi paused, his head still rested against the valley of your chest. He got up suddenly and gripped your hips, picking you up off the chair into his arms. Your naked legs wrapped around him, and your wet core could feel his toned stomach. You couldn’t help but grind at the friction. Yoongi kissed you again, gentler now, his lips swallowing you in so that you could feel every ounce of his pure love. He carried you to the bed and slowly released you onto you back.

He stroked himself a few more times before lining himself up with your entrance. You were soaking at this point, your pussy drooling for cock.

“I love you” He said, not looking at you so much as the desperate clenches of your pussy onto nothing.

“I love you too babe” Now he looked at you. A dark gaze had overtaken him. The love in his eyes was absolutely gone, and there seemed to me a strange aura of anger.

“You’re mine y/n. Once this cock goes in, it’s the only cock you’re ever going to get.”

“I know baby”

“I’m going to fuck you. All the time. You and me, just you and me. You’re all mine. All mine to play with”He started to rub his cock in circles against you, “My little girl, sweet little whore all for me to fuck whenever I want to.” He entered you in one thrust, causing you to yelp as the push of the girth against your walls was too sudden for you to adjust.

“Gonna fuck you up so good” He exhaled, funding into you mercileslly, “My wife, my beautiful fucking wife. My little cocksleeve, baby girl ohhhh” You squirmed in frustration as Yoongi came inside you, his hot seed reaching the depths of you and filling you to the brim. “Shit. You felt so good baby, I’m sorry”

You shook your head. You were more than pleased with the experience. “It’s okay baby.”

“I’ll make it up to you” He pulled out and rolled you into his embrace, nuzzling his face into your chest. “I’ll make you cum so many times baby, we have forever to do it. You’re all mine now”

“Yes baby, all yours”

Jungkook bit his nails nervously. He had called up an old hacker friend to help him get into Yoongi’s computer. Something was off. Jungkook would know. Cameras? It had to be Yoongi. It made too much sense, but the question was why. Why would he want the whole school to see someone else fucking his girlfriend?

“Jungkook” His friend, Seokjin, was typing away frantically into a large computer, “Bro this is fucking insane”

“What?” Jungkook rolled his seat up to get a better look at the screen. They now had accessed Yoongi’s servers, and there was all the incoming footage from various cameras all around campus. Under each panel was a small description: Y/n’s biology class, Y/n’s favorite bathroom, etc.

“This guy keeps fucking tabs on his bitch yo. I thought you said they’d been together for a while”

“They have…” Jungkook peered at the footage. “Somehow I don’t think she knows he watches her like this”

“No shit” Seokjin made wild eyes at Jungkook sarcastically and smacked him. Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“I have to tell her. Something is fucked here”

“Look, I don’t know these people, but I have heard about guys sort of isolating their girls so that they become really, like, dependent or something. So that they can take them away and do whatever they want. Pretty fucked.”

Jungkook considered his friends words. “You might be onto something…He could be guilting her into staying with him…” Like an epiphany, the pieces fell together, “Marriage. He’s gonna make her marry him.”

“That’s fucked.”

“Dude shut-up,” Jungkook snapped, his protective instinct now in overdrive. “Give me your keys, I need to tell her. I have to go save her”

“Why?” Seokjin chuckled, “It’s really none of your business. You barely know her too, you guys are nothing but classmates” Jungkook’s heart dropped at the statement.

He shouldn’t care right? He was better now. Was interfering in her life just him becoming obsessive again? Was he reading too much into it?

“Fuck. You’re right. I’m insane” He exhaled, “My first instinct was to hack into her boyfriend’s computer uh, I clearly need to calm down” Seokjin hummed in agreement as he continued to click around on Yoongi’s server.

There were a few moments of silence before something inside Jungkook just ticked. She wasn’t safe. He could just tell. She needed him. He had to find her. “No…no, dude. If there is even a slight chance that she’s in danger I can’t…I can’t let that happen” Seokjin shrugged and tossed him his keys. Jungkook let the key ring twirl on his finger as he quickly dashed out of his apartment.

Yoongi and you had been at it for hours, not being able to get enough of each other’s bodies. You were xausted, laying on the couch butt naked, straddling Yoongi and hugging him tightly. Your skin was sweaty, and so was his. You guys were sticking to one another like glue. The smell of sex was evident throughout the room. You probably would have fallen asleep like that if it weren’t for the sudden phrasing on your door.

“Y/n! Y/n are you in there! It’s Jungkook, please it’s important!” He screamed urgently. Your eyes widened and you looked at Yoongi who simply had a silly grin on his face. He released his hold on you, allowing you to get up

“Um…give me second” You called back, running to your room to find some clothes. Yoongi got dressed as well.

You opened the door and Jungkook popped inside the moment he could fit through the crack.

“I…I need to show you something” Jungkook glanced at Yoongi who was simply grinning with an interested expression. “In my apartment…please…look I know you don’t want to be seen with me, but I promise you I did not film us. I didn’t even want” Yoongi glared at him and he shut his mouth, “Look please, please Y/n you have to believe me. Come over and I’ll show you”

He was gripped your forearms tightly and you wiggled away. “Um…I’m definitely not going to go to your apartment Jungkook” You scoffed, “Just say what you have to say right here”

Jungkook gulped, and Yoongi licked his lips, extremely amused and anticipating the events that were going to follow.

“Can we talk in private?” Jungkook looked deep into your eyes, searching for any small ounce of trust you might have left in him, and ultimately coming up dry.

“No. Just say what you have to say” You said, crossing your arms.

Yoongi paced over to where Y/n was standing and placed a hand on your hip from behind. Jungkook glared at him and he glared right back.

“It was you” Jungkook said dryly, a serious expression causing him to clench his jaw, “You’re a fucking psycho”

Yoongi tilted his head to the side, “Excuse me?”

“You filmed us. She didn’t tell you to pay me to fuck her did she? Hm? No. You, you paid me to fuck her and you filmed it, you live streamed it so that the whole world could see. All so that she wouldn’t have anywhere to turn but to you. You’re a manipulative bastard and a predator and Y/n” Jungkook met your outraged eyes, “You are not safe with this guy. I have proof”

“What the fuck are you saying? Are you high?” You slapped him harshly.

There was a moment of silence as Jungkook touched the side of his face that you hit, looking back up at you bitterly. “I know it sounds crazy. But he literally has cameras following you around everywhere. He watches your every move. He’s sick. Go to his computer and check if you don’t believe me”

“Actually it’s funny you should say that” Yoongi piped in, a charming expression still on display, “The other day I found something really interesting about you Jungkook” He quickly went and grabbed his laptop, opening it up to show them the screen. “You’re calling me a psyco, but you really just want Y/n all to yourself don’t you. You’re the one who’s a creep. I mean,” He scoffed, “I can’t believe you filmed this” He pressed play.

The blood drained from Jungkook’s face. It was a video of you and him. All those years ago. Fucking senselessly, two horny teenagers, all over your house.

Your mouth hung open in shock. You blinked, looking from the screen to Jungkook to try to convince yourself what you were seeing was real.

“You…when did this happen…is that me?” You stuttered, the scenes unfolding in the video overwhelming you. It was definitely your house, and he was definitely moaning your name.

“Y/n…No, I…” Jungkook was at a loss for words. He glared at Yoongi, who was smirking still.

Jungkook grabbed your hair and shoved you up against the window, your chest pressing into the glass. Anyone walking past would be able to see your naked body on display. He let his nose trace from your ear to the back of your neck, inhaling your sweet aroma. You whined his name, trembling as his grip tightened and he pulled your hair back.

“You know how many times I’ve wanted to do this? Hm? You know how bad I’ve wanted to just bend you over and fuck you right when I see you? Years. I’ve wanted this for years. Such a sweet…sweet girl. I knew you’d taste so sweet” He thrusted into you and you moaned his name in pleasure. “Just like that my sweet baby, mmm. Scream for me. Tell me how much you love it” He turned you around and picked up through legs, stopping briefly to remove his glasses.

“Wait…” You panted, your breasts heaving with your deep expirations. “Keep them on”

Jungkook smirked.

“Why?”

“I…I like them…I like you…”

You dropped the the floor in shock. You couldn’t remember any of this, but you did remember feeling some type of way about Jungkook’s glasses. You didn’t even want to know what happened. You needed him to leave. You just wanted Yoongi. Yoongi was simple, kind, and loved you. Jungkook was only making life more and more complicated.

“Get out” You growled at him.

“Y/n…please I know how this looks but you have to believe me”

“He’s clearly obsessed with you. Went to your highschool, followed you to college and didn’t even tell you. He’s probably been stalking you this whole time” Yoongi muttered, clicking his tongue in pity, “Poor guy probably has something wired wrong in his head. I hope you get the help you need Jungkook, really. But I think you better go if Y/n doesn’t want you here” Yoongi politely put his hand on Jungkook’s back to lead him out.

“Y/n! He’s crazy. Yoongi is crazy. He paid me to have sex with you I…” Jungkook held up his wrist, “He gave me this watch! Half a million dollars to do it. See?” You looked to see he was in fact telling the truth, Yoongi’s pricey watch was on his wrist. Yoongi turned to you and gave you a concerned look.

“Oh gosh. I’ve been looking for this, I though I lost it somewhere.” He said innocently, sliding the watch off of Jungkook’s wrist. “Did you steal this Jungkook? Look, my buddy knows a really good therapist, I’ll email you his contact information, please do get some help okay”

“No…” Jungkook struggled violently against Yoongi who was calmly trying to push him out the door, “Y/n…please believe me…I…I don’t even like you okay. I don’t!”

You scoffed, hands open aimlessly as you sat on the floor, still dazed. The tape of you and Jungkook still playing.

Finally Yoongi managed to drag Jungkook out. He was gone for a bit, but you didn’t notice because you were lost in pure shock, trying to desperately search your memory for answers.

When Yoongi came back, he was wearing a pair of glasses. “Hi baby. Are you feeling any better? Poor thing” He knelt down by your side.

“Are those Jungkooks?” You asked. Yoongi nodded, taking the frames off into his hands.

“Yeah. I figured if you like them I may as well take them”

“He just gave you his glasses?”

Yoongi paused.

“I just…took them” Right after he beat in his skull with a baseball bat in the alley behind your apartment.

#bangtansmutnet #bts smut net #btssmutcentral #bangtansmutcentral #bangtansmut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic recs #jungkook smut recs #jungkook yandere #yoongi yandere #yandere!bts #yandere!yoongi #jungkook fanfic #btssmut #bts smut #yoongi fic recs #yoongi x you

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hollyhomburg · 4 years ago

Text

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 7)

(Hybrid au) (YoonMinJoon x Reader) (Mafia au)

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn’t want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Genre: Hybrid au, Polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Tags: Domestic abuse, references to sexual abuse- and choosing to have sex even though you’ve been through sa, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, mute characters, brief gore at the end, pregnant m/c, frottage, marking kink, fingering, oral f. receiving, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied death but dont worry I do not write MCD!!!!

A/n: just for posterity's sake! i was drunk when i posted this! enjoy! full gangbang comes in (y/n) next chapter! (oh god im going to hell).

W/c: 10.5k

Song Rec: Like Real People do ~ Hozier

~ Series Masterlist ~

2 Years Earlier

- If Jeon Jungkook where so esoterically inclined, he would write a book on how he had become the most dangerous man in the underworld. It would be a short book though; because Jungkook had only 2 rules for himself. The first was to always get up after he’d been hit during a fight (even if it took him a second) and the second was to know when to mind his own business.

- Jungkook was always able to get up after being hit, Even when he’d been a street kid, with not a penny to his name and a whole lot of anger in his mouth. ready to spit vitriol at anyone who would pause and listen. He’d always been able to get up. The pain giving him a kind of sick clarity that he eventually sought out instead of tried to escape. Jungkook could never think as clearly as he did during a fight; or when he was in pain. And that was probably because of his father.

- But whatever. That man was 6 feet under, (his mother on the other hand- no- that bitch certainly had more than one dept to pay still). He didn’t have a lot of time or energy to put into dealing with that particular trauma (why he honestly felt like sometimes- he liked being hit). Most of his energy went into staying alive. Even now- when living and surviving teetered on the same edge. Jungkook had more pressing matters to tend to than dealing with his own fragile mind.

- The way he would get up and hop around for a second to soak in the clarity after being hit during a scuffle was one of the reasons why he’d been given his street name: The Playboy Bunny; further set in stone with his tattoo of the same moniker under his left eye. A cheekbone he’d tap and say “you want to hit me? why don’t you try your luck and see how well it turns out for you.”

- He was doing reconnaissance, Sneaking around the back alley with his hood up and his glasses on- disguising his black eye that was sure to get more than a few looks from passers-by. The ears of the playboy bunny tattoo peeking out over the top of his mask.

- He keeps his eyes on the crowd waiting for some sort of handoff- to see anything at all. But he’d lost his target through the crowd and has no drive to find them in the dizzying rush of people and umbrellas. Not yet. Not when the hum of addiction lurks in his veins.

- Jungkook pauses lighting a cigarette, when a commotion to the side hidden around a corner- blurs his concentration. The world snapping back into focus when he sinks his fingernails into his palm. Terse voices. A couple fighting in the alleyway perpendicular to his.

- Minding his own business was a particular skill of his- it took one kind of person to know when to step in, and another to know which problems weren't worth the headache. And unless it involved the acquisition money or some step therein, it wasn’t a problem worth getting into in Jungkook’s opinion.

- But Jungkook can’t stop his ears from hearing snippets of conversation, a low and angry male voice. The sound of a smack. “You just had to embarrass me like that, didn’t you? First, you come out dressed like a slob and then you act like a fucking whore- I swear if I see you give eyes to another man this week I'll beat you five ways to Sunday”

- The sound of a soft female voice, so quiet- almost indistinguishable from the pouring rain, “I wasn’t-” another smack.

- Jungkook has been hit so many times he knows the sound of it, the ragged gasp the woman lets out, also quite- like even the pain takes up too much space.

- His body starts to move before his mind thinks it through as he gives up position in favor of investigating the noise. There he sees it, ivy growing up the wall next to the back exit of some restaurant. A woman, small crouching in front of a grotesque man. A baggy coat buttoned tight around her small form. hair swept back in a tight bun. Red lipstick smudged. Though you check your hands and think its blood for a moment before you remember you’re wearing it.

- Jungkook waits for a moment before he watches you stand on shaky legs. you get up.

- The rest of the underworld might be old grudges and blood feuds but Jungkook was only here to be a businessman. He didn’t have time for ego and arrogance, let alone time for altruism...

- Usually.

- He looks on for a moment, too sluggish without nicotine, but Jungkook’s lingering stare almost seems to spur the man on. He’s wearing a jacket with a military patch, a badge; some sort of congratulation for service done no doubt. and Jungkook feels his distaste for the man deepen.

- “What you looking at punk?” he slurs. Stalking forward as if to shove Jungkook. He almost wants to tut- that would be an expensive action. Jungkook wonders if the man is maybe high or drunk or both. He’s has had his fair share of experience with junkies and he knows one when he sees one.

- “Nothing, just a pig beating his girlfriend.” The man settles for shoving Jungkook back. And Jungkook lets him. You don’t look up, don’t do anything but lean to the side, like the brick wall is the only thing keeping you up. Jungkook sees the back of your hand, black and blue, the other bruises on your neck. You only make eye contact with him once. Just slightly. Barely in passing.

- You look like Jungkook used to look. He remembers in the savage bite of an open-handed slap- the fear he sees in your eyes. He looks and looks. And it aches so viscerally as Jungkook watches you go, your hurt echoes through him. You look beaten down and broken like Jungkook used too; before he’d decided he was done taking punches from people who were supposed to love him- Were supposed to care.

- (Before he realized life wasn't supposed to hurt)

- He’s never been one to feel things for other people, the empathy sparing him through most of the suffering he’s seen. It’s not that he’s unfeeling; it’s just that Jungkook’s life has forced him to feel concerned only for himself and no one else. His own survival is his first priority; Not others.

- He watches you walk away, And you don’t look back at him. Rushing to keep up with your husband's steps. He waits until you disappear into the crowd before he lifts his phone to his ear and makes a call. “Hey, I need you to flag all of the cars that leave the parking lot, they’re just a couple, should be coming to you soon.”

- Jeon Jungkook had become the most powerful man in the underworld because of two reasons; by being able to take punches, and by knowing when to mind his own business.

- But For this, Jungkook thinks he can make an exception.

- (You won't remember meeting Jeon Jungkook, but Jungkook will always remember you).

~.~

Now

-It comes as no surprise that your little speech fades after a few days and the rest of the hybrids quick to return to treating Yoongi with a mix of disdain and fear. Though mostly- this seems to be caused by Minhyung's group and the other canine hybrids. Namjoon hears them whispering about ‘favoritism’ before they catch on that he’s listening in. And in the days following your impromptu departure from the farm, you find people quiet even further whenever Yoongi's brought up. Staring when Yoongi comes close, afraid to interact with him.

- Even Jimin is greeted mostly with silence from all but a few. The bunny hybrids don’t act so skittish anymore, and the cat hybrids could care less used to sticking to their own group. Taehyung seems to have encouraged the other bear hybrids to make an actual effort and they at least say hello now. It’s better than the derisive comments of the dog hybrids, or the snooty noses stuck high in the air of the dear hybrids and other exotic breeds.

- They know Jimin is close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and now he feels even more like an outsider that before (somehow it doesn't matter as much as before). The only ones who don’t act overtly different are the new hybrids; Hoseok and the small lion hybrid. but They were never around to learn how to hate Yoongi in the first place.

- it's a little cute- the way that Hoseok will always shout Yoongi's name in greeting (though you're unsure if that's just his personality now that he's started to grow into himself). Hoseok is unbothered by Yoongi's reaction; to shy away from anything that will draw more attention to himself. But Hoseok's smile is so bright and elastic that even he has a hard time ignoring the otter hybrid. You hope there will be a friendship there eventually, that yoongi will open up to more than just your group.

- The little lion kit is a new addition too, she's not the only young feline hybrid you have at the farm but she is the friendliest. She gets pretty close to the other cats that work in the kitchen almost instantly. Probably on account of her young age (she's barely 7) and the eldest cat hybrid seems to be particularly fond of the little one.

- She's curious and kind to Yoongi too- excitedly running up to him more than once to show him a little rock or some flower she found- and yoongi will marvel and nod, and if Jimin is near- he'll lean close and tell her how pretty it is.

- She doesn't seem at all deterred by Yoongi's lack of voice. one day she even sees Jimin, her ears perking up excitedly, tail swishing. "Hello Yoonies voice!" it's a little cute- even if it does make yoongi splutter a little. But she's not exactly wrong; Jimin does talk for yoongi more these days.

- She Always comes bounding up to you and giggling happily to be picked up. Her little legs stretching around your waist, small bottom sat atop your baby bump. Making you get the kind of look that makes Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin sigh and look impossibly fond. They can only imagine what you’re going to be like once your little one is born. Your due date is barely 2 months away.

- In truth- you’re starting to get a little bit big. You say it one morning with Namjoon. After he asks you why you’re looking into the mirror with such a displeased expression. The sound of your terse voices alerts Yoongi and he comes to the door to your bedroom to witness your spat. Making a flippant hand movement at Namjoon to back off. Namjoon could smell your distress on you when you looked in the mirror, his voice tense but breaking. “Baby just tell me, why you think you’re not beautiful like that? let me understand. Cuz to me- you look more irresistible every day.”

- It’s not that you exactly wanted him to agree with you that you were nearing the size of a whale- but this doesn’t help at all either. His unending insistence- doesn’t he see? when he looks in the mirror doesn’t he see what you do? His instance that everything is alright doesn't help when you’re feeling this self-conscious.

- Yoongi helps you, fiddling with Namjoon’s closet for a second before he pulls out an extra-large white shirt of his and helps you into it- tying it loosely over your baby bump so that it flatters your waist a little more. The attention that Yoongi shows you clearly making you flustered. Then he drags you to the mirror, tugging your hair out of its bun, the tension going out of your shoulders.

- Yoongi doesn’t know it, but Namjoon does. Your late husband used to always be so particular about your hair, yanking on it harshly if it was left down. and An easy way to avoid him yanking on it was to leave it up. And sometimes you still pull it up convinced it’s safer even though he’s dead and gone. It’s scary how simple it is- but the second your hair comes down your whole body relaxes.

- All the while Namjoon watches from your bed. And you take in yourself, the baby hairs free-floating against your forehead; Yoongi curls one gently around his finger and then lets it go. You take in the way that the fabric hangs now, making you look a little more proportional, Yoongi gives you a satisfied smile behind your back and you have to sigh and admit it. “Okay- okay- I’ll give you this- I’m not a whale”

- “And even if you where you’d be a pretty whale.” Yoongi has the good sense to hurl a pillow in Namjoon’s direction, but it makes you laugh all the same- the heaviness in your chest abated a little. Your sleeve brushing Yoongi’s as you head downstairs, Namjoon trailing behind.

- The beach trip was a nice distraction from chores but the real work comes crashing down on them the next few days. Your little group feels closer than ever, you rarely part from any of them for long and their intention, their little acts of care never fail to make you feel flustered and taken care of.

- Jimin always holds out a hand for you to take when you’re stepping over uneven ground, Yoongi makes a startled noise whenever you so much as get close to a hose that might trip you, always gesturing for you to pause and take a break whenever you’re working in the garden. Namjoon too, always running back and forth from whatever project he’s working on to check on you and make sure you have water or food.

- At night, Namjoon takes your stretch mark cream from you, rubbing down your baby bump and your hips, the little lines of lighter skin on your waist get little kisses from him.

- Even if you want just a snack, Namjoon and Yoongi will bring you a full meal- convinced that you need to be eating more than you are. At dinner Yoongi fills up your plate- piling it high with more food then you could fit in your already crowded tummy. And he always eyes you suspiciously when you can’t finish the full plate. Namjoon too will level you with a look- asking if you really are full.

- Since your pregnancy has progressed, you’ve become a little moodier, and a little hornier whenever way the wind blows. And Namjoon doesn’t help that much at all- and by that you mean, he makes it worse. When he comes out of the field with his shirt off and tucked into his shorts all of his thickness, his muscles that make you ravenous.

- During lunch one day he drags you away to a forgotten tool shed, though it would be easier just to go up the hill to your bedroom- you feel like teenagers sneaking around like this.

- Namjoon presses into you as he hits the latch on the door, muffling your giggles with kisses as you hide from the hybrids outside, voices that you can dimly hear, unable to pick out any one particular yet- but you know they're there.

- You and Namjoon might bicker like an old married couple. But you also act like teenagers gooey and giggly and so so so in love. “Do you think that they can hear you like this? Or smell you, my love?” Namjoon is always quick to tell you how delectable you smell when you’re horny. His more sensitive nose-picking it up the second you feel a slickening between your thighs.

- You’re shaky when you respond. “I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon always has this passionate intense air about him. He’s slightly possessive- but you’d never fault him for that not when it’s all about protecting and providing for you. Not when he always puts your pleasure first (you feel like you may have turned into a slight pillow princess with him).

- Namjoon heaves you up onto the edge of a bench and then gets on his knees. Gently lifting your leg over his shoulder. He’s always mindful of how much you can move in your swollen state. He checks to make sure he’s not bending your hips in an uncomfortable way.

- You put your hands back on the dusty bench to stabilize yourself as you lie back, Namjoon wastes no time in pressing his face close to your cunt and inhaling, His nose prodding at the thin fabric of your underwear. One of his ears caught on the hem of your dress. His fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs- so full and healthy it makes him hard in his pants.

- He’s slow with the appreciation of your thighs and hips. Hands gripping and moving on to touch and feel like you have all the time in the world. But you hear voices outside the tool shed you’ve commandeered and you could just slip out and go back up to your house- but somehow you like this better. The thought of being discovered stirring an unsure heat in your stomach.

- You can hear Taehyung's voice, and then- like a shock through your core- you hear Jimin’s. Namjoon can feel your jolt. And you realize- his sensitive ears must have known who it was before your own human ones did. He chuckles- teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear, almost daring to slip inside.

- You almost whine when you think about what you’re being denied- the harsh pull of his fingers that you’re so addicted too, how thick his fingers and knuckles feel (almost as nice as his cock) when they pull out and push in.

- Yoongi and Namjoon have always had the most lovely hands, it’s strange that when Namjoon touches you- you think about Yoongi’s hands. The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. "you're thinking about them aren't you," The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. Because yeah; Yoongi and Jimin are apart of Namjoon’s pack too, and bonding and group sex are kind of the same thing to hybrids. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d found a group of cat hybrids all tangled together in the grass the other day.

- Namjoon is always so gentle with you because of your condition, but you find your hips jerking with want. His fingers still when he feels the way your wetness has spilled out the sides. His thumb pressed over your clit teasingly. “smell so good when you're like this So wet my love, are you thinking about them finding you like this?”

- “Y-yes” you confess, and Namjoon growls, nipping at you through the fabric, the feel of his teeth brushing you, over the sensitive skin. The fabric cushioning the feeling, makes you almost gush, and you know you’ll be shakily legged by the time he lets you get down. And that he won’t let you get away from him until he’s taken care of you in this way, sated you in every sense of the word.

- But he can also tell how shy you are, the heat under your skin at the thought of being discovered. always unsure how much of your dirty talk is a real want and not just something you like in theory. Namjoon knows the idea of sharing you with the others might seem like the most natural and hottest thing; to love you alongside them. but to you- a human, hybrid sex and hybrid bedroom dynamics aren't as given.

- So he leans close, sliding your underwear down your legs slowly, letting you feel the heat of his palms on your skin. You're getting worked up a little too quickly, your heaving breaths needy. God damn pregnancy hormones you'd say if you could think beyond the plush feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. “Gotta clean you up for them, if they smelled you like this- then they’d know wouldn’t they?”

- You prove Namjoons initial assumption wrong. “What if I-” you whisper- gasping quietly as Namjoon drags the fabric to the side and glides a delicate lick over your folds. “What if I want them to know?” the pleasure thrumming through your body as Namjoon licks up your slit. Namjoon stills, ears perked, eyes flashing in the half-light. The snarl against your cunt loud and echoic.

- The voices outside fall silent and Namjoon doesn't stop his ravenous licking no matter if you have to bite your lip to keep your noises in. One of your hands scrambling to pull at his hair and find something to grip onto and anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. Jimin is the first one to puncture the silence, “What was that?”

- Then comes Seokjin's voice “all of you- move along- whoever it is they probably don’t want the three of you listening in like a bunch of horn dogs” which is basically a confirmation that they were listening in, and that Yoongi was there too.

- When you finally exit the toolshed with weak legs, sure you’re going to have to at least got change your underwear. You find a bleary-eyed Seokjin a few dozen feet away, obviously upwind of the toolshed. he levels Namjoon with a tired expression. “You both have dirt on your knees” Namjoon has the good sense to look shy at that. You hastily brush off the spots on his, and he on yours.

- If Jimin and Yoongi smell anything on you later- they don’t say anything and the idea that they might make you feel hot all over whenever they lean in too close. You think you see a blush on Yoongi’s face more than once, and maybe see him adjust his pants out of the corner of your eye, but Jimin seems blissfully unaware.

- You have a check-up at the doctor’s office in the coming days. And although only Namjoon is allowed in the room with you (they have a two-person maximum because the ultrasound room is tiny), Yoongi and Jimin also accompany you. Namjoon comes bounding out after, waving the picture and smiling so so wide, both Yoongi and jimin leaning in close to get a better look- they’re so enamored with the little photo. And when you get home- Namjoon shows anyone that asks how the check-up went, eventually hanging it on one of the two fridges in the kitchen.

- Jimin is the only one who seems to notice the jealous looks- because you went out for ice-cream after and come home with them still partially melting (you’d had another craving- french-fries dunked in ice cream of all things). One of the other hybrids having heard Jimin talk to Tae about the beach trip too. They come to you at the end of the day, 2 bunnies, a cat, a fox and one of the bears- a mish moshed group of hybrids; petitioning you to start the beach trips for everyone.

- You can only fit so many people into the back of your truck so you pick a day and start a raffle for spots. Jimin throws his name into the hat just in case but to his surprise, Yoongi doesn’t. No matter how much Jimin bugs him too; He won’t agree to accompany Jimin to the beach again. Shaking his head with a roll of his eyes back tipped back against the grass, his sunhat crumpled. Offering up a few sweet tomatoes to soothe Jimin’s sour nerves.

- The peace lasts for a couple of days before they’re right back to treating Yoongi like shit and for some reason, it pisses Jimin off more. No matter how many times he’s heard Namjoon asks Yoongi to please tell him when anything happens. The snake hybrid seems unable to fight back.

- Jimin asks one of the hybrids why she won’t look at Yoongi (after the snake has already gone up the hill to retrieve another dish for dinner) and beyond a startled look, she just says “none of us can smell him” she throws a stack of paper towels down onto the table angrily. The deer hybrid across from them stumbling with their silver wear But she doesn’t need to re-iterate herself. Jimin understands- it’s hard to trust someone who can lie to your face- and in the world of hybrids where emotions can be decreed from a simple sniff, Jimin can’t say he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

- Doesn’t excuse their behavior, however. After all- Jimin can smell Yoongi’s emotions through his scent and he didn't realize that was something strange until now. To Jimin, Yoongi’s scent is soft and sweet- something gummy and soft like a marshmallow. But that’s probably because he spends so much time with the hybrid. The others only spend so much time around him and are unused to his scent. And the fact that he never talks and never tries to socialize doesn’t help.

- Jimin can’t imagine not wanting to smell more of it- not leaning in whenever the other hybrid passes. Jimin wants to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and rub his cheek all over it. The same way that Namjoon does to him in the morning if he shows up before he’s changed from his pajamas. And he knows he smells soft like sleep- an alluring smell to the older alpha when he comes down the stairs, ears straight up eyes wide as he takes in all of Jimin's vulnerability.

- and it might have to do with what Taehyung had said- that alphas eat up that sort of thing.

- Namjoon smells good too, his scent all soft mornings and sleepy walks, the older hybrid large and so pliant in his sleepiness, eyes swollen and face puffy as he hides in Jimin’s shoulder. Sending his pine scent all over so that it sticks to jimin no matter where he is. So that jimin will smell like Namjoon all day.

- One of the cat hybrids at the sink rolls her eyes. But when you come down the stairs smelling much the same. You touch his arm so softly in passing, like you can’t believe you’re allowed. And Jimin’s senses are a dizzying blur of cream, peaches, pine, and marshmallow.

- when he goes back to the barns, hazy at being scented by Namjoon so thoroughly. Taehyung levels him with a funny look and a chuckle. "you're more devious than anyone gives you credit for" thought Taehyung means it good-naturedly- it's good to have a friend to ask how to go about flirting with. the other hybrids gathered on the couch in front of the tv; some cartoon playing- pretend like they're not listening in.

- "How do you know so much when you don't have a pack of your own Tae?" he asks over breakfast, the two of them clutching breakfast burritos on their way to check Tae's bees. Tae doesn't meet Jimin's eyes "you're just lucky- most hybrids dont find a pack so easily Jimin" his words aren’t jealous- only a little patronizing. And Jimin accepts it because he knows he has a lot to learn.

- Taehyung is right- out of all of the hybrids at the farm, there are only a few who have paired up or even made stronger groups or multi-person packs. the bunnies and the cats don't form set generally- though there are a few pairs and more than a few throuples.

- Jimin as caught Yeonjun making out with a tabby more than once- has learned to avoid certain sections of the woods all together because everyone knows that's where the bunny hybrids like to go in the afternoons. The canine hybrids are the only ones who have packs, though there are more than half a dozen loners like jimin and namjoon.

- It's hard for Jimin to cohabitate with them even though there are other larger predators and more than a few prey hybrids living in Jimin's barn. he hadn’t really realized until taehyung pointed it out that each different pack occupied one corner of the punk room. More than once- the room in the barns has felt hostile if only for the packs that have claimed either corner of the bunkroom. it's usual to wake up and find more than one of the pups cuddling with another in one single bed.

- Having reciprocated love in his pack shouldn't feel like an impossibility to Jimin. But still, when Yoongi steps close- an inch too far away, his fingertips barely brushing- Jimin just- yearns. It’s a soft sort of yearning, the kind that has jimin jumping up whenever Yoongi needs something. Has him settling a think knit blanket over Yoongi’s nobly knees during movie nights, and sticking his own feet underneath the edge of the blanket. Feet Pressed to the clothed line of his calf. Maybe nothing will ever come of it, But Jimin yearns with everything he’s got regardless.

- In the late hours of the night, when Jimin lies awake thinking about the three of you. An instinct welling inside of him that says he should walk up the hill and fall asleep on your couch just to be closer to you three (the pack instinct- Taehyung calls it, looking a little bit sad himself when jimin asks him, the other hybrid moving away before jimin can ask exactly what that means) Jimin wonders if his feelings will ever be reciprocated.

- But love is a strange thing, it’s not just about saying it with kisses or touches- though Jimin wants them too. There is love in the small things, in building something together so that’s what Jimin tries to do. Every day- he takes to gardening with a new vigor. Shouting in joy when you harvest some of the tomatoes- filling up a whole gallon bucket with the amount that have ripened over the last week. Your peppers and cucumbers are beginning to produce more too.

- Jimin and Yoongi run to Namjoon just to give him a handful. The alpha gives each of them a sweet nuzzle in thanks, even if Yoongi chirps and moves back after a moment. A flush high on his cheek. Namjoon looking up at Yoongi from where he’s stopped- cheek on the elder's shoulder. The snake relaxing after a moment.

- You spend the rest of the day showing Jimin and Yoongi how to prepare the tomatoes to make a sauce, roasting them on low heat. Cutting garlic so so carefully, and whenever Jimin looks across the prep table- Yoongi’s gaze darts away. halfway through- yoongi stoops down, sticking his socked feet into jimin’s lap, and it feels so nice, to have their weight there.

- You go over to Yoongi at one point, and he tips his head back to look up at you. The back of his head is at the right height to lye up against your baby bump. And Jimin watches, as you slowly, so slowly, brush the hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his face into your hand. Letting out a low happy grumble when you take his action as positive reinforcement, and drag your nails over his scalp. In Jimin’s lap, Yoongi’s toes curl.

- It feels strange- and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it- but it almost feels like Yoongi is letting you all touch him more than ever. Suddenly okay with touches- as long as it’s in a more private setting. Jimin can’t say he’s unhappy about it. Maybe one-day yoongi will even let Jimin scent mark him.

- Jimin smiles at Yoongi’s happy little snake grumbles. And keeps chopping his garlic. Is happy to receive the same kind of scratch from you a few minutes later. Though he might abandon his chopping in favor of rubbing his face all over your stomach when the instinct strikes him. Jimin unintentionally lets out a growl when you start to move away. Slapping a hand over his mouth and apologizing, no matter how you and Yoongi laugh.

- Still, despite the happiness, you have in your kitchen, in your house, whenever you’re around each other. The rest of the world is not so kind.

- An adoption day comes at arguably the worst and best time. There is still a fair amount of friction between your group and the rest of the hybrids. And a few outsiders at the farm only make it worse. Though Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon aren’t the only hybrids who wear red stickers to indicate that they are not available for adoption.

- Hoseok surprisingly- grabs a yellow sticker. And the three of your hybrids watch- as Seokjin hovers around him- a red sticker on his own lapel- wary of all and anyone who interacts with the otter hybrid. His glares putting off all but the most attentive patrons. That's where it starts.

- Jimin is unfortunately caught in the middle when seokjin confronts hoseok. off to help the three of them bring down 3 trays of cut watermelon for the hybrids and the patrons. The dinner tables have been set out on the side of the field piled high with Hors d'oeuvre. You’re there with Namjoon greeting the humans. Games are set out too- for the hybrids and humans to play.

- it’s no secret that they’ve gotten close, and jimin had assumed they’d talked about it- but apparently not. Seokjin is so angry he’s nearly crying. “why- hoseok- why do you want to leave the farm?” Hoseok’s little otter ears are tight against his scalp. “I just- I didn’t want to assume?”

- “Oh- so you’d rather just- throw away everything that we’re trying- all of this- you don’t you dont want to stay do you-” Jimin has never seen seokjin looking so lost, and he knows enough to guess that Seokjin’s anger is at least in part to due to some trauma (later- Jimin will find out that Seokjin’s mother left him with his last owner- an abusive man- to save herself).

- Jimin knows enough to get in between them, telling them to calm down and spend a minute away from each other. Jimin ends up with Hoseok- “it’s hard Jimin- how do you, how do you have so much sureness with Y/n? with Namjoon and yoongi too? How do you look at them and trust that you should stay?” Hoseok's eyes remain on Jimin's red tag.

- Jimin sighs, thinking it through, “do you look at Seokjin and know he cares about you? like- do you know it in your bones?” Hoseok bites his lower lip, “yes- but-”

- “Then you should stay Hoseok,” Jimin walks Hoseok up to the main house where the stickers sit on the prep table. Changing out his yellow one for a red one. And when they head off back down the hill, Seokjin is waiting on the path with Yoongi, apologizing and dragging Hoseok away to the barns where Seokjin’s own private room is. Hoseok goes willingly, smiling up at the older hybrid. His narrow shoulders cuddled under one of Seokjin's wide ones.

- jimin has to admit, an otter and an alpaca are a weird combination for a hybrid pack (But no stranger than a pair of puppies and a snake). His thoughts drift towards Taehyung- and Jimin hopes that his friend won't end up alone. it must not be easy- to see all of you pair off like this.

- in some ways, that adoption day is full of just as much bullshit as they usually are. there are always people who dont understand the effort it takes to take care of a hybrid- they aren't just like any ordinary pet. it's easy to spot the ones that view them as pets- and less like people. You get a few rich people looking to adopt a companion as always.

- A substantial group of families also look to adopt similarly aged companions for their single children. And you agree to more than one possible test weekend. You’re always so particular about letting the children go, so wary and so careful in the way you let them interact with the families.

- Though they don’t have parents here- there are more than a few good role models and parental figures. More than one child chooses a red tag for themselves. And they always know have a right to it- no matter how young they are. You make it clear to the group of them; If they don’t want to be adopted they don’t have to be.

- You even get one couple- the woman withdrawn and sad, and a slightly jealous look at your own pregnant stomach says more than any words could. It’s pretty common for women who can’t have children to adopt hybrid children. and though some of it doesn't sit right with you, You aren’t one to judge.

- Jimin spends most of the adoption day helping you balance the need for food and for games. running back and forth to the house to help. Though there is a little work that needs to be done here and there just to keep the farm running as usual. grey storm clouds roll in halfway through the day, puncturing the blue sky- foretelling scattered showers and storms. and jimin hopes it will cut the adoption day short so that you can return to your routines.

- Jimin is just helping Yoongi putting away a broken badminton net When it happens- Jimin isn’t certain why it does. Only that he hears the words outside the shed after Yoongi's just excited to grab the broken rackets (Namjoon isn't the only clumsy hybrid you have at the farm).

- “oh sorry- ew gross,” a shrill female voice says, and then he rounds the corner and sees yoongi picking himself up from the dirt- a rich lady and her peacock hybrid looking down at him like he’s the dirt beneath his shoes. The peacock hybrid has Yoongi’s sun hat in his hands and there is another hybrid- a wolf hybrid from the farm with a green sticker on his shirt, who growls down at yoongi.

- His shoulders shake too the way they do when he’s been touched and he doesn’t want to be. Jimin has seen you brush your fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand, has even felt the coolness of the snake hybrid through the fabric when the elder grabbed his sleeve. Has touched him even more intimately as of late. But he knows that Yoongi can’t tolerate being touched by people he doesn’t trust- doesn’t want to touch him. basically, anyone, that's, not you, Namjoon, or Jimin himself.

- “Hey- what the fuck!” Jimin spits, grabbing the sunhat out of the hybrid's hand with a growl, his ears flat against his head. If Jimin had elongated canines like Namjoon they would be barred in anger as he shoves the larger hybrid back. Yoongi shrinks impossibly smaller behind him.

- Jimin is hot and itchy from the heat and the humidity, and he really just wants to shower and cool off. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with entitled people today. And more importantly- no one touches Yoongi on Jimin’s watch.

- The hybrid looks surprised to be talked to in that way, he’s nearly a head taller than Jimin let alone the slightly taller feathers that poke out of the top of his head that give him the appearance of several more inches- but Jimin’s intimidating enough with his set expression to send the hybrid huffing away. Feathers fluffed.

- The peacock's iridescent feathers stand up on end as he grabs the hand of his human owner, her diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the sunlight. “This was getting boring anyway. Sorry” he tosses over his shoulder at the canine hybrid, who looks so disappointed his ears pinned back against his head. They only give him that- barely a look, before they’re heading off down the hill in the direction of the line of cars parked on the grass.

- The wolf hybrid deflates audibly- watching the woman and the other hybrid disappear down the hill. promises of home and family disappearing in a moment, but Jimin has to think- if they’d be discouraged so easily- were they really worth it? The wolf hybrid doesn't seem to think so- Turning his angry tear-filled eyes on Jimin.

- But Jimin can see the hate in his eyes and knows not to mistake the tears for only sadness. “You both ruin everything” he growls out- before they too run back towards the barns- no doubt to tell the others how Yoongi had sabotaged their adoption. Even though that was far from the truth. in all honestly- yoongi just bumped into the lady- or more probably- the lady bumped into him when he was on his way out of the shed.

- Jimin holds out his sunhat to Yoongi, who takes it from Jimin carefully, Jimin doesn’t linger on the fact that his hand still shakes. Jimin’s hand lingers somewhere close enough where Yoongi could touch it could reach out if he wants too. If he wants to get that kind of comfort from Jimin's touch- then Jimin will willingly give it.

- a faint flush coats the elder's cheeks. Oh no- he must be overheating then, Jimin feels a rush of concern. He knows what you would do, hover your hand close enough to Yoongi’s forehead, usher him upstairs for a break in the air conditioning, and a glass of icy lemonade.

- All they can hear is the shouts of laughter at the games the others play in the fields, “I understand why you don’t want to stay in the barns, why you don’t want to socialize with some of them, they’re so unkind to you it makes me crazy.” Jimin shakes his head, sour anger filling him like a rotten peach.

- Yoongi, looks more than pacified, looking up at Jimin with an indecipherable look. Most of the time, Jimin can get a good guess on how he’s feeling but not now- not that indecipherable heaviness he finds there. or the strangely heavy marshmallow scent that’s fluffed around them. Jimin lets go of Yoongi’s hat.

- After a moment Yoongi nods, and Jimin takes it as a thank you. They’re done for the day and dinner won’t be for another few hours or so. Jimin is ready to avoid some of the strangers and hopefully take advantage of the empty showers. The sky is grey with incumbent storm clouds when Jimin makes his way to the shower buildings which he finds blissfully empty; except for the bear hybrid Jackson that tosses a greeting at Jimin before exiting.

- Jimin doesn’t even bother to flick the lights on, instead of settling for the calm light that comes through the skylights, grey and hazy. the storm clouds have started to roll in properly. He hums as he disrobes, goes to grab his favorite strawberry body wash, and picks the last shower at the end, disrobing in relative comfort, glad for a moment of privacy.

- The blissfully Coldwater does wonders for his overheating muscles, relaxing his body deliciously from a day spent walking up and down the hill. he digests the chaos of the day- seokjin and hoseok fighting, yoongi getting shoved. you'd looked frazzled the last time he'd seen you, smile strained as you made small talk with most of the humans, Namjoon always close incase you needed someone to lean on.

- Jimin had been able to tell that your feet were sore just by looking at you. Namjoon will probably make you sit down before long, maybe he already has. You’ll probably cut off the adoption day because of the rain. Taking down names and information before you send them on their way. You rarely let a hybrid leave the farm after one adoption day, needing to have more private meetings and house calls to willingly part with one of them. You just want to make sure you dont release them back into another abusive household.

- He hums as he washes, lingering in the water and taking a longer shower than he usually would. He hums, testing the way his vocal cords wrap around the acoustics of the empty high ceilinged room.

Then he hears the scuffling of someone in the bathroom too and cuts off. A little abashed at being caught. The rustling getting closer and its a moment before he realizes that the rustling is coming from his own section of the bath. he smells him the second before he pulls the shower curtain gets pulled back.

- “Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, furiously grabbing at something to cover his nakedness. Jimin furiously tries to cover his crotch, grabbing one of the large bargain bottles of shampoo and hold it there even as cold water runs over his face. Getting into his wide eyes. “Yoongi what the fuck! You’re naked!”

- Jimin is glad that the rumors about snake hybrids having double the appendages as a normal hybrid are false but he can’t stop his blush or his wandering eyes as he sees the snake hybrid in full. Or the hot lick of arousal that shocks him through his core- especially when he recognizes the heaviness to Yoongi's scent as being arousal.

- there is a single moment, jimin can smell yoongi- can see the want in his eyes, can feel his own scent fluff out to meet his, yoongi sags under the weight of Jimin's scent as the surprise dissipates. "do you-" Jimin's face must be brighter than a tomato. He reaches out a tentative hand, "do you want to-"

- Before Jimin can do much more than that Yoongi’s lips are on his, tentative but firm and passionate, the fire leaking into him from Yoongi as jimin stumbles in surprise. The kiss tastes like thank you and Ive wanted to do this for longer than i care to admit and everything yoongi can't say, can't let slip past his lips. jimin drops the shampoo bottle which narrowly misses his foot as Yoongi’s hands come up to encircle his jaw so softly like Yoongi is holding the most important thing in his world. Jimin is so shocked that for a moment- he doesn’t kiss back and Yoongi retracts- not before Jimin chases his lips and the snake hybrid returns to him.

- It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever touched Jimin so bare, and the snake’s hands on the back of his neck feel cold and shivery but good. As Jimin’s back hit’s the wall and their fronts press together for a moment, just brushing. Then colliding with more force as they both realize how good it feels to be so close to someone you trust. It’s dizzying- intoxicating, and Jimin knows his mouth is moving sloppily even if he wants to kiss Yoongi with just as much intent.

- The snake hybrid bites- actually bites- down on Jimin’s tongue. And a strangled whine comes to live and die in his throat. A snarl in his ears from Yoongi's mouth as the snake hybrid keeps his biting, moves to Jimin's throat- bites hard Enough that Jimin knows he'll leave a bruise. "leave more- yoongi please mark me" jimin feels hot with the thought of it- the thought of all the other hybrids being able to smell yoongi on his scent gland.

- Jimin doesn’t know where to put his hands, he knows enough to know that Yoongi doesn’t like to be touched and unsure if it extends to right now. but it seems okay if he’s doing the touching. His hands sliding down Jimin's back to his waist. He’s a good kisser, the best that Jimin’s ever kissed (not that there have been many) and he tips his head forward to put as much scalding force as he can into it when yoongi leaves his neck in favor of his mouth, trying to match Yoongi’s intensity even if he can’t match his skill.

- Yoongi takes a step forward, and Jimin’s cock brushes his hipbone, and he can’t stop the way his hips jump at the contact, brushing into Yoongi further. Jimin’s blood boils with arousal. Yoongi is equally as hard compared to Jimin. And Jimin doesn't know if its water or precum that he feels on his skin. Can't look down to check.

- By the time Yoongi leans back and finishes running his fingers through Jimin’s hair and over his shoulders. Jimin’s so wound up he feels like he’s about the pass out. The cool water cascading over his back doing nothing to settle him. Yoongi moves his hips- testing the waters, as he grinds, works jimin’s hips into an unsteady rhythm. and jimin moans.

- Yoongi pulls back, looking at jimin, their noses brushing, like he can’t bear to have jimin farther away from him than this, want heavy in his eyes, and Jimin tastes the words on Yoongi’s lips as good as if he’d said them. “Yoongi” jimin breathes. Palms pressed carefully to the shower wall so that he won’t reach out and yank Yoongi closer. But he’s Weak against the wake of this of all this feeling.

- “fuck- kiss me again- can we- ” Jimin feels strung out, his body heavy with something like heat- maybe Jimin is actually having a heat and it’s not just in his imagination (he wouldn't really know what it felt like- never having had one before because of his malnutrition). But This kind of kissing is certainly enough to trigger one.

- Yoongi opens his mouth for a second, almost like he’s about to speak- or to try to, Jimin’s never been sure if he can- if it’s muteness or just Yoongi being selective. And then in the next moment, Yoongi’s gone, almost tripping on his way out of the showers with how fast he’s leaving jimin. A whine dies in his throat and jimin starts after him, But then Yoongi turns back. Gesturing with a hand for jimin to stay put. Yoongi looks angry, and it takes a moment for Jimin to realize that the anger wasn’t directed at jimin- only at Himself.

- Jimin stays in the shower, water thundering down around him as the sky overhead thunders too. Jimin listens to the faint sound of Yoongi dressing and then leaving the showers. Jimin lets him go. So sure that he has absolutely no idea what just happen- or even if he didn’t imagine the whole thing.

- jimin’s hand on himself doesn't feel nearly good as Yoongi’s did.

- Yoongi’s hands shake all the way back up the hill, and he hopes his wet hair won’t be too suspicious especially when a mixed group of hybrids crosses his path. Returning to the barns as most of the adoption day festivities have ended.

- Yoongi’s careful to keep his eyes averted. And like usual- the conversation comes to a halt when Yoongi passes them by. It no longer bugs him the way it might have once. They have a good reason not to want to associate with him. Yoongi’s body shakes with the weight of the things he’s done and the things he’s going to do.

- you gather with 3 families on your porch as you take down their names and contact information. You send yoongi a concerned look as he quickly heads inside the house. Pausing only for a moment before he decides to go to Namjoon first. Later- later he’ll ask you too.

- Stupid- he’s been so stupid recently. Touching you- indulging in these short sweet touches because he wants more so badly. Knows he can never have it doesn’t stop the wanting. If his owner ever found out what he’s done- if she ever found out what he’d almost done with jimin- she’d surely have Jimin’s hands for it.

- And as much as Yoongi wishes it were any other way- Jimin almost touching him does remind him of far worse times. Though he’d been the one to initiate it this time- the memories still linger.

- Times when foreign hands touched his skin as he’d thrashed and screamed trying to protest against the taunting words of his owner. “I’ve never been interested in snake dick but if you want him for tonight you can have him- just be careful- he bites” and he shakes with those memories. Though its been many years. like most kinds of torture- eventually, his owner had grown bored with using yoongi's body as a bargaining chip. Yoongi wonders if he’s ever going to be able to be touched that way without feeling the revulsion at his own body.

- Jimin had come close, but he'd known- known that yoongi didn't want him to touch him. Had seemed more than willing to be touched himself. the revulsion hadn't hit him until the end.

- The places he’s been touched without his consent feel black and decaying- or like ink, every time someone touches him- Yoongi’s surprised that ink doesn’t come away on your hands soft and delicate. But it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi wanted it- and wants it still.

- he wants to see you soft and sated the way you look sometimes in the morning when he can smell Namjoon on you- wants to cause it- maybe, someday in the future if you'll let him. He knows you’d be gentle with him. Wouldn’t put your hands anywhere he didn’t want. Would check in with him- going as slowly or as quickly as he wanted too. Namjoon would be able to be gentle too- Yoongi’s sure of it.

- He wants it, even though he knows that want only put you all in danger. He’s an incredibly selfish person. He hopes he never gets to have that intimacy with you, for your sake.

- yoongi should only let himself dream of something good before he goes- sinks back into that life. But the temptation for more is too strong sometimes, his want filling him up like sticky sweet syrup that pollutes every moment.

- Namjoon is on the second floor of your house and Yoongi takes the stairs two at a time. Folding laundry in what will one day be the nursery for your child. He’s taken the ultrasound up here now- hung it up so he can look at it. and Yoongi is reminded of A few days ago when he gushed about the development of your child to Yoongi in the kitchen comparing them to the size of a fruit. “a cute little cantaloupe- the cutest little cantaloupe”

- You and Namjoon have made the decision not to find out the gender, but the walls of the nursery are still pained blue, puffy clouds above and little flowers below, dandelions and daisies, a stalwart sunflower that curls over the arch of the door half-finished. Yoongi knows you work on the mural it whenever you can. But Namjoon gets a little paranoid about the fumes- you compromise and keep the windows open along with the door to your balcony to allow as much air circulation as possible.

- The crib, a fluffy white thing is already piled into the corner. And Yoongi remembers the first few weeks here when you and Namjoon had overzealously ordered it. He’d come downstairs after dinner one night and found both of you puzzling over the directions. And he’d shooed Namjoon away as he’d helped you put it together. The three of you ending up giggly and punch drunk tired by the time it was fully put together. And then had to carry it all the way up the stairs.

-A mobile of little felted flowers that Seokjin made you as a thank you present a hangs above the empty Crib- colorful and cute. And Namjoon has set the laundry on the unused changing table in neat stacks. All of the other furniture is piled into the center of the room so that you can paint the walls. He turns when he hears Yoongi, his tail swishing.

- “Hey Yoon- what you get caught in a rainstorm or something?” the rain splatters against the windows with a soft patter and Yoongi drips onto the floor. He never bothered to dry off after the unintentional shower with jimin. Yoongi makes a shrug that means ‘something like that’ and if the younger hybrid hovers on the way that Yoongi’s lips look a little kiss bitten and swollen he doesn’t say a thing. Namjoon knows better than anyone- what they talk about and what they don’t.

- He hands over the slip of paper; “jimin should move into the main house, you and I could clean out one of the storage rooms and move the stuff into the attic.”

- Yoongi watches Namjoon’s eyes rove over the words a few times. The hybrid purses his lips, “I’ve talked to Y/n about this- and she agrees- but I don’t know if he wants too? He seems pretty comfortable in the barns, he likes Taehyung and they’re friends. and we kind of want to leave it up to him if we can.”

- Yoongi snatches the paperback from him, annoyance flickering in his chest as he rolls his eye. Didn’t Namjoon see that nothing would change if they didn’t push him a little? Jimin is the type to take that kind of abuse again and again if it means not making a fuss. And Yoongi knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens again. He turns it over onto the other side and using the wall as a place to write.

- “He’s already being treated differently because of me” 'me' being double underlined- so that Namjoon really understands what he’s trying to say. Yoongi just wants to make sure Jimin is safe before he goes. Before he needs to leave and before it gets too dangerous and too near a time when his owner will physically retrieve him. Not that Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s presence has an expiration date. Namjoon searches Yoongi’s face for a source to his desperation and finds none.

- Yoongi has never felt worse for keeping secrets. Maybe in another world- Yoongi would have confessed and asked Namjoon, with all of his connections to the police, for help. Yoongi knows enough to put the whole crime system out of whack and yet. Years of negative reinforcement and beatings have taught him to keep his mouth shut and that isn’t going to change now; not when Yoongi’s life isn’t the only one at risk and he knows you’ll all live if he plays by the rules. He doesn't care about his own safety anymore.

- The second he sees Yoongi’s distraught expression Namjoon steps closer Taking off his flannel and tugging it around his shoulders. Namjoon might not make moves to scent mark Yoongi but dressing him in his clothes is as good as he gets. Namjoon’s comforting alpha scent fluffs around him.

- Yoongi wonders if jimin feels the pull the same way he does. Dynamics are more mobile in snake hybrids and downright non-existent in humans. but they’re more set in canines. Namjoon puts his hand on Yoongi’s clothed arm and Yoongi shuffles close after a second. His nose centimeters from Namjoon’s neck taking in deep breathes to try and steady himself. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

- “It will be alright Yoongi, I promise. He’s gonna be safe.” Namjoon adds quieter. And below them both- in the first floor of the house, he can hear your voice, echoing louder and laughing at some sort of joke, Namjoon’s tail starts wagging at the suggestion of you. “I want them to feel safe too.”

- Yoongi wants to write “he should take my room- I won’t be staying in it soon anyway.” but Yoongi needs to make sure- before he leaves. Jimin has to be included in your little pack. He doesn’t want to think- about what the three of you will go through when he eventually has to leave. The days are counting down to the end of the summer.

- He’s fucking selfish, so selfish, to kiss Jimin like that when he knows he won't be able to stay in the hybrids life. He’s selfish every time he begs affection off you, every day he keeps Namjoon Company when he’s cleaning up the other barns. Yoongi writing out words in the dust when Namjoon asks him questions. Eyes only searching when Namjoon turns his back. Looking for any sort of hidden compartment. Completing his task even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. Betraying you like this.

- Jimin spends the rest of the day wondering if the kiss with Yoongi was just a dream. But later at dinner, Yoongi won’t meet his eyes, and jimin knows he didn’t imagine the kiss. Guilt sticks to Yoongi, more distracting than honey stuck between your fingertips.

- Both of them go to sleep still thinking about the kiss. Jimin wondering if it will happen again and Yoongi thinking that he’d like it too. His fingers running over his lower and upper lips, mind awash with the memory of jimin’s mouth on his. And night falls heavy like a weighted blanket on the farm. The sky a big sheet with holes poked through for stars. A heavenly breeze tempting away the summer heat.

- All of the hybrids safe and snoring in their beds. Some even paired- if they’ve got it. Two furry bodies packed close on a single bed. Some even dream of homes they mind one day live in or of the people that one day they’ll get to love. The idea of being kept and treasured lulling them into a drowsy haze of anticipation and security.

- That night, Namjoon knocks on Yoongi’s door. the hybrid leaning up against the doorframe as he watches the snake get ready for bed. “you know... you could sleep in our room if you want, we have an air conditioner in there too.” yoongi has a notepad ready, he knows that Namjoon likes to open all the windows and even the door to your balcony to let the fresh air in so that it feels like you're sleeping outside. He steels himself to think of someone other than himself before he writes- “I’m okay- thanks though” Yoongi writes out.

- Namjoon lifts one of Yoongi’s blankets to his neck before he leaves, thoroughly scents marking it before he leaves it with Yoongi. And Yoongi sleeps easy that night with his nose pressed to the blanket. Safe and secure in his room. Nothing bad happens to yoongi that night even though he cuddles close to the blanket, and when he wakes in the morning. his heart beats a steady thumping rhythm- his whole body humming with anticipation.

- It’s different to feel excited about being in love, excited for a day spent close to the people he cares about. And he knows he won't take a single day for granted.

- The crickets and cicadas chirping in the field. And in a low tone on the tree outside, a morning dove gentle and unassuming. The sun rising over the hills. Tastes of idyllic and smells of Eden. Like lavender and honey.

- A hand outstretched, scrambling in the dirt before it goes still, fingers just a few inches from safety. Blood mixing in with the sand. The morning is not perfect for everyone.

- But even you would say the morning was peaceful, if not for the dead body dumped at the end of your driveway.

Kofi

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are.

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that?

Not much, as it so happens.

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding—

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail.

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought.

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in.

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics.

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…

So you ran.

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.

Maker—how did everything become so tangled?

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out.

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift.

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground.

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and—

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times.

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving.

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz.

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now.

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.

“No more bounties.”

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.

“No more hunts alone—“

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.”

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire.

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond.

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails.

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble.

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night.

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over.

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits.

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you.

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow.

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.”

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous.

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh.

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?”

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers.

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling.

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal.

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you.

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now.

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"

He continues without missing a beat.

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck. “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity.

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly.

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.

Maker you hate this fucking planet—

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up.

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar—

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.

You were right.

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand.

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants.

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought.

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath.

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward.

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance.

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips.

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.”

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up.

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you.

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips.

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.”

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug.

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.

Another time for that game maybe.

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you.

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.”

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works.

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.”

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind.

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things.

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim.

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss.

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue.

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?”

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent.

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches.

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been.

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst @blue-writes-a03 @max--phillips

#din is a certified bottom #ANYWAY welcome to pound town #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader x paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw #fanfiction #sw fanfiction #my writing #are you in or out?

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

good trope or bad trope: one of them waking up from surgery or something and being so high on drugs they forget they're together and the other has to explain it

good trope GOOD trope good trope! and this was probably just a question but I couldn't resiiiist

-*-

It's kind of sad to think about the fact that Amy is already used to monitors beeping in a cold hospital room around her squad and, mostly, around her partner. They've been in so many horrible situations, so many little moments where she's had to worry about them, that today she's almost glad she doesn't have to. Jake's surgery had neither been scheduled nor planned, and there had been a whole lot of panic leading up to it when she drove him to the hospital wincing in pain, his arms clutched around his lower stomach, but the doctor's told her they came in early enough for it to be a more routine procedure rather than an emergency. And now his appendix was out, and he would be hurting and healing for a while, but the trepidation about that is nowhere close to the fear she's used to feeling while sitting in these uncomfortable hospital chairs, wondering when the person in the bed next to her would wake up. The last time she'd been in this position, Rosa was hooked up to so many many more machines, and she looked like a bad wax figurine of herself, all pale and stiff.

Jake looks almost fine, no breathing mask or tube down his nostril, just a little beeping heart monitor and some infusion in his arm. The nurse told her he'd be waking up soon when she lead her into the room, and that they could probably go home later that evening already.

(She also told her that he'd been one of the more amusing patients she'd had under anesthesia, which was not a surprise, and that he'd been asking for her every time he groggily opened his eyes for just a few seconds, which was not a surprise either.)

He blinks awake slowly, eyes darting around the room as if to figure out where he is, before they land on her and stay stuck, his forehead creasing in confusion for a second before he grins.

"Heyyyy, it'sa Santiago!" He tries in a croaky voice, and Amy reaches for the cup of ice water the nurse brought in to hand it to him. He's shaky, but he can handle it alone, she notes almost subconsciously - she remembers enough moments where she's had to feed him ice chips instead because he could barely move his arms.

"Hey." She answers with a softer smile as he gulps down almost the whole cup - considering he still hates water, he must really need it. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just splendid, thanks." He quips before trying to sit up more and wincing, the stitches in his stomach upset. "What the hell did I do this time to end up here?"

"What?"

"I mean, I don't remember a chase or a fight, but it sure feels like I took a knife to the stomach or something?"

They look at each other, equally confused, before Amy shakes her head.

"You dont remember-? It wasn't a work thing, Jake, your appendix almost burst."

"Ah dang. That's not even a cool story for a new scar." He sighs as he leans back a bit against the pillow and carefully palms the space where she knows the skin is going to be light pink and rougher than usual from now on. "Sorry they made you wait around for my stupid ass to recover, or is the squad at least taking turns?"

She stares at him, her mind racing, and it seems to make him nervous. He's still trying to go for that usual grin, but his eyes are darting around, sticking to parts of her without looking directly into her eyes, and she can see he's getting fidgety. Mixing that with what he's saying, and the way he's saying it - his voice is different, somehow, more - guarded, or distant, it's hard to explain, but she only remembers it from a long time ago - makes her suddenly realise.

He's been given some very heavy duty painkillers and narcotics, she hears the nurse's voice in her head, so he might be disoriented or confused for quite a while. It shows differently in lots of people, so I can't tell you what to expect, but he'll be back to normal once it passes through his system.

He doesn't remember, she thinks. He doesn't remember... a lot.

"Jake." She gets his nervous attention back, trying to school her voice into something calm and friendly, instead of the equally nervous and somewhat excited giggle she wants to let out so bad. "I think you're still working through your medication. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?"

He leans back again and stares at the ceiling, and it's hard to read the emotions on his face.

"Just... regular work stuff, to be honest. Nothing big."

"Okay, then what is the last big thing you can think of?"

"Uh." He swallows, and Amy refills his water cup, but he doesn't take it. "I, uh, I remember Hoytsman kidnapping me." He laughs a short laugh, obviously trying to make it seem lighter than it ever was, but that's not the only reason Amy feels her heart jump.

His mind is stuck before their relationship. After Sofia left him. He thinks he's woken up after being injured at work, and there's no one there waiting for him except for a work partner who he's been trying so hard to pretend he doesn't like anymore, and for whom he obviously has to play the "I'm okay!" role still.

"Wow. Uh. Okay." She babbles, trying to find a way to be gentle and not confuse him any more. "Then, uh, I guess, well, your medication should pass soon, I think, and you'll remember more, so don't worry-"

"Amy." He's staring at her when she finally looks up, and notes her shorter hair, her far more comfortable outfit than the pantsuits he sees her wear at work, and even while high on drugs it's not that hard for him to put two and two together. "How much am I missing?"

"Quite a lot." She finally admits, but drops her look down into her lap, to her folded hands, and she unconsciously covers her wedding ring before he can see it. "A few years."

"Years?!" He squeals while leaning forward and then groans, because that has definitely upset his wound.

"It's okay, the nurse said it would happen." She quickly tries to calm him. "It's - you'll remember when the anaesthetic passes properly, so it's alright."

"Alright, yeah." He nods and finally settles into the pillow again, as silence envelops them for a few awkward moments, in which Amy's mind races through all the things he's missing right now.

"Okay." He interrupts her sad little mental storybook of their life's drama. "Let's play a game until then, huh? I call it 'Shock&Tell'."

"Jake-"

"It's easy, you'll get the rules. Basically, you tell me stuff I don't know right now and see how shocked you can get me."

"That's not funny-"

"Oh, I think it is. I know how much you like to have me speechless." He grins at her, and she can't resist.

"Title of your sex tape."

"Amy Santiago!" He gasps with a laugh, but there's hesitation in his eyes, and she remembers they weren't exactly at a flirting stage back where he is right now. "For that alone, you have to play a round with me."

"I can't think of anything shocking at the moment." She lies, and he sees right through her.

"Okay, then tell me the worst thing you think happens to me in those years, and the best. From your opinion."

She sighs and stares at her hands again, but she knows he won't let up - he's not gotten any less obnoxious from back then to now.

"Alright. The worst thing. You went to jail." She states, matter of fact, and watches his eyes practically bulge out of his head.

"Holy shi- WhAT?! Like, for a crime? Or-what-did I-what?!"

"You were innocent!" She says as fast as she can, and watches him deflate only a little.

"I sure fucking hope so! But still, what- how- why- ?"

"You and Rosa were framed by a criminally corrupt cop. It took us a few months to get evidence against her and have her sentenced instead."

"A few months." He whispers and stares at his hands, scrunching up the blanket he's wrapped in.

"You weren't alone." Her voice is soft and calm now, seeing him in such a state of unrest, and it takes all she has not to pull him into a hug - it'd probably both confuse and actually hurt him right now, given the stitches. "I mean, you were alone in prison, but we- the squad - we were all fighting for you and Rosa, and Charles and I visited you, and we- I- we never gave up on you."

He smiles, soft and a little broken, but he nods, as if that was something he'd always expect.

"Okay, now the best thing. Because lemme tell you, Santiago, you have to make up for that suckerpunch."

She smiles much wider now, almost grins as she leans forward to finally reach for his hand, entangling their fingers (to which he goes along almost automatically) and feeling her rings clink against the one on his. Jake's eyes are frozen on her hand in his, where he can see a shiny wedding band over what is clearly his Nana's old engagement ring, and he's barely breathing.

"Oh my god." He whispers a moment later, squeezing her hand almost painfully tight as he looks at her again, and she's still smiling.

"We're married?"

"Yeah."

"To- to each other?"

"Yeah, you doofus." She laughs.

"I'm- I'm your husband." He whispers again. "Even thought I went to jail?!"

"Well", she still laughs softly at the absolute shine in his eyes, the awe on his face. "You proposed after that. But I would've married you before, anyway." I would've married you before a lot of things you don't remember, she thinks but doesn't dare say, for fear he'll ask about those other things.

"You're my wife." He says, still stunned, and she nods. "We're married."

She nods again, and watches as the confused awe on his face turns into an almost relieved joy, and his bottom lip trembles as tears start rolling down his cheeks.

"Jake..." She whispers in turn now, her free hand (that is not currently being gripped by both of his) cupping his face and wiping away some of the tears that keep flowing.

"You're happy?" He asks with trepidation in his voice, and Amy wonders if the emotional rollercoaster is another side-effect of his medicine or just his lowered inhibitions. "I'm a good husband?"

"I couldn't wish for a better husband. You make me very happy." She's almost close to tears now herself. "I love you so much."

He gasps at that, and pulls her still gripped hand up to his face, pulling her closer to him in the process.

"I love you, Amy." is his answer, and she realises he means it, even with all the things he doesn't remember, all the things he doesn't know yet. "I love you so much. I can't believe I get to marry you."

His tears have calmed down a little by now, and she fixes her awkward pose of leaning forward and having both arms reach for his face by climbing up onto the bed with him, as he lowers their hands and looks at her with stars in his eyes and so much love on his face, she can't resist to pass the last few inches and kiss him.

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back and touches her forehead to his, and he's whispering again.

"Wow."

"Well, that's certainly an appreciated reaction." She giggles.

"Don't tell me I don't react like that every time you kiss me, because there's no way I'll believe that."

"Yeah." She smiles again as he opens his eyes and smiles back. "Yeah, you kinda do."

And just to prove it, she kisses him again.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet

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farfromtommy · 4 years ago

Note

seb being a stepdad to chris' kids or vice versa!

not my gif

a/n: okay this is literally one of the best ideas ever and im so in love with this fic. i think this takes the cake for my favorite fic i’ve written!! this is mildly edited so pls be kind. im so proud of it and hope you guys love it <3

please reblog if you enjoyed reading and and feel free to leave any comments!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of sex, brief mention of medical procedure(s), there might be some language i dont remember

word count: 4,400

masterlist

social media au masterlist

taglist

~~~

Chris has been your best friend since elementary school and all through middle and high school. Everyone knew how close you were to him and how deeply you loved each other. It was never in a romantic sort of way, though. Nobody really understood the relationship you had with him, they just shrugged their shoulders and minded their business.

When Chris told you he wanted to move to New York to follow his dream of being an actor, he asked you to go with him. You shared his love for theatre and the arts and always wanted to see if you could make it as a big-time Hollywood actress. You packed all your things into your tiny car and made your way to New York with your best friend.

You spent your 28th birthday sitting on Chris’s couch with a bottle of tequila and a broken heart. Your boyfriend of 3 years broke up with you on the grounds of you being “such a drag” and “not someone he wants to settle down with any more”. You had planned a life with him. He talked about marrying you and having kids with you just weeks prior. And he had just thrown it all away.

Having gone through almost half of the bottle of tequila already, Chris took the bottle from you and just looked at you with sad eyes. He ran his hand through your hair as you buried your face in your pillow and just cried. You pulled yourself together after a while and willed yourself to sit up and look Chris in the eyes.

“I know I’m kinda drunk right now but Chris, listen to me. Can we make a pact? When we’re both 30 and if we’re both still single and loveless. Let’s have a baby. We don’t have to like… y’know… do it or anything. We can do it through insemination or in a petri dish or however they do it. I’m just- I want to settle down and have kids but I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone else.” You rambled, gesturing wildly with your hands. Chris suppressed a laugh and looked at you like you were crazy. You just looked at him questioningly until he realized this was not the alcohol talking.

“Are you serious? Like, me and you? Having a baby? Seriously?” He pulled himself off the floor and sat on the coffee table in front of you.

“I’m so serious. You can say no, Chris. This is me asking you what you think. I always said that if I don’t have a husband or have been with someone long enough to have a child with them, that I would go to a sperm bank and do it like that. You know how badly I want kids, and I know you want them too.” You moved to the edge of the couch to move closer to him. He stood up and grabbed your hand to help you up. He dragged you towards the kitchen and sat you down at the table, telling you to wait there while he grabbed something. He came back a few moments later with a notebook and a pen.

“Alright, let’s figure this out. We’re going to ask each other questions about this and write down the answers. Any conditions we have we’ll write down, if we can’t agree on them we don’t do it. I know you’re not super sober right now so we can do this now and talk about it again tomorrow.” He wrote ‘Y/L/N - Evans Baby’ along the top. You smiled a bit to yourself and waited for him to talk.

“I don’t want to be just the sperm donor, I want to be involved in everything. From the ultrasound appointments to picking preschools. I also want to be in the room when you’re in labor.” He wrote it down as he was talking and looked up at you. You nodded with a big smile on your face.

“I would want you as involved as possible. We would be co-parenting this hypothetical child. My turn. To keep this from getting messy, we should do it through a clinic. Me in stirrups and your swimmers in a turkey baster. Sex can make things complicated and weird, I don’t want to risk something going wrong between us and then there be a child involved. Insemination isn’t as effective but we can always keep trying if it doesn’t work.” You pulled the notebook towards you and wrote down your condition.

That went on for the rest of the night. You and Chris take turns asking questions about your hypothetical baby. You had filled up pages and pages of notes about what you both want, from how you would decide to tell your families to living arrangements to if you’d circumcise or not if it was a boy.

A little more than 2 years later you and Chris found yourselves at the dining room table of his Boston home again. The notebook you had filled just a few years back right in front of you, along with 5 pregnancy tests. They were face down on the table as you anxiously waited for the timer to go off.

“Alright, Chris. This is it. It’s been 5 minutes, we can flip them over.” You released a shaky breath and stared at the tests right in front of you. Chris grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together. You looked at each other before reaching out to flip over the individual tests. Seeing all 5 of the tests with 2 solid pink lines knocked all the air out of your lungs.

“Oh my god. They’re all positive! Oh my god, Chris!! We’re going to have a baby!” You both jumped out of your seats and jumped around the kitchen before hugging each other and crying. He kept thanking you and kissing the top of your head while you sobbed into his chest, soaking his shirt. There were lots of tears over the next few weeks from you both after confirming your pregnancy with your midwife.

8 or so months later Penelope Elizabeth Evans-Y/L/N made her way into the world and the arms of her parents. The world seemed to stop when you heard the cries of your daughter for the first time. You could’ve sworn Chris stopped breathing the second he laid eyes on her when she was placed on your bare chest. He didn’t even care that she was covered in blood and other bodily fluids, he swore that she was the most beautiful human being to ever exist.

He took a lot of time off from filming and working to take care of you both. Once you found out you were pregnant, you stopped acting for the most part. You knew that you wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, at least until she was old enough to go to school, and maybe then you’d go back to smaller roles that kept you close to home.

Chris had a hard time leaving you and Penny once it was time to go back to work. He held her close to his chest and cried at the thought of leaving her when she’s still so little. Seeing the extreme separation anxiety he was already having, you offered to go with him to set and find an apartment or house to rent for the duration of the shoot. This ended up being the greatest thing you could have come up with. Every single project that took him away from Boston, you and Penny were right there next to him. You and Penny followed him to what seemed like every corner of the Earth.

The weeks leading up to shooting The Winter Soldier were the most exciting for Chris. He had been training for months to get into shape and was really excited to have you and Penny on set with him. He had also been talking nonstop about working with Sebastian and Anthony again.

One night Chris came home with Sebastian and Anthony trailing behind him. Penny had gone down for the night and you were nursing a glass of wine on the recliner, watching whatever you could find on TV.

“Hey, Y/N. I should've called ahead, I’m sorry. We’re just going to have some beers while we watch the game.” He walked in and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. You moved the blankets off your lap and stood up to greet Anthony and Sebastian.

“I don’t think you ever got a chance to meet these guys before. Y/N this is Anthony and Sebastian, guys this is Y/N.” Chris introduced you and you moved forward to give them both hugs.

“Sorry for barging in on you unannounced, we would’ve made sure this idiot called you before to make sure it was all good,” Anthony said, taking the beer Chris handed him.

“Oh please, don’t worry about it. He used to do it all the time when we lived in New York. Sorry, the place is a bit of a mess. Didn’t get a chance to clean today, I’ve had my hands full, especially with this one” You gestured a thumb to Chris and he sent you a playful glare in return.

You offered to put together some snacks for the game, knowing very well Chris couldn’t handle his alcohol without some sort of food in his system. Anthony and Sebastian offered to help while Chris snuck off to go see Penny.

“How long have you and Chris been together?” Sebastian made some small talk while looking for serving bowls in your kitchen. Anthony leaned against the counter and continued to sip on his beer.

“Oh, we’re not together. We’ve been friends since we were kids and we actually are just uh...” You chuckled nervously, not knowing what to say to his friends. Chris walked into the kitchen with Penny in his arms at that moment. Her head tucked into his neck, hands gripping at the fabric of his shirt and his arms under her butt.

“We’re raising our daughter together. They go with me wherever I go so I don’t miss anything and so Y/N doesn’t raise Penelope by herself. We’re co-parenting in the same house.” He said, looking at the tired toddler in his arms. Sebastian and Anthony both sputtered on their beers at the same time, not believing what they were seeing.

There was no denying that she was a product of you and Chris. Even with her sleepy eyes, they could see the bright blue color that matched the man carrying her. They saw the swoop of your nose and the color of your hair. They stood there just taking it all in.

“I had a bit of a crisis when I turned 28 after my long term boyfriend dumped me out of nowhere. It was one of those ‘if we’re 30 and aren’t married’ sort of things. We turned 30 and were both still single, so we had a baby.” You shrugged, looking over at your girl.

“And it works, being parents without being together but still living together?” Anthony asked, gesturing towards the two of you.

“We had everything figured out before she got pregnant. We had conditions that we both had to agree on before we even got serious about it. We were both very adamant about not doing it the old fashioned way so things didn’t get messy. It took some time to figure out the… terms and conditions I guess.” Chris laughed a little bit. Anthony and Seb nodded in understanding and kept looking at Penny.

“I’m happy for you, man. Seems like you both are really happy. How old is she?” Anthony walked into her line of sight and waved his fingers a bit, trying to get her attention.

“She turned one a couple of months ago.” You said and watched Penny pick her head up and look at Seb and Anthony, inspecting them a bit. Her big blue eyes landed on Sebastian and she stared him down before he gave her a small smile and waved at her. She was a little shy around new people and would usually bury her face in the neck of whoever was holding her.

To your surprise, she leaned away from Chris and moved her hands out to Sebastian. Everyone’s eyes widened as she whined a little bit when he didn’t reach out to grab her. Chris moved closer and told him it was okay and let Penny make herself comfortable in his arms. She buried herself into his neck much like she does with you and Chris, her tiny fists clutching his shirt. Her eyes shut immediately and let herself fall asleep in his arms.

The next few months went on more pleasantly than expected. Chris often had late-night shoots and training, leaving you with Penny most of the day. Anytime he knew he would be home late, he’d send Seb over with dinner or just an extra set of hands to help you with Penny. She knew you were her mama and Chris was her dada, then one day she had her Seba. Anytime you opened the door to let him in with her on your hip, she immediately squealed and started to chant ‘Seba! Seba!’ and didn’t stop until he was holding her.

Sebastian had brought up the idea of taking you to dinner one night to Chris. Even though you were a single adult who could make decisions on your own, he didn’t want to disrespect Chris at all. Chris never saw you as anything more than his best friend, it had always been like that. He was ecstatic when Sebastian brought up the idea of asking you out.

“I’m so serious, Seb. I think it’s a great idea. She talks about you a lot and really loves being around you. She’s going to say yes, I promise. Y/N hasn’t dated since we had Penny, mostly because she’s scared of what someone would think about her living with her childhood best friend who happens to be the father of her child.” Chris told him honestly. You weren’t interested in dating at all since having Penny. Mostly because being a mom was your first and only priority.

Sebastian let out the breath he was holding and ran his fingers through his hair, all of a sudden nervous about asking you to dinner. Chris clapped a hand around his shoulder and gave him a quick pep talk before sending him on his way.

The 2 years between wrapping Winter Soldier and starting Civil War had been interesting, to say the least. Everything Chris did kept him in the states for the most part. You and Penny were still trailing along with him, always loving the things you got to experience as a family.

Sebastian had found his place right in your crazy life. You had been unofficially together after wrapping Winter Soldier. He went off to do his next project and you and Chris spent some time in Boston with your families. You texted him most of the day, and he called at night to talk for a few hours before you went to sleep. He always said goodnight to Penny and she blew her Seba kisses through the phone.

He flew to Boston a bunch of times to see you, even if it was only for a few hours. You flew to wherever he was for a few days at a time, most of the time with Penny. Chris somehow managed to get you on the plane by yourself a few times and promised he would FaceTime every single night and would have hourly pictures sent.

On one of your first weekend trips out to see him, he refused to let you leave without making it official with you. He had you in tears at the end of his ‘I can’t spend another second without calling you my girlfriend’ speech. When he proposed to you he had said that the only thing better than the girlfriend speech was the one he was about to give. His ‘I can’t spend another second without calling you my wife’ speech knocked that one out of the water.

Neither of you wanted to make a big fuss about a wedding. You weren’t interested in the big white dress and the stressful bridesmaids and the whole cliche wedding things. Sebastian suggested getting eloped somewhere quiet with a handful of the most important people in your life. Chris’s mom, Lisa, had offered to hold the ceremony in her backyard. Knowing very well how spacious and beautiful it was, you and Seb graciously accepted her offer.

You kept your dress simple yet elegant, a beautiful white lace dress that ended mid-thigh, and complimented your body so perfectly. Seb kept it classy with a dark blue suit and light blue button-up that brought out his eyes, no tie, because who needs one?

Right at the end of the ceremony right as the officiant was about to have you say ‘i do’, you heard whines coming from Penny, who was sitting right up front on her daddy’s lap. You looked over to see her squirming in his lap and whining out ‘mama’ and reaching out for you. Chris made eye contact with you and mouthed ‘i’m sorry’. You shook your head and let go of one of Sebastian’s hands to motion to let her go so she could walk over to you.

Everyone aww’d as she walked over to you as quickly as her legs could take her. You bent down and scooped her up, resting her on your hip and wrapping your arm around her waist to keep her up. Sebastian made faces at her to make her laugh and keep her happy for a few more minutes. Your photographer had taken advantage of the incredibly sweet moment and had made sure to get as many shots of Penny at the altar with you.

When the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, you were going to set Penny down but Sebastian was quick to pull you both close to him and go in for your first kiss as a married couple with your daughter right there. Everyone cheered and Penny was mimicking the claps of everyone around her. Before he pulled away from you two he pressed two sloppy kisses on Penny’s cheeks as she giggled, which pulled some tears out of you.

No more than 15 people were attending the ceremony. You wanted to keep it quiet with just family and a few close friends. The reception, however, was anyone and everyone you could fit into the ballroom you had rented at one of the best hotels in Boston. All your guests had filled the room before you and Seb arrived. You nervously held his hand as you heard the cheers from everyone inside after hearing the DJ announce “Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary friends … let’s give it up for the couple of the hour, Mr. and Mrs. Sebastian Stan!!”

No one understood how you, Chris, and Seb managed to make your situation seem so easy and flawless. He knew that living in Boston was a must, so he bought the house that sits right behind the one you shared with Chris for so many years. He never wanted to get in the way of the system you and Chris had created over the years. Somehow, he managed to make things easier for everyone.

Penny’s first day of school was emotional for all 3 of you. You were all at your front door taking pictures of Penny in her school uniform that she looks so ridiculously cute in and the backpack that was way too big for her. She insisted on getting the Avengers backpack that “has my daddy on it!”

“Okay my love, it’s time for us to go to school! Are you ready?” Chris grabbed her tiny hand and led her to the car.

“Yeah daddy, I’m ready!” Penny said as he lifted her into the car and her car seat.

“Daddy? Mama and Sebbie coming too?” She asked him when he clicked the last buckle together. Right on cue Sebastian opened up the door to the free seat in the back and climbed in right next to her. She squealed in excitement at the sight of Sebastian buckling himself in the car.

Chris laughed at her genuine excitement and made sure all her fingers and toes were inside the car before shutting the door. He saw you lock the front door and make your way to the front seat. He noticed you put a few packs of tissues in your bag before setting it on the ground and buckling your seatbelt.

“Planning on crying today, Y/N?” Chris asked in a teasing tone. You swatted his arm lightly and scoffed at his question.

“Our baby is going to her first day of school, of course, I’m going to cry! I cried last night after I tucked her in, I cried in the shower this morning, I cried doing her hair.” You heard Seb talking enthusiastically to Penny, telling her about all the fun things she’ll get to do in kindergarten.

“It’s okay, I cried in the bathroom while she ate her waffles this morning.” You snorted at Chris’s confession and looked back at your baby girl, who was not a baby anymore. She was waving her hands around telling Seb about how excited she was to see her teacher again.

Chris and Sebastian watched from the car as you walked through the front doors of the school with Penny’s hand in yours. They had agreed that it might not have been a good idea to go in with her since they might get recognized and to avoid causing a ruckus. They both waved at her as she turned around and waved one more time before the door shut.

“Did you and Y/N ever think about having more kids together? If I hadn’t started dating her, do you think you would've had more?” Sebastian asked Chris.

“We never explicitly talked about it. She brought up wanting Penny to have lots of siblings not long after you started seeing each other. She felt guilty and thought that I was going to be upset about you and her maybe having kids one day, which meant I probably wouldn’t have anymore. I told her that this was honestly the best thing that could’ve happened because I don’t think I want any more of my own. Penny is all I ever wished and hoped for, and I got it. But since you’re together, she’ll get all the siblings she could ever want, and I won’t have to change a single diaper.” Chris nudged Seb’s shoulder with his. “You guys thinking about having one?”

“Yeah... Yeah, we are.” Sebastian lowered his head and smiled a bit. “With Penny in school and everything, it makes sense. She’s ready, I’m ready.” Seb sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked up and saw you walking back towards them with a tissue in your hand.

“I had the morning crying shift, it’s your turn.” Seb looked at Chris.

Just as Penny wrapped up her very first year in school, you and Sebastian welcomed Beverly Olivia Stan-Y/L/N into your family. Penelope had been so excited to hear that her mama finally had the baby she had been waiting so long for. You had gone into labor in the late afternoon and Beverly made her debut in the middle of the night.

Sebastian had called Chris an hour or so after to let him know that both you and the baby were doing phenomenally and that you were asking for Penny and wanted to see her as soon as you could. Chris chuckled at the demands you were making, knowing very well how the epidural and pain meds messed with you.

Early the next morning Penny had crawled into bed with Chris, crying for you and wanting to know when she was going to see you. It was still too early for them to go to the hospital, so he called Seb in hopes that he was already going to be awake.

A very exhausted Sebastian lit up the screen and Chris heard the soft cries of the new baby in the background. Penny’s cries turned into hiccups as soon as she saw Seb’s face because she knew she would be able to see her mama, too.

“Sebbie can I see mama, please?” Penny’s little voice spoke up. Sebastian immediately handed the phone to you and whispered that Penny was on the phone.

“Hi, baby.” You spoke softly to not disturb the baby.

“Mama when you come home? I miss you.” Penny wiped her eyes with her fists to get rid of the tears stuck in her eyelashes.

“It’s going to be a few days until I get to go home, baby. But you and daddy will be able to come to see me, Sebbie, and the new baby in a few hours. You need to go back to sleep and be a good girl for your daddy. I’m sure he’ll let you have some cuddles in his bed with him and Dodger until it’s time to wake up again.” Penny hiccuped and looked at Chris with eyes that mirrored his. He nodded his head and she buried herself closer to him.

“Okay, I go back to sleep with daddy and Dodger. I love you, mama. I love Sebbie, too.” She yawned out, her eyes blinking with sleep.

“Me and Sebbie love you so much, Penny. We’ll see you so soon, I promise” You blew a kiss to her through the screen and waited for her to throw one back. She giggled when you caught it through the camera and put it over your heart.

You, Sebastian, and Chris all watched with tears in your eyes as Penny held her baby sister for the first time. Penny had jumped right up in the bed next to you the second she walked into the room and told you about all the fun she had with Chris. Seeing your girls together melted your heart into a puddle. Chris couldn’t believe his little girl was so grown up and was a big sister. Seb thought about the night he first met you and Penny and would’ve never imagined that he’d be right here at this very moment.

Everything was so perfect and you never wanted to imagine your life being any different.

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moon-ness · 3 years ago

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Swallowing down the feeling of dread, she swims toward two older men who are sitting talking at the side of the pool, their thin legs dangling in the water.

“So I told him, at that price, we will look for another supplier..” he trails off, noticing Amara leaning against the side next to him. “Not now.” He shoos her away. She freezes, not sure what to do. “Maybe this one doesn’t speak Latin,” says the other man. He turns to her, enunciating slowly, as if she is stupid. “You. Greek. Whore. Yes?” The man’s white hair is stuck to his head in sweaty tuffs making him look like a duckling. His pale eyes stare at her with lack of focus, as if he doesn’t expect to see anyone staring back.

Amara thinks of her father. The crooked way he would smile when he talked about the Roman state. Everything they have is borrowed from us. Always remember that. “I am from Aphadnai,” she replies, speaking fluent Latin. “Twelfth city of Attica, once the home of Helen of Troy.” She inclines her head graciously, one hand over her heart in greeting, her father’s smile on her face. “In this country, I am called Amara. I wish nothing other than to be of service to you both.”

Duckling head is not charmed. “Aphadnai didn’t keep hold of Helen for long, if your myths are true.” His companion laughs, “Dont be so bad tempered.” He looks at Amara with more interest. He is old, it’s true, but not entirely unattractive. She glances downward. There are gold rings on his fingers. Her heart flutters. Could this be the patron she has been hoping for? Can he see how much she has to offer? In her imagination, she leaps forward in time, sees him devotedly draping her in jewels, entranced by her every word… “You have a pretty mouth, Amara from Aphidnai. Don’t waste it talking to him.” He parts his legs in a not so subtle sign of what he wants. Of course, it’s not interest in his eyes. It’s nothing more than the drunk look of lust she has seen so many times before. Amara hesitates, the disappointment of reality taking a few seconds to dissipate her fantasy. Then she bends her head to oblige. For a moment, she thinks of Felix. Imagines what it must be like to have the power to act on your rage rather than bury it. Her customer - whose name she still doesn’t know - finishes with a whimper. He waits for his friend then helps him get to his feet. They walk off without offering any thanks. “Is it always like this?” Amara asks Maria. “Like what?” Maria snaps, wiping her face. There are red marks on her cheek where her customer must have dug his fingernails into her skin. “I thought maybe…” Amara trails off, silenced by Maria’s angry, uncomprehending stare. She isnt sure what she would say anyway. That she was hoping for a watery symposium, impressing men with her conversation like the courtesans of Greek high society? Her humiliation feels worse for being self-inflicted. Better to expect nothing than be made a fool.

There’s laughter as three more customers walk into the baths from the steam room. This time, Amara doesn’t wait. She leaves Maria, wading toward the men. It isn’t Victoria she imitates as she climbs the steps, water dripping off her. She remembers the way Felix moved at the Palaestra, the sharp lines of his body as he ran past his rivals, the violence and the rage. She stalks toward the men, interrupting their conversation without apology. “I am Amara of Aphidnai,” she says. “Twelfth city of Attica, home of Helen of Troy. Which of you imagines he may command my attention?” The three men look at each other, amused but not entirely sure how to respond. The illusion of power she has created is fragile, she knows any one of them could force her if they choose to. Rather than frighten her, the knowledge makes her even more aggressive. She holds out her hand to the most confident looking man, the one she hopes will have the least to prove by humiliating her. ….. Amara has learned more than enough about the mechanics of sex to understand what will give pleasure. She runs through her repertoire, the line between fear and anger stretched taut across her heart. The only time panic threatens to pull her under is at the end when he tries to rest her onto her back. She cedes control, telling herself it will be quicker that way. Afterward she doesn’t wait to see if his reaction will be gratitude or indifference. She turns her back and walks to the pool. Down the steps, the water rises past her waist then higher as she plunges all the way in, swimming to the window. Amara looks out to the sea. If she didn’t know the scene behind her, if she couldn’t hear it, she could imagine that the horizon stretching out ahead belonged to her. Instead, she knows that she is confined here, in the air and the light, as she is in the narrow darkness of her cell.

Back at the brothel:

Amara follows the man into her cell, drawing the curtain. He sits heavily on the bed. “I’m Publius,” he says. “Lovely to meet you Publius,” she says. “I’m Amara.”

She starts to undress, taking her time, not to titillate him but to give herself a small delay. This is where Victoria would be running through her patter to get him in the mood. But there is no need. Publius is looking at her naked body in wonder. “You’re lovely,” he says. Amara almost feels sorry for him, this man who cannot see her bitterness. She smiles. “Thank you.” She walks to the bed and kneels on the floor, unfastens his boots, easing them off his feet. “You’re tired,” she says, without thinking. “It was a long day at the bakery,” he replies. She carries on undressing him. At least he is not such a monster as the wealthy old men at the baths. The memory brings a flush to her cheeks. All that effort and she barely made a denarius in tips. If anything, the day has shown her rich men are meaner than poor ones. Amara climbs onto the bed beside Publius. She lets Publius kiss her, lying passive as a stone. It’s supposed to be her making the effort here, not him, but he doesn’t seem to care. The anger that is always beneath the surface of her skin flickers into life. Why should he care? He’s lucky to be able to touch her at all.

She hears Felix’s voice in her head. And you would, wouldn’t you? Tear them all apart.

#the Wolf den #elodie harper

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shlutnutt · 4 years ago

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Tag

in honor of kit's birthday, why not a quick little kit smut?

starts off as a little fluff lol

warnings: smut, penetration, fingering, oral sex, just regular smut

song insp: courtship dating and affection both by crystal castles

ight so boom.

"Come on! Slow down flash." Kit yells from the other side of the asylum caf trying his best to catch up to your incredible speed. Kit and you were inseparable, no matter how many times the nuns tried seperating you guys, you'd always find a way to hang out or at least see eachother.

Playing tag was your favorite game to play since it didn't require a board game with boring little pieces or any difficult rules. "Ok! I'll give you a headstart! Only 5 seconds!" you yell back causing a little disruption. Kit speed walks towards you not wanting to run anymore.

You giggle at the sight of Kit completely out of breath infront of you as he tapped on you, causing him to giggle along with you pausing suddenly taking a second to admire the beauty he had infront of him. The eye contact you both held brought nothing but butterflies, rising your need to have his soft plump lips against yours, but you dont dare make a move preventing any sort of punishments coming from Sister Jude.

Kit grabs your hand signaling you to sit down alongside him by the window which seemed nearly empty from the patients hating the sunlight. "Hey, I have a plan.. Its risky but we can have some alone time?" Kit whispers feeling the tension you two imprisoned. Taking his hand into yours you whisper back "What's on your mind baby?". Kit plans "Well, we go back to our prison cells at 9:00 pm. Jude usually leans around till 9:30 pm. We were the only ones who ate today's toasts. Lets say we got immensely sick hey? Get our "medical help" and meet by the girl's bathroom. Whatcha think?"

You were totally down for Kit's quickie plan but were terribly scared of getting caught. Knowing the result will be awful you honestly respond with "I dunno Kit. Its very risky. But I'll do it!"

"Shh"

"Shit sorry. Only if you're staying by my side though."

"Im not leaving you alone Y/N.. We're inseparable my love, dont ever forget that. "

All of the patients were escorted to their cells for their bedtime. As soon as you hear the hourly beep for 9:00 pm you keep track of time for 30 minutes. Focusing on every minute to second that passes by from the top of your head you prepare for your act, knowing that Kit is more then ready. You soon hear familiar deep coughs from the right side of your cell, knowing it was time. As you begin coughing harshly you hear keys jingling down the hallway unlocking a cell. Knowing you were next you continue coughing almost making yourself throw up.

"Y/N! What is going on in there?!" You hear a familiar feminine voice question in concern. "I- I can't breath! My stomach is killing me!" you continue your act, pretty impressed in yourself. The lady opens your cell and your heart automatically skips a beat at the sight of your lover alongside the nun, smirking slightly in between coughs.

Each step you took down the soundless hallway to the nurses was raising your heartbeat by the second not losing the tension Kit's aurora gave you.

When you all arrived at the nurses office and sit down for a few seconds, Nurse decides to break the silence. What the hell is wrong with you two? It's literally bedtime." she questions in annoyance. You silently chuckle hearing the word "hell" come out of a nun's lips. "I don't know, I suddenly wasn't able to breath properly and my stomach started hurting really bad." Kit says in "pain" mimicing your words. "And you?" the nurse asks pointing at you with her black pen decorated with a little cross. "I feel the same way. All I ate was the buttered toast, I dont usually feel like this." You add the fact that you ate the toast to make your lie far more believable. "I ate the toast too. It seemed like nobody wanted them so I gave it a try." Kit adds, completing the perfect lie.

"Second time this week the chefs' failed once again at their job. I apologize on their behalf.. I'll get you some pain relieving pills. Give me a sec." The nun apologizes heading to the big creaky door towards the basement where all medications were in storage.

I look over at Kit nerviously, who's sitting on the patient bed, uncuffed surprisingly. He seemed so excited and just overall ready to destroy your guts. "Aren't we going?" you ask perplexed to the fact he's just sitting there smiling not moving a muscle. "Escape rules 101: Leave five seconds after your kidnapper, or you'll get caught. Boom!" You giggle at his words aware he made it all up, still taking it into advice though. "Five, four, three, two.. one! Run Y/N runnn!" he insists.

Kit grabs your hand soft but steady as he drags you down another hallway towards the girl's bathroom. Warm air kissing the both of your faces as you glide down hallway to hallway with your favorite person in hand, smiling and giggling, pure ecstasy and excitements on your faces, as you arrive at your destination.

"Check if the stalls are empty on your left im checking on my right, babe" you smile at the sudden nickname Kit had put on you and proceeded to follow his commands giving him a quick thumbs up from the other side of the bathroom signaling him that the coast was clear, he does the same.

You choose the stall furthest from the door pulling Kit in with you locking it immediately "So now what?" Kit teases almost as if he were to be taunting you, acknowledging your need through your eyes. "You tell me." you attempt to tease back. "What if I show you?" he whispers, leaning into your neck. "Show me then.." you whisper back suddenly gasping at the sudden touch of Kit's delicate pink lips against your neck. His soft kissing, licking and sucking against your neck making your core wet by the second. Becoming stressed from his soft teasing you grab his jaw gentley, leading his lips to your own.

As you two kiss passionately you feel his tongue silently asking for enterance which you allow, the makeout now becoming intense. You feel his hands suddenly lifting your gown, sliding your underwear to the side, looking you in the eye with question for consent which you also allow. Kit begins rubbing your wetness delicately as he slowly inserts a finger inside making you whimper in pleasure grabbing onto his strong masculine shoulders. With now two fingers in your core, you begin jacking off Kit through his well fitted sweats producing a light angelic moan to fall out of his lips. You decide to quickly undress him teasing his member devilishly.

"Now you'll have to finish what you started gorgeous." Kit whispers reffering to your teasing on his. You drop down to your knees slowly tracing your fingers down his body, stopping right below his belly button making him groan deeply in need. "So needy for me, baby" you tease as you suck his member whole causing him to grip your thick hair for support. The combination of your moans vibrating on his now soaked member and your massaging on his balls, made his release speed up more then ever.

"Im cl- close Y/N.. You're doing such a good job for me" he praises while nutting in your mouth which you swallow quickly, avoiding the slight bitter taste. Kit picks you up with no notice and leans you against the stall you both shared slowly sliding his member past your submerged folds. You moan instantly at the feeling of Kit's cock filling you up completely hitting your g-spot everytime. You're both breathlesss in the moment, your loud moans echoing through the flickering lights of the bathroom, holding onto his shoulders for support your arms wrapped around his muscular sweaty waist.

"F-fuck Kit. Im cu-.." not being able to finish your words due to the amazing sensation you were feeling on your core, you feel instantly empty as Kit pulls out of you to finish your high with his mouth.

Kit tongue fucks you, and licks between your folds to finally sucking on your clit liberating your release in his mouth which he sucks up every drop of. Your body collapses onto his still trying to process the intense moment you both divided.

"I love you, Y/N" Kit lovingly says while lookin down at you with innocent eyes. "I love you too, Ki-"

Getting brutally interrupted you hear screaming "Where the hell are you two!" you both hear the nurse, footsteps running up and down the hallways. You quickly get dressed and kiss Kit your goodbyes as he flies past the huge door into the boys' bathroom which luckily was right next to the girls'.

"I-Im here!" you manage to scream back, sticking two fingers down your throat forcing yourself to throw up. "I just got really sick and needed to throw up, sorry." you apologize looking up at the lady who's eyes were boiling in anger. You were pretty sweaty, hair tousled, and hands were shaky. Made your lie pretty believable. "Where's kit?" nurse asks calmly this time now that she's found you. "Im not too sure I think he ran to the boys' room, he got really red and well ran out, seemed sick also." You manage to convince.

Nurse walks out, disgusted by your view heading into the boys' room in which she's not allowed into. You jump at the scary sounds Kit made from the other side of the wall, relieved you two had mentally communicated the same plans.

Managing to clean yourself up a bit you hear hard knocking on the girls' bathroom door. You timidly open up to the view of nurse and Kit. Relieved you smile to yourself a little, Kit realizes and taps on you playfully.

"You're it, loser."

74 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Scottrospective: Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together! or Days of Summer

Hello all you happy scottaholics! Welcome back to those of you who’ve read the rest of this retrospective and welcome to those of you just joining us. This is the Scottrospective, my look at all 6 volumes of Scott Pilgrim, the game and the movie. It’s all the video game refrenes, slice of life story telling and boob punches you can handle!

It’s been three months since I left off with “The Infinite Sadness” , and while I intended to cover this one for Valentine’s Day, my schedule got away from me and with March being full up, this ended taking till April

I”m not too put off by it though as the hiatus between these two reviews is fitting for this one both in story and out. In story there’s a couple month time skip between books, while out.. this book got delayed a few times.

This is notable to me at least because this was the first volume of the series I bought when it came out. As i’ve brought up before I came into the series via the Free Comic Book Day Issue and the second and third volumes, picking one up later. I still have my original copies despite no longer really needing them thanks to having the color editions in general. Always will provided something dosne’t happen to them. So this was my first instalment that I got to read fresh and got to wait for and be hyped about and i’d saved enough money that I was able to pre-order it. So the experince of waiting and waiting for the book only to keep seeing it slide back is vivid in my mind as is the frustration I felt having the one thing I COULD NOT WAIT FOR, keep going further and further back.

So with this long wait and the fact I bought this one when it came out, as I would for the next two which didn’t get delayed thank god, this volume naturally means a lot for me. When I wrote Scott Pilgrim fanfiction, this volume’s status quo is what I based it on. It was the coolest to me and the one I loved to reread the most. It has the most contained story, the most character growth at the time, and the best art due to Bryan’s style having finally hit it’s stride. Not that the art for volumes 1-3 is bad mind you, but it’s very clear his style was changing and shaping into what it is now with each one and while it’d change a bit more, this volume is where the style and quality everyone thinks of when they think of this series and the kind you see on various art done from it comes from.

So as you can tell i’m excited for this one. Before we get started there WERE two shorter comics released between this one both for Free Comic Book day, the first of which, Free Scott Pilgrim, is the reason I got into the series and the second, the Wonderful World of Kim Pine .. was both delightful and sets up Kim moving in with Hollie for this volume. Originally I intended to cover these in this review.. but I realized they wouldn’t of helped the pacing and this review is going to be way longer than my standard as is.

So instead I came up with the compromise. I did review them.. but as bonus reviews on my patreon. For just one buck a month you can read them and help me reach my stretch goals which now include reviews of Lost at Sea, Seconds and SnotGirl, aka Bryan’s OTHER comics. You can find my patreon THROUGH THIS LINK HERE if your intrested in the exclusives or helping me reach my reviews. I also intend to do an exclusive of Monica Beetle, a short comic Bryan did starring Scott’s dad in the 70s at some point so keep your eyes peeled for that, as well as the three strips he did of Style, the comic that gave us the prototypes for Lisa and Kim.

I will talk about their connections and setups for this volume briefly: FSP sets up the next ex as a ninja, with Roxy having a bunch of posters come to live and pummel our boy, while Wonderful World has Hollie tell Kim she can move in with her. It’s not much, hence why i made these exclusives but they are good stories, so check them out. And with that JOIN ME UNDER THE CUT, as we enter Scott’s world once more as he grapples with the past, employment, and saying the L-Word... which might be Lesbians. I don’t know. Find out bellow!

So we open Two Months after Volume 3 with a beach birthday party! Complete with Kim in a swim suit!

But it’s for Julie who lobs a volley ball at Scott’s head when he and Ramona try to make out.

I also dont’ know if “Manfiesting out of all the world’s collectives sorrows” counts as a “birth” necessarily but whatever. I love a good beach story. It’s just a fun setitng for swimming, romance and battling a giant crab with the help of the bird what lives in your backpack.

So after the beach our heroes get dinner and Ramona sweetly calls Scott the nicest guy she’s ever dated. He responds with “That’s sad”. Blunt, but entirely accruate. Julie calls it pathetic and tries to counter Ramona RIGHTFULLY saying “who the hell asked you?” something that really should come after EVERYTHING Julie said with “Back off bitch i’ts my birthday”

So later that night Sex Bomb-Omb has a beach sing along, and I can’t help but notice Neil’s hairy legs.

I mean yes it does make since for a 19 year old to have leg hair, but of all the characters besides Stephen, the ONLY other character we’ve seen it with to give it to, why the character you specifically single out as “Young” it’s just a weird choice I never noticed before.

But anyways Julie has to whine about it because she’s Julie, she can’t stand other people being happy and complains the song...

One of my faviorite moments of the series. Knives puts a nicer spin on it, she’s here too and not over with Neil because, as we’ll find out later they broke up, but she just asks if Knives should be drinking. She shouldn’t but for fucks sake lady she was just trying to talk. I also do like that despite Julie trying to control Ramona’s love life, you know the thing the VILLIANS are doing, Ramona cannot stand her now.. and honestly probably never did.

But Julie, SOMEHOW turns out to be right for once as Kim and Knives have disappeared later that night, and Scott elects to go look for them. Also Ramona says she wants to marry kim while drunk after Julie asks if she does. The throuple is strong with these three... serioulsy that’s my one true pairing for all three now. I mean it ballances out their collective flaws, it’s cute and Ramona is just as into her boyfriends ex as she is her actual boyfriend even when she’s not hamered. Why the fuck not?

Scott instead finds the two making out. I will confess I shipped these two when I was younger.. but I don’t. Not because their gay or anything or because I found another ship for them but because the age gap is still just as wide as it was for Scott. The game did not get this memo and made them a couple which is... ehhhhhhhhh. I mean I wouldn’t mind either being bi, but it just brings up the same problems even if their both hammered. I also question why this scene exists. No really outside of one face punchingly dickish comment from Scott later, this never comes up again and it doesn’t effect Kim’s or Knives character any. Why have this? it’s clearly not fanservice, it’s just a thing that happened. And while Scott Pilgrim as a series does have some of those, as does life and that’s fine.. this is a bit too major, i.e. Kim and Knives, two of the main cast, making out, drunkenly or not, to just.. gloss over you know? I feel Kim would feel majorly guilty for this, as she has the most active moral compass of the main group, and Knives would be massively confused but it’s just.. forgotten because I dunno. In a story that’s otherwise pretty stellar this stands out as an utter waste of potential. I’m not saying have them hook up, gay or not it’s still not better than what Scott did, but have them at least talk about it and have both grow or something from it. Sheesh.

So we cut to.. another day. Maybe the next day I dunno but it’s August. Point is Scott and Wallace are grocery shopping and Wallace notes they can’t get fancy mayo as their barely in budget. I would’ve glossed over this scene... but @panur pointed out back around the Infinite Sadness review that this scene reveals something very intrestng: Scott.. is kind of a fincial burdern to Wallace. Before this while Scott mooched off him it wasn’t all that clear that Wallace was struggling.

But here we notice that outside of some Havarti, it’s just the simplest stuff imaginable: turkey, bread, boxed mac and cheese ramen noodles... it’s nto BAD stuff, I have all of that in my house and it’s good stuff... but it’s not the kind of thing that you need to carefully budget for. Now granted part of this probably is Wallace as he likely spends a LOT on drinks, condoms and two 2 liters of diet soda a day.. but while he really needs to adress his alcohol issues, the rest is fair. He should be allowed to have as much sex and diet coke as he wants it’s his money. Same with the havarti. He earned it if he wants some really delcious cheese with herbs, seriously Havarati is the best, then that’s his bidness. But the rest of the time he’s barely managing to get a basketfull of cheap food.. because he has to provide for Scott. It’s clearly something Scott dosen’t get and something I can relate to not getting. It took me a while to get how hard it is to budget for a full family, let alone two people on one income like Wallace has to. But Wallace is working on a nice job... but still a call center or something. He can’t pay for everything and the finccial stress is about to give as their landlord wants to meet with them. And as we’re about to learn things were even worse than we thought.

Our heroes head home where we get a truly iconic conversation when, over margeritas (again proving my point that while Scott certainly isn’t HELPIGN wallace’s finacials, it’s not all on him)

This will be imporant later.. both the Lesbians part and Scott’s struggle saying it. he tried earlier on the beach but couldn’t get it out and Ramona clearly didn’t want to hear it as she kapt sshhhhing him.. playfully of course but still.

So some time later it’s moving day! Kim is moving into Hollie and Josephs, and Scott, Stephen and Jason are helping. You might be wondeirng who the hell Jason is. He’s Kim’s boyfriend. I do not likes him. Not because he’s kim’s boyfriend, getting upset because a fictional character you fancy is dating is just patently stupid. I’ts like getting upset a celebrity crush is in a relationship: you had no chance anyway why. I wasn’t even bothered as a kid. I don’t really like him.. because he has no real personaliy and no real baring on the plot and I struggle to think why Bryan included him other than for a really annoying plot twist next time, which does not help my liking him knowing what’s coming.

But while our heroes help our heroine move in, and Scott is suprised Hollie is there despite Kim having told him a minute ago she was moving in with her, something I can relate to sadly, we get something vitally plot important; Stephen passes Joseph’s room.. and notices he has a small recording setup in his room. Stephen quickly begs him to record the band’s album and Joseph agrees if only because he finds Stephen hot. Eh i’ve seen better relationships start on less, fair enough. And yes I said relationship more on that in a bit.

So after a brief scene of Scott and Ramona having lunch where Scott fails to know her age and when Ramona says he could just ask.. hea sks and she dosen’t tell, not a bad scene character wise just not very plot important and probably should’ve bene swapped in order with the previous scene, we get to the next day. There’s a heat wave so Wallace orders Scott to go to the mall maybe find a job. He emphasises that.

Instead Scott just sorta bums around thirst but nto having any money.. until an old face shows up.

For those who forgot like Scott has, it’s Lisa Miller from the Volume 2 flashback, the girl who had a crush on Scott and was close friends with him and Kim. After a tackle hug and some panic Scott eventually remembers.... if in a curiously unique and self serving way

At the time this was just hilarous. Now it’s very clear foreshadowing for the big twist in Volume 6. The two catch up while Scott is very clearly attracted to her but very clearly dosen’t want to be, with Lisa wondering where kim is, finding about Ramona, etc, before offering Scott lunch as the two catch up and Scott is very conflicted about how he feels. It’s nice visual stuff as he’s blushing, something more clear in the color version and trying to desperatley sort things out. As for why Lisa’s here she’s moving to the states soon, but is staying with her sister for now.

So after an incdental scene with Wallace we catch up with Knives, who has broken up with Neil. And after some talk about Clash at the Demonhead, Tamra notes Knives apparently put a big x on her shrine of Scott... which baffles Knifves as she sure as hell didn’t do it and is still, sadly, obessed with Scott as ever. Granted Tamra isn’t at all helpful here claiming she did it even when she says she didn’t, is clearly confused and while yes we don’t know who else would care Tams, that just makes it all the more creepy. Stop gaslighting your bestie, she’s already got enoguh issues. She dosen’t need thinking she might have a split personality on top of the stalking, obession over a guy who has no intrest in loving her back, and attempted stabbings. Knives dosesn’t get a ton of focus in this one sadly. She kind of takes a back seat, and while sh’es not GONE from the volumle and someone close to her does impact it, she dosen’t really have any personal progression, negative or positive, like she does in every other volume, a shame since her personal jouney is one of the most intresting of the main cast.

Anyways that night Scott hangs out with Lisa, having not gotten around to telling Ramona she exists yet and plays a game of find the Kim Pine. She goes to Neil’ and Stephen’s place for practice, but finds no one there and Neil being a dick... get used to that it’s going to get about 80 times worse soon enough. Though we do get this classic panel i’ve gotten some use out of

He goes to Kim’s place, but she , Hollie and Satan’s Misterss have all left to Sneaky Dee’s, the local mexican place, for something to eat and Stephen is either high or doing.. something with Joseph.

Yeah i’m not hiding that Stephen turns out to be gay in the final volume or cheating on Bitch and a Half with Joseph. And even if I hate Julie with the power of a frozen sun, I still dont’ think cheating on her is kosher. He could’ve just broken up with her and while part of it was likely confusion, and he could also be bi and not decided which one he wanted to be with, it’s still a dick move.. and later makes him a hypocrite but that’s a rant for next volume.

So our heroes FINALLY find Kim, along with Hollie and Mouthface. And a nice thing I like is that Kim and Lisa are just.. increidbly close, happily catching up and making plans to hang before Lisa leaves, that despite Lisa having feelings for Scott the two ended up as close and She and Scott did and i’ts sweet to see. it’s also just.. rare to see Kim GENUINELY happy. I mean look at her

It’s not like she HASN’T smiled across the series but normally she’s just so miserable, likely because her best friends are a grumbly asshole who forces them to hang out with a raging typhoon of bitchiness, and an insenitive asshat who she never got closure with. This is the first decent human being whose not Ramona or Hollie, and that last one’s not going to last, in a while. It’s genuinely sweet to just see her.. enjoy the moment for once, honestly engaged with someone. Ramona shows up and finally meets Lisa, who apparently was on Degrassi.. I mean she says candaian show no one ever watched, and I watched that plenty but i’d like to think she was on there for a season or two. I liked Degrassi.. I honeslty miss it and think it could use some form of revivial and think porting it to netflix was a smart decision.. what wasn’t so smart was not having the other seasons leading into it on there. Need to watch more of it.

So the next day Ramona stumbles into Scott’s dreams and both are annoyed, with Ramona suggesting he get a job. This finally gets him to try. He asks about Wallace’s work but understandably, he dosen’t really want scott there and asks if he even knows. So Scott sets out to ask his other friends for jobs, while Knives shows up saying she’s “totally not stalking him” but someone is following HER, a mysterious spiky haired dude in a black leather jacket, shades and with a sword on his back. Whu-oh.

He tries Second Cup, with Julie annoyed that Stephen’s recording.. it’s hard to tell if she’s annoyed because she’s a bitch or because Stephen is both gneuinely annoying right now and clearly screwing around behind her back. My take?

But Scott realizes maybe getting a job at his Sister’s place of work who also works with his arch enemy might be stupid and backs out. He next tries Kim’s, but backs out of that too, admitting to kim it’d be stupid and Kim lists off all the reasons (His lack of resume, the fact them working together would be stresful and his ountain of late fees) why that’d be stupid, but in a jovial way. For once i’ts clear that while she’s still taking the piss out of them she isn’t mad at Scott.

In fact she genuinely helps him get a job, taking him to Stephen’s work since hers is dead right now anyway, a vegan place. While Scott naturally compares things to a job system as he’d start as dishwasher while Stephen taught him prep, Scott agrees to genuinely take this seriously and Stephen’s boss decides “eh why not” when he asks her to employ him. Scott is gainfully employed baby! God I miss that. Seriously i’m not pimping my patreon for shits and giggles.

But as he celebrates and Kim wishes she could punch his life in the face, they run into some trouble on the way home: Katana man who slices a motherfucking bus in half and chases them, with Scott reluctnat to fight because he has a sword and Scott does not, which is valid. He does escape though using subspace. He and Kim part awkardly and he returns home to Wallace throwing a party with two intresting charcters, a woman and a man of color, one of the few in the entire work, who are never seen again.

The next night is practice.. or rather recording, and we start to see Neil get edged out, with him unable to come due to exams and clearly not happy about it, and Stephen just kind of ignoring anything he cares about like the dickhead he is. It dosen’t get any better as “recording” ends up just being Scott, Ramona, and Ratfaced Knacker watching bored with Joseph and Stephen work. Eventaully Scott and Ramona decide to get out of there as things are getting tensed between thing one and thing bitch, and leave.. and take Julie with them for some reason.

So the three have dinner with Lisa, Kim, and Jason before The Mummies Curse thankfully leaves. Jason thought they were friends.

We also get this exchange.

I mean.. she is the better option. She his THE option. But before we can get the obvious answer of

Stephen comes in with Knives. He smuggled her in. This leads to problems when Scott returns from the bathroom to find Queen Bitch throwing a bitch fit about him having brought her and screechs at her when she dares to talk to him “How do you even know my name?” Well Ted Cruz, you see when someone is an actually thoughtful and likes other people, they keep track of things about them and don’t constnatly tear them down or assume their partneer is automatically bonking a 17 year old instead of you know, actually forming something of a friendship and not shutting her out sensing she needs this friend group. Some people are not vacous piles of vitriol who care about nothing but themself and seem to go off at the slightest thing.

Scott takes Ramona home but finds a drunken barely awake wallace so no sexy times. Not that he could anyway as the next day is the meeting with Peter their landlord.

Peter reveals they’ll have to clear out by the 27th as their lease was for one year and their paid up.. as in only the first and last month. The two part melacholy knowing this sucks and isn’t a great situation. Then it’s time for Scott to work work, angelica, work work, eliza and peggy. After grueling day, can relate, he runs into a wisp on teh wend and steels himself for a fight.. okay he bitches about it being too hot but it’s Scott. so it’s expected. He does get a hit in on his mysterious persuer.. and that’s when we meet Roxy.

Via boob punch, something Scott’s not proud of but in his defense, as Roxy keeps complaning about it, he was blindly struggling for a hit and din’t know the next Ex, or any of them, were female.. not that Ramona didn’t suggest it loudly enough by empahsising “exes” but scott’s a bit of a fuckwit. She mentions “everyone allways remmebers you”.. which is kind of ominus and tells me she tried to hook back up with ramona despite her having a boyfriend and she rejected her. Still on good terms though. But this confusing encounter ends with Roxy vowing she’ll get him next time gadget, next time.

So we get some assorted slice of life scenes with the band, lisa and what have you as Scott tries to get in touch with Ramona but she keeps avoiding him. THat’s not worrysome at all. And Lisa brings up high school while drunk and clearly hits on Scott. He sidesteps it with her drunkness.. but this clearly isn’t over or going to stop being a problem.

Speaking of problems Wallace makes Scott confront the truth: He either needs to find a new place to live or commit to staying, though Wallace is trying to nudge him toward asking Ramona to move into her place. Scott starts thinking it over, it being very hard especially since, as Stephen points out this was his very first place of his own.. but Stephen also points out these things are temoporary.. right before Scott ducks from katana guy.

At work Scott wonders who it could be, though it turns out Stephen’s met him before, as he’s brought his family in here. So he’s PROBABLY not one of the exes.. but it leaves the question why he wants to cut Scott in half like Dewey Cox’s brother. But it turns out he’s nto the only enemy Scott’s casually running into as Roxy is there too.. with Ramona.

The two talk, clearly about Scott and Lisa with Roxy trying to convince her he’s cheating and Ramona rightfully trusting Scott: while he IS attracted to her, he’s been fighting it every step of the way. Scott storms over to find out what’s going on and while Ramona is more distracted by his new job, she eventually realizes Roxy did attack him and he simply dscribed her poorly when he mentioned the incident over the phone. Scott is confused as he dosen’t get it. Is she with one of the exes what? After some hiinting from both parties, and Roxy rightfully mocking him for not getting the obvious... he finallyg ets it in the grandest way possible.

So Roxy gets ready to fight and Scott can’t because sword, and gets fired in the background as he hides in Ramona’s bag and Ramona prepares to step in. Roxy screams at her for trusting him and defending him when Ramona.. just dosen’t her boyfriend to be bisected by her ex. A fight insues and a damn cool one at that. I honestly wish the movie had taken more from this, but simply didn’t have time leading it to instead be more like the envy fight with a bit of the Winfried Hailey fight from Free Scott Pilgrim.

Roxy chases her and Ramona rightly points out Scott can’t run forever but takes him into Subspace.. where Roxy heads them off, having “taught you everything you know bitch” leading to a cool fight in the wintery version of subspace. Again why THIS wasn’t used instead I have no real idea. We also find out she’s a half ninja but she eventually leaves afer Ramona presses that button.. but Rammy is actually apologetic about it and Roxy’s “I hope you and your 24 children are happy together comment” is telling.

Upon this readthrough of the volume.. I realized Roxy is the most layered and intresting of the exes next to Gideon himself. None of them are out and out terrible, but most of them have pretty simple motives: to kill Scott, ???, profit. Or in Todd’s case to kill scott, bang around and be a dick. But Roxy.. genuinely wants Ramona back. She’s the ONLY one who does: Gideon kinda does, but only in the sense that he wants her for his collection. But Roxy geninely still loves her, admitting so during this fight. And it’s not like she has no chance: out of the 7 exes she’s the ONLY one who parted with Ramona on anything resembling good terms. While intrestingly we don’t find out WHY they broke up, Ramona didn’t cheat on her like she did everyone else she was with. The two have coffee and hang out and Ramona geninely dosen’t even consider until Roxy tries to attack Scott that she’d really try killing him and tries her best to talk her out of it. But what holds Roxy back is her anger: She’s so bitter about the fact Ramona is bi or pan, so dedicated to viewing Ramona’s very orintation as a betryal (though Ramona calling it a phase dosen’t help and the movie RIGHTLY has Roxie comment on it and fly into a rage over it), and so driven to make sure the woman she loves dosen’t get hurt again that it blinds her to the fact Ramona dosen’t love her the same way anymore, and that while Scott is objectively a dick, and a cheater, and a greasy buttcrack pooflap, he is not a terrible person. A meh one sure, but he’s got good to him. She’s so biophobic she simply can’t see he’s a harmless moron.. well harmless to Ramona even with the cheating. He’s killed two people at this point and will kill again. Also she apparently has issues with only being a half ninja but this is never adressed. Point is Roxy’s really grown on me and is now probably my faviorite ex.

Scott and Ramona talk it over on their way to Sneaky Dees and Scott finally asks to move in and gets a yes. His response is downright adorable.

So at Sneaky Dee’s Young Neil is just a bit absolutely irate with Scott.. which isn’t fair as them not playing things is entirely on the blocky face asshole. Yell at him.. which he does, pointing out that they haven’t played shows in forever, and that the lady who owns Sneaky Dees not only runs shows, in the upstairs space, but has been asking them to play. Kim is rightly curious about this and to both Stephen just keeps saying “We’re recording right now.” And some of you may of wondered why I hate him. Well while he’s not exctly stellar in the first half in the second Stephen becomes goddman insufferable, slowly destroying the band for his affair and not giving one iota of a shit what anyone else wants. He’s a selfish, egomanical cheating prick. And yes I get it their recording an album.. but doing live shows would give them extra practice, MONEY, even if likely not a lot and exposure for said album. I get professoinal bands stop touring for a bit to do an album but you are not a professional band, and said bands still often iron out the album on the road. God you suck.

But while Scott sidesteps this argument he walks into another where Ramona confronts him about lisa about liking her.. and he rightly says if there was anything, which there was not it’s in the past. And while yes he is a cheater, she does not know this yet. This plot honestly would’ve worked better if she learned about the knives thing sooner, but instead she just comes off as paranoid for listening to Roxy about something that isn’t happening. Yes Scott’s been shown to be attracted to her.. but he’s been ashamed of it, fighting it and in denial about it, and is clealry all in with Ramona. Being attracted to someone else on a phsyical level does NOT mean your relationship is doomed.

Things get worse as he goes home to ruminate.. and instead sees a man’s Penis. And Wallace..is at his second most unsymapthetic, not letting Scott get a shirt or a bus pass or something like a decent human being for no goddamn reason. Usually when Wallace is a dick to Scott, Scott’s earned it and badly needs a slap in the face. Here he’s just being a prick because.. the plot needs him to? I dunno it dosen’t work for me. It’s in character, I just don’t have to like it.

So with no other options.. Scott ends up at Lisa’s. And so we get the last temptation of Scott. Lisa admits, embarassed that she’s been wearing sexy dresses and what not specifically to attract him, with Scott also mentioning how things are rough, Lisa tries to fight it herself pointing out he’s with ramona.. and when Scott points out they didn’t do anything in the past Lisa points out they should’ve.. and maybe they should now.

We fade to black as Scott ends up in a dream and finds Roxy, who naturally has the same skill and tries to Freddy Kruger him before he wakes. He finds Lisa but they didn’t do anything: Scott pushed her away and babbled about how much he loved Ramona instead. As i’ve said.... his heart was never with LIsa... and even when he was so close to giving in he couldn’t. It’s a tangible sign of growth: He screwed around on Knives with Ramona, and given how bad things were getting with Ramona, it would be oh so easy to once again ditch a relationship the minute he found something else and oh so understandable. But... he dosen’t. He loves Ramona even if he hasn’t said it, he wants to make this work, and he’s changed. She’s changed him. He’s not quite a good man yet.. bu he’s getting to be good enough. Love turned him from a skeezy dumbass into a far more loveable dumbass. Ramona’s gotten him to stop dating a teenager (even if again he cheated), face his past with envy to finally move on and now get a job. He’s realized just hwo much she means to his life and world and so he goes to tell her.

Riggghtttt after going to get his job back and works a shift, with steven wanting to punch his life in the balls. Stephen shut the fuck up. Just because Scott is lucky and your stuck dating satan’s scrotum does not mean you get to punch his life int he balls. Kim does, because he’s put her through more shit but not you.

He goes to second cup to talk to Stacey.. only to end up at the wrong one where Knives also now has a job... and we finally get an answer to who the mystery katana guy is...

Yup turns out wielding giant weapons in vengance runs in the family. As for how he knows about Scott her aunt mentioned her boyfriend, everyone freaked out and obviously while her mom was mentioned as knowing in volume 1, they did not tell her dad whose brain turned into an engine of vengance and defaced the shrine. While part of it is apparnetly racisim for Scott being white the fact is he clearly saw Scott’s photograph. The guy is 5 years older. I get him being protective. Still dosen’t justify cutting off his head. His balls maybe but not his head.

And then Scott ran, once agian finding a subspace entracne.. and this time we see inside ramona’s head and well...

Yeah.. that’s.. kind of fucked, and Ramona isn’t happy scott saw that, though she backs down once Scott explains..a nd then gets upset over him staying at Lisa’s but before SCott can tell her he loves her it turns out Roxy stayed over. So yeah, Ramona might of cheated, she tells him to alk it off and he runs around in a psycadelic haze of emtoinal confusion. And meets.. someone new...

Scott snaps out of his funk and ignores his doppleganger heading back for Ramona... whose fighting Mr. Chau. Scott left the door to Ramona’s head open and he followed him through Subspace. Scott lures him into the house and away from her only to run into Roxy. This leads to both of his attackers fighting and her wondering if Gideons ent him “Why does no one ever belivie in me?!”

She soon realize no i’ts just unrelated and calls Scotto ut on hiding behind not having a sword and behind her being a woman, caling it a flimsy excuse. I mean she’s tring to kil lhim. It’s okay to hit an enemy combatant. Scott realizes he has to stop running... and get real with ramona leading to a truly epic, romantic and heartfelt speech and given how far he’s come and just how heartfelt it is it’s a real sign of how deep he feels. Sure we’ve seen genuine chemstiry between the two.. but htis moment is a shit.. from a simple relationship.. into true love.

I may of only had a few but Relationships are not easy, They take work, they take time, they take patience and theyt ake love.. but if your willing to work with someone, look past some flaws and help them with the rest.. then it’s worth it. And Scott has finally realized it and for the first time in a while is running TOWARDS something difficult, actually working on this relationship and talking with his partner instead of running finding someone else or wallowing. He’s truly grown up. While he still has miles to go.. he’s taken about 50 steps forward with this. And as such given the kind of unvierse we’re in, as Ramona is genuinely touched by it he levels up a glowing sword with a heart shaped hilt coming out of his chest.. and realizing what’s happening he pulls it out....

So Scott faces off with roxy and in an awesomly short battle, their sords clash.. and he bisects her.

Scott then honestly talks down Mr Chau who leaves after a nod, and Ramona tells Scott she loves him two. The two make out and all is well.

One make out fades into another, as we cut to Scott moving in with Kim and Blockhead’s help. Well kinda they only had one box but they owed him one. He and wallace comiserate over the end of their time as roomies. They’ll always be friend but it’s truly the end of an era. Also Wallace gets off another bit of dickery as he’’s very glad it all worked out for scott...

Now there’s the Wallace I know and love. Dickish but just the right loveable kind of douchebag with that swagger.

Back at Knives house she’s apparenlty into somebody though who I have no idea, Mr Chau give sher his blessing and she.. apparenlty doesen’t know chinese. I dunno. As I said her subplot this go round was her weakest overall.

And so we end with the whole gang gathered to see Lisa off. It’s a REALLY nice shot, and one of the only times Wallace is seen with the Sex Bomb omb side of the group. Oh sure he goes to their shows and what not, but generally their never in the same vincinity so while there’s no interaction I still find this neat. Seriously the whole main cast is there, it’s a really lovely shot

Also Jason and Hollie.. who are getting awfully chummy. Whu Oh. And of course Craphole and Mouth Face are as likeable as ever.

So we jsut get a genuinely nice sene. Except Stephen and Julie reconciling. Fuck that. Please move on. And as everyone fondly wishes Lisa adeu and wish she stuck arond the res tof the series we end on Scott and Ramona snuggling, Scott asking her her birthday and finding out she’s 24, and they both will be come september. Scott wishes this moment could last.

They probperly snuggle as the volume ends on a high.

Final Thoughts:

Yeah.. Gets it Together is, on rexamination, DEFINTELY my faviorite of the 6. Besides personal value i’ts hte best contained story, contaning lots of character development, great character moments, jokes, and EASILY the best art so far, with goregouness and creativty abounding.

There is a problem here or there: Stephen and Julie’s subplot feels underbaked, and not just because I hates them, and there are several scenes that don’t further plot or character stuff. Ther’es also stuff that could’ve been expanded on.. but given this is still a pretty meaty graphic novel, it’s understandable why it wasn’t.. though it is why I’d love a streaming series since while the movie is excellent, a full series could expand on stuff from the books more Brian simply didn’t have time for. Knives also didn’t get a lot to do.

But their drowned out by tons of great decisions: Lisa was a wonderful additoin to the cast and I genuinely wish she’d stuck around, adding in some energy, blending well with the Sex Bomb Omb crowd, and having great dynamics with everyone and her arc with Scott is heartbreaking,knowing she can’t have him but wanting him anyway having never gottne proper closure on the man she’s always wanted. She’s a heartbreaking character and its nice to see her end in a decent place and on good terms with Scott, having let him go for both thier sakes.

And while Lisa is a highlight everyone is on their a game here for the most part apart from knives, girl hitler, and captain dumbass: Scott grows signfigantly but is funny as hell, Wallace has an intresting arc trying to nudge Scott out without being overt about it, scared to really confront him, Kim is in a happy and serene place for once and it shows. The villians are also intresting: While Mr Chau is a tad underbaked, he’s sitll a cool imposing presence. I do think he shoudl’ve had more to do with the plot.. but is still just so freaking cool it papers over that and him just.. disappearing after this like poor Lisa.

Roxy is far more intresting, having clearly more going on than we see and while I wish we’d got her backstory, she’s easily the most engaging of the exes, being the only one to actively compete with Scott (All her and ramona end up doing is making out a little it turned out), and have bigger stakes than just “The glasses wearing douche asked me to beat up my exes boyfriend and I was like alright.

All in all Gets it Together is really magical, the series high point, and just damn fun and it was a pleasure to go through

Next Month on Scott Pilgrim: It all falls down as we take a look into what once was my least faviorite Album, vs the unvierse. Two perfect assholes try and murder scott with Robutts, his relationship and band crumble and things get sad so very very sad.

Next on this blog: More LIlo and Stitch! The Proud Family come to Kauai and get into a fight with our heroes. Also wizard kelly... who if nothing else is now far more tolerable now i’ve had to spend another volume with the wicked bitch of the west. Touche universe touche. See you at the next rainbow.

#scott pilgrim #ramona flowers #wallace wells #roxanne richter #knives chau #stephen stills #julie power #mr chau #stacey pilgrim #neil nordgraf #young neil #comics #oni press #scotrospective #lisa miller #kim pine #jospeh

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