#i just want him to be happy and also to have a dog

[warlordfelwinter]

fiver just standing behind wuk lamat looking pissed off during that exchange was so funny. you think you wanna invade the rest of the star, zoraal ja? then you'd best be prepared to face its protector, who has truly had his fill of warmongering idiots with dreams of conquest

[jakesangel]

unrequited love w jake - 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 event request

preview : he is always putting you first, why can't he be his girlfriend. allas, you're only his childhood best friend

word count + genre : angst ( i tried to ) . 3.1k ( word vomit so it's not proofread

warning : dorm roommate, childhood best friends, confession, rejection, happy ending, reader gets in her head easily but never cries, jake is a sweetheart

having jake as a bestfriend is the best thing possible in the world. the sweet australian boy who always help you for your physic exams or who's being his dog layla when you're on your period. but it's also the worst thing because of random girls asking you for his number or being hugged by him because you're his cute little sister. it's even worse because no boys are hitting on you, being too scared of to hit on the leader soccer team's favorite girl. so you're jsut left to watch your love story inexist, daydreams of kissing jake the only thing you can do.

baby y/nie ? are you listening to me ? he said with a pout when he realized you werent listening to his usual lego rants while doing lego. sorry jaeyunie, i just keep thinking about our last exam, but i'm here now, you say as you try to convince him tho the pet name made you sadder than what your thoughts did. y/n ? youre okay ? his worry overtaking his body, dropping the lego piece comming closer to you, you know im here for you hm ? his round eyes searching yours. yes, i promise yunie ! im sorry for worrying you, please tell me about that star wars lego set ? to pretedn to the fullest youre acrually okay, you finish your sentence with your hand on his cheek, smiling softly at him but it wssbt needed as hearinf the wors star wards and lego set together pearked his imaginary puppy ears. he goes back on the set, talking about how excited he is for the pieces to arrive tomorrow, indirectly asking you to do them with him tomorrow . i'm studying tomorrow yunie, i’m not done yet with the last chapter, you reply with some sadness filling your voice, not believing of what you gonna say next, but you could do it with emma ? he gives you a confused expression that can only warms your heart, emma ? why would i do lego with her ? its our thing baby y/nie, he answers nonchalently, as he places the last piece on his now finishes thor hammer. finally ! its looks so good isnt it ! he shows you the piece finally done, come on we need to put it up, it's the best one we've ever done ! he excitedly said, jumping on his feet to go to his bedroom. you followed smiling to his puppiness but also from his unasked reasurance. wouldn't it be better in the living room ? i want to see it too, you say w round eyes too, genuinely wanting to see you guys work everyday. which he is more than happy to comply, his love for your happiness alwaya taking over when it fomes to you. omg yes ! always having good ideas, y/nie !, kissing your cheek as he goes to tje round tbale in the center of the kivinf room.

it comes to a shock, coming back from classes to see the said emma on the sofa, checking the lego pieces done just a day before. oh hi y/n, i didn't hear you coming, she said staying on the sofa, just turning around, not even greeting you properly. she has that arrogant smile of hers, paired w her high knee boots and mini skirt. you smile back, going straight to your room, studies waiting or you, you know i should thank you for talking about me to jake but it would be hypeocite of me to do so. we all really really hate you, so please, once jake is mine, stop bothering me hm ? she warned me before turning around to reapply your lipgloss. you can't even defend yourself as jake comes back from his room, smiling at you. baby y/nie ? how was your day ? he asked as he comes for a hug. just classes, you know how it is. you ? you hug him tighter to piss emma even more. as much as he will never date you, he is still your jake and everyone knows it, that she likes it or not. dont wait for me tonight, im having dinner with emma. but i made you your usually study snack and ive made a study plan waiting for you on ur desk. please use it well hm ? he softly says, detaching from you, see you later baby y/nie, domt stuyd too late! he says, coming closer to her, not even looking at her but taking the girls hands, making her proudly smile at you, winning the mental battle you both had. he doesnt even see it as he waits for you to bid him goodbye, which you gladly do, not forgetting to add the baby innfromt of his name, makimg him giggle and getting a frown from her. finally gone, you enter your bedroom, plopping on your bed, softly sighing, taking in everything that had happened. why would she hate me ? ive never ever talked to her, but when she asked me his phone number. and who is we ? are the girls threatened by you ? do they think i have a chance with jake ? or even the boys ? that would explain why none of thek ask me out ? but what about him ? is emma even his type ? she is pretty and seems smart but she is also so arrogant and entitle ? cant he see it ? or is it actually what he likes ?

trying to study is useless, your thoughts belonging to jake, you can only take a shower and pray for the best tomorrow. but even as you shampoo your hair, you can't help but think about emma's reaction. was she really scared of you or is it just her usual self ? so you've been standing there, the water hitting your scalp, for 30 minutes, trying to figure out what you should do. if she was really scared of you that means you can actually have a future with jake as your boyfriend. all the baby y/nie or little gesture will come out as romantic and not as his little sister anymore. as you realized you have a chance, you finish your day in peace, eating the snack jake made you, his infamous ramen, heating it up before going the watch a movie on the sofa. it's only mid movie in, you hear the keys in the door, announcing jake's arrival. i'm in living room ! you whisper yell, letting him know of your presence. y/nie ? why are you still awake at this time bby, he say wrapping his arms around your neck, are you done studying, he finally whisper in your ear, making you all fuzzy. not really, but i saw your study plan, i'll read it before sleeping. join me ? the movie is almost done. you offer, your head titling so you can look at him, i also want to cuddle with you and you can tell me about your date ? you ask cutely, knowing jake wouldn't never say no to cuddles with you. anything you want bby, he says with a kiss before detaching himself from your back. he would smile as he lay on your belly, indirectly asking you to play with his hair, which isn't even needed to be asked. he rubs his face on you, almost cat like, and hums finally getting comfortable. did you have a bad day yunie ? you seemed okay earlier. you softly ask, still brushing hair hair. yeah, it's just emma. she isn't how i thought she was and she talked bad about you so im just disappointed. i could never date someone who doesn't like you bye y/nie, you mean to much for me he says, his head finally lift up, looking right at you. besides she is too much of a diva, i prefer someone like you. someone who wouldnt judge me for playing legos or playing with my hair without needing to be asked to, he smiles at you. i'm really lucky to know you y/nie, he finishes, his head finally going back on the rubbing, acting as if those words were normal to be told, but you know jake is someone really vocal, specially to you, but you can't help but hear something else. like he wants you. and more than just friends. me too yunie, im really really happy to have you by my side. besides who wouldn't want to play with your soft hair, i love them so much. you say making the both of you giggle. and it's like that, the day ends, jake laying on you and you playing with his hair, comfort filling the living room.

omg jake wake up ! we're gonna be late for the exam ! is how up you started your day. but you're now, here, almost tearing where you were soothing jake yesterday who is now the one comforting you, which is something you hate the most. i'm okay jake, we don't have to talk about it, let's just order pizza please. jake knows you aren't the type to talk about your feelings, specially when you feel like crying but for some reason today he can't stop pressuring you, come on y/nie baby, we can talk about it. im sure u didn't do that bad, you'll do better next time, he tried to reassure you, his hand coming to your hair, stroking it. jake, you said, going back, leaving a inch between the two of you, i do not want to talk about it. are you gonna order them or should i do it, you reply almost too coldly. y/n please, i know you, you don't have to keep it in. i'm sorry you feel disappoint- if you know me you'd know i don't want to talk about it nor do i enjoy being in this position right now, jake, you cut him off leaving the living room to go in your bed room, leaving a sad puppy by himself. you feel awful for snapping at him, but you couldn't help it as your nerves are already hanging w a thin thread because of that exam. and having jake all over you, interrogate you with question over your feelings is too much.

you didn't realized you zoned out, right here, sitting up on the edge of your bed, until you hear jake's knock on your door, y/n ? can you open the door please ? you hear a scared jake on the other side of the door, yeah come in, making him enter your bedroom. he never looked this sad, your best friend never wanted to make you sad or be the cause of your distress. ive ordered the pizzas do you want some ? he softly ask, slowly coming towards you, scared to do the wrong thing. it's in the kitchen if you do want it. he is finally in front of you, kneeling up to see your face. i'm sorry if i pressured you, y/nie, i know you don't like being vulnerable. i don't know why i pressured you. he softly tells, his finger lifting your chin to look at him. my apologize baby. he finishes with his eyes asking for forgiveness. i'm so sorry too, i shouldn't have lashed out on you, you say as you throw your arms around you. you're always so so nice to me, i shouldn't have snapped at you. i'm sorry jake, you really dont deserve it, as your arms thigthens around his neck. hearing you, only made his heart sadden, he picks you up by your thighs, to make you more comfy in the bed w a come on baby,let's get you comfy. you can only giggle to that making his heart and mind happy again. once settled, your head on his chest, his on your pillow, a comfortable silence falls upon the both of you. his arms encircling you and his thumbs softly stroking your skin, his soft scent filling up your nose, made you feel such at peace. cuddling with jake is always so calming and comforting and it's somehow making you fearless to tell him your true feelings. jaeyunie ? you say looking up to him, asking for his attention. hm ? he just replies , already looking at you. always looking at you. i feel really good with you. i love being in your arms or playing with your hair. you're confident jake likes you back, he wouldn't be here if he didn't right ? me too y/nie baby, me too, he softly chuckled, happy that you arent mad at him anymore. no jake i mean it, i love it all. youre so nice, and smart and i just can't help but want to be more than your best friend. you expected to see a jake smiling at you, but you're faced with a jake with a confused furrowed brows. what ? as he detach himself from you, to actually look at you, looking for any joke in your face. i hate it when you go on dates with others girl or when you call me baby because im a year younger than you, i want to be the one holding your arm on friday nights or being called baby because you like me as your gf, you explain yourself, the end of the your phrase said in a whisper. and the once comfortable silence became anxious to you, jake processing your tirade. do you not feel the same way ? you asked scared of his verdict, but that only made him leave the room, shock overtaking him.

since then jake been avoiding you. the once nights fulled of braiding jake's hair and legos are now replaced with the living room empty, the light always turned off. jake spent his time either at practice or in his room, even avoided you in the kitchen, going in when you leave or leaving you when you go in. you on the other hand, is busying yourself with studies trying to do your best for the next final but it's mostly to stay in denial of your current situation. you've lost your best friend, and every time you come out of your room, the thor hammer keeps reminding you of it. he even stopped offering his help for any studies, or prepared you any study snacks. he stopped looking at you or mentioning you. the girls also stopped coming to you for his number, sensing the shift of your dynamic with him, but going straight to him. it even more painful now to see so many dolled up girls all over him, all of them knowing you aren't in the picture anymore. so here you are, spending a friday night by yourself after the long week full of studying n repressing your feelings. you know jake isn't going to be here tonight, surely in one of many dates he has, so you snuggle yourself on the couch along with snack you bought yourself earlier. but it came to a surprise, to see jake arriving at 7pm. he stops when he sees the tv light on, not knowing if he should greet you or not. he simply stay frozen, the both of you staring at each other, but like a week ago, he leaves you alone, going into his bedroom. and you thought all of this didnt affected you that much, but as you have nothing to focus on anymore, you can only cry, right there, in front of the movie you picked earlier, for the first time in a long time.

the tears keep failling down as the movie goes by, the tv light the only thing linking your mind and reality together, you can't even hear how loud you are. your sobs doesn't go unnoticed by jake, coming out of his room. you don't even hear his first y/n ? your back the only thing he can see. he never saw you nor hear you crying, and the scene in front of you is way too funny to make you cry. so he calls again, louder, with no answers but the slightest from the movie. he tries one last time, with a hand touching your shoulder, making you leave that weird trance you were in. jake ? you say as you wipe your tears. wha- what do you want ? you ask, failing to pretend that you are okay. he doesn't reply right away, coming to sit next to you. he opens his arm, a sign of an invitation not sure if you're okay with it or not, but still wanting to offer. you on the other hand were craving his touch, so you juts crawl on his lap, hand clenching on his hoodie, tears automatically coming back.

he lets you cry for a while, still trying to soothe you with hair strocks and shhh, even rocking you side to side but as he seems your tears don't fade away, his hands leaves your hair to hold gently the both side of your face, y/nie look at me please, he whisper. but as you can't even dare to look at him, a mix of shame and sadness filling your body, he'd just start kissing your tears. come on y/nie,as he keeps on pecking your face, i want to tell you something but i need you to look at me first, the long time per names finally coming back. you slowly turn your eyes to his, only to see adoration on his, speaking silently to you. i am so sorry of how i reacted this entire week. i was so shock when you told me you liked me, i genuinely saw you like my little sister, my long time bestfriend i've always had. i couldn't possibly imagine myself dating you. but i should have told you that instead of being a dumb ass. and then i felt so so ashame, i couldn't even face you in the kitchen. how i could i make the most important person in my life,so sad and, he stops, a hand coming to his hair, trying to find his words, i just couldn't bear it anymore. that time away from you made me realize that i in fact like you too y/nie. i cant live without you baby. who will i do my legos with ? or go home to, to have my hair played with ? or eat my not so good ramen whne i make them, he says between chuckles, making you laugh too. what i wanna say is that, i dont want any of those activites to be done with anyone else. i just want you y/n.

notes : hai anon, i've never written any fic before, n im not even gonna talk about the angst, i hope it feeds you well tho > < i actually didn't want to write it as i don't write anything fictional but i somehow liked ur request so here it is <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🍓୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ tag list : @dreamiestay @jakesprincess1

perm tag list : @allurecile @luvj4key @stwrjvke @amouriu @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @jaeyunpinkyring @pockettwinzz @jwsdoll @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee @luvlyhee @en-ner-jay @en-chantedtomeetyou @erenmyman @driedflowwr @hoonion . @enchive @enhablr

[ophelia-is-complex]

the bolter ; cannibal

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader

TLDR: exhausted reader can't communicate her feelings to Spencer - please read warnings - angst then fluff - 4146 words

Warnings: self-mutilation as a metaphor, no actual self-harm, Jesus imagery, poor communication skills, reader has low self-esteem but is also a dick for a bit of it, referenced daddy issues, violent imagery - please let me know if anything else, i'm happy to edit x

Notes: Second Person, no y/n because it's 2024 and I can't keep reading about Yename. Fem reader because you can pry 'sweet girl' from my cold dead hands!!! my fics are making me realise a lot about how i grew up, i dont think i had a good childhood anyway

-

In times of great duress, puppies have been known to gnaw their paws to stubs, birds to pluck feathers from their aching spines, and rats to chew their tail to bits.

Self-mutilation is one of the most natural forms of coping. It’s a fucked-up survival instinct. There’s something in the brain that decides, the only way to feel better on the inside, is to feel worse on the outside.

You are not a puppy or a bird or a rat.

You are just a person. You should understand why you tear feathers from your back in search of freedom from your brain but being more ‘advanced’ doesn’t make you any smarter sometimes. You wonder if Darwin was wrong about evolution and survival of the fittest; surely, in all your potential, you’d have evolved past that, right?

All this to say, your skin is flawless, but it is not your skin you bite. Maybe that is where humans are the more sophisticated; they bite what others can’t see – something… emotional, perhaps, something… more unspeakable.

Or maybe it’s just you who does that.

The second uneasy glances or harsh words are spat – the moment the air shifts and your heart is yanked through your chest, a ligature made from your arteries – you prepare your teeth and plan your escape, and the easiest way to do it is to cut the connection completely in one sleek sever, rather than watch it burn up and hurt all the same.

Maybe it’s fucked up; you don’t know if it’ll burn, but… better to be safe than sorry, right? Better to just… cut the rotten limb.

You hurt yourself to free yourself. Dogs do it. Birds do it. Rats do it. You wonder if velociraptors chewed their wrists to the bone as the asteroid swallowed their sky – beautiful and terrifying. Did Jesus gnaw his bleeding heart to feel peace? Did it hurt? Did it bring him closer to God, or was he the only exception?

Really, you know you should talk to Spencer about your anxieties. He loves you – and somewhere, deep down, you really do believe that.

He loves you in the same way that, in the infinity of time and space, planets torn apart will find their way back to each other, with the push and pull of opposing black holes.

“Couples talk about how they feel, baby.”

He’s so nice. So fucking nice. What choice do you have but to push him away?

The last thing you want is to lose him, which is why breaking the connection yourself if it’s going to happen anyway is your chosen course of action. It’s merciful. Maybe there’s dignity in it.

Spencer’s fingers run across your bare knee and stroke your skin, brown eyes burning into yours as he crouches in front of you on the bed. His manner is nothing but open and calm, and the light of the bathroom catches his complexion despite the overwhelming darkness. Still in his work attire, he hadn’t even managed to take his shoes off before he’d seen you looking unhappy, and five agonising minutes had passed of him searching the rubble of your emotions to make sense of it all.

You’re fine. You swear. You’re just… perfect and perky and happy all the time. All the goddamn time. A clown in a circus long shut down.

“I can tell you’re unhappy, I just want to know why, so I can help.” His fingers brush in pacifying lines, the same delicate rhythm, back and forth, back and forth.

And really, your sadness probably blossomed from lack of sleep, too much coffee, and not enough time to enjoy the things you wanted; your last two cases were back-to-back, and you’d barely gotten off the jet before you were clambering on to it again – diving from one sleepless night into the next, until you were slurring your words and Hotch told you to ditch the coffee and get some rest.

No, I’m good, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I-I just need some fresh air and I’ll be back to being my best, I’m sorry-

“Go to bed,” he said your last name all firm, “that’s an order.”

He meant it kinder than he said it. Everybody knows that.

You’re supposed to keep up with people. You need to be on your game. You should be the last one to leave at night, not the first dismissed because you’re not helping. Fuck, what would your father say? What does Spencer think? You can’t keep up, you can’t keep up, you’re slowing everybody down and they will leave you in the dirt.

Your hotel room, half submerged in darkness, is only lit by the bathroom light you forgot to turn off as you left. Your damp hair hangs in thick tendrils about a loose t-shirt sagging around your shoulders, knees bruised from a heavy fall on your last case, fingernails picked until they ached.

Couples aren’t allowed to share hotel rooms. Hotch, however, wouldn’t dream of telling you and Spencer off like a weird camp counsellor, and so turns a blind eye to the whole thing.

Work had drawn to a close ninety minutes after you were sent away, and Spencer was surprised to find you awake at all, let alone seeming so down.

“I’m just tired, Spence.” you say, a little more irritably than you intend to.

Spencer doesn’t buy it. He’s seen you cranky and sleepy and exhausted and borderline unconscious after a night out with the girls, but you’ve never been so… glum… at the same time – never too tired to not crack a stupid joke, or ruffle Spencer’s hair when he walks into a room, or smile in that very special way reserved just for him. You’d wallowed, Spencer thinks, in whatever you’re feeling.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” another snap, words said with much more feeling than you’re willing to convey.

His hand leaves you – an absent action, intended to make you feel more comfortable seeing as it isn’t helping, which, in turn, tips your stomach upside down and pours acid into every vein and breath.

“You wanna be alone tonight – maybe get some sleep? I don’t wanna keep you up with my reading or my tossing and turning.”

A thoughtful offer of good intention that’s the first stressor to bite your bitter paws.

He doesn’t want to be here. Not with you. Why with you?

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You say.

He’s already trialled the ‘you okay?’ and ‘are you sure?’, with no luck – you’re not going to say no, I’m not okay; you barely admit when you’re hungry or cold, for God’s sake. His options are push you or let you cool off, but he’s not sure the cooling off period would do you any good when it seems more like a vain attempt to be alone and hide from your feelings, and so, he’s going to have to pry it out of you delicately, like a kitten coaxed from long weeds having spent its tiny life fending for itself.

He wonders if that’s what you are when you strip back the scalding iron.

Perhaps that’s why he’s so patient.

He knows nobody else has ever been patient with you.

“Whatever?” he repeats.

“Yeah, I don’t care, whatever.”

Ah, deflection, he thinks, something’s definitely wrong.

Because, yes, you love pretending to be aloof and too cool, but this is a little more extreme – the detachment had found its break in your relationship, though was now rearing its head again. There’s territory you don’t want explored. A bridge not yet crossed that you’d rather die at the opening of.

Still, he knows softness, even if you pretend you don’t.

“What’s the matter, baby? Talk to me.”

“Why’s something gotta be wrong? I said I’m tired, why isn’t that enough?” you come to a quick stand and Spencer leans back as you head away from him, and he rises from his crouched position as you open a window and breathe in the cool night air.

“It is enough, I just… don’t believe you.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that.” your hands come to your hips as you face him.

“You could tell me the truth.”

“It is the truth, Spence, God!” your cheeks burn.

 “Sweetheart-,”

“Can you just leave please?” you snap, hand gesturing to the door, “I don’t wanna do this with you, so just go.”

His heart pounds against his beaten ribs.

“Do what with me?”

“This.”

“I’m not sure I know what this is, to be honest.” He admits.

“Where you ask me the same question again and again and I get mad and then I’m the bad guy!”

Bad guy.

The idea that somebody had to be wrong when things were tense, and you were determined for it not to be you and yet resolved that it was always going to be.

“Nobody’s the bad guy – I’m not looking to make you the bad guy, sweetheart. I’m trying to understand you.”

Spencer’s lack of experience in relationships – especially the emotional parts – turns his cheeks red as he ponders what to do next. This isn’t an argument, he doesn’t think; you’re not arguing so much as you’re burying a body and hiding it from the groundskeeper. You’re in defence mode and concealing something, which isn’t unusual for you, but is certainly a rare case nowadays with him.

“I’d rather stay.” He rasps, “It’s been a really long day, and… it would feel wrong to end it not sleeping next to you.”

You say nothing in fear of what you might say.

He chokes back a yawn.

“Baby…”

“Hm?”

He resists an eye roll at this sudden game, rubbing his tired gaze in a hopeless attempt to wake himself up a little.

“Can I stay?” he asks – even just asking is an odd formality.

Your jaw tenses.

He says your name then – it sounds foreign to you, he never says your first name, it’s always some affectionate endearment – and you shiver, like it’s your father screaming up the stairs when he walks in the front door. No love in this one, you think, not loved right now.

“What is wrong?”

He watches as you rub your forehead, a short sigh leaving you, your throat closing up around words you’ve swallowed whole.

“Nothing!” you yelp.

Maybe ‘nothing’ is the only way to describe the things you can’t explain – there is no name, there is no quantifiable quality to its gore, it’s both everything and nothing at the same time.

“God, you’re so-,” you trail off.

Sometimes, the absence of something, makes everything about that one thing.

Like a child calling for their mother in the dark.

He wonders if you’re intentionally trying to get under his skin – fighting him on every little thing, like you’re looking for blood and bad terms – and if you want him to walk out and leave.

In the infinity of the universe, two opposing black holes will tear apart and return broken pieces over and over again in the name of poetry, and this is just gravity.

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration and remembers how he’d wore you down before – by being kind, by being sweet, by being soft. You were all too expectant of atrocities.

He steps away as he sets up your bed, peeling back the blankets and fluffing your pillows, turning on your bedside lamp, which makes you wince as you turn to watch him. Suddenly, you are both stark and obvious.

“It’s two in the morning and we haven’t slept in forty-two hours; sleep-deprivation affects all parts of your waking life from decision making to memory to emotional volatility and general coordination. Hotch said we’ll meet at twelve tomorrow at the station.” He tries to say it calm and steady, but his own frustration and exhaustion are clambering up his throat.

He pats the bed, straightening all tall, brows raised expectantly at you.

You’re disappointing him. You know this.

But, God, wasn’t it just a matter of time anyway?

Your eyes flick between him and the bed.

“Are you gonna stay?” you ask.

“Do you want me to?”

You say nothing; the question, simple in nature, is too close to home.

“Because, if you do, I’m happy to stay – I’d prefer to stay – but, if you want your space… I can give you that, too.”

Despite your cloak of claws, you long for closeness.

Your brows pinch above strained, desperate eyes as it’s all a bit too much and you are far too exhausted to be as collected as you usually are.

God, he’s already upset with you. He’s basically already left.

“Whatever.” You rasp, shaking your head, turning away from him and drawing the curtains closed, “Leave, don’t leave, I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he challenges; not aggressive, more curious.

“Just do what you want.”

You don’t look at him. The bed creaks as you sit.

You are not made of the bitterness that echoes. Not really. You both know this.

Every time you speak, you pause, as though noticing a stranger in the corner of the room, and asking yourself how they got in. The shadow man in slumber. The woman that clings to the ceiling when you regain consciousness in the middle of the night. You gaze up, knowing it terrifies you, knowing you could simply close your eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to turn away.

“So, if I left tonight, slept in my own bed, you wouldn’t care?” Spencer’s voice is probing and gentle, arms crossing his chest for a moment, shirt tightening around his arms and his tie wrinkling.

You shake your head. Limits were made to be tested.

“I think you do. I think you would.” he murmurs, his lips press into a fine line, “So, as tempting as it is to test my own stubbornness, I’m going to – uh – give you the benefit of the doubt, and stay, because I don’t like seeing you sad…”

He crouches in front of you again, eyes soft and warm in the light of the bedside lamp.

You feel yourself splinter.

“Either way,” he adds, “I wouldn’t sleep well; I’d be worrying about you all night, so… really, it’s in both of our best interests if we just… talk… and get some sleep.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, “I admire your tenacity – it’s one of my favourite things about you – but it’s time to give it up… because we’re not getting anywhere like this. You’re upset about something, and because I’m prying, you’re also upset with me.”

His hand stretches out on your lap and his eyes dare you to take it. His fluffy hair curls about his face and his gaze, though challenging and frustrated, is still kind in the face of adversity.

“Talk to me. Please. There’s no reason we have to fight; I don’t want to fight with you, I’m not mad at you, I just want to help.”

You don’t know why you’re like this.

In a bitter attempt to beat your own personal evolution, after many silent seconds, you allow a confession to slip through.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Despite its quietness, there is rage in its truth – at its humanness. You can’t meet his gaze at all.

Spencer strangles his surprise – not at your tone, but at your speaking at all – and keeps it beneath the surface.

“Okay, then I won’t. I don’t want to leave either. I just wanted you to be comfortable-,”

“I’m more comfortable with you here.”

There’s an edge to your voice; an obviousness, and a frustration at how Spencer hadn’t realised it.

You know you’re being cruel. You can’t help it. It’s the acid. It’s the everything-at-once. It’s why bees follow their queen into fire. You’re a bitten dog who’s learnt how to bite and thinks the only time lips are parted is to inflict harm.

“Okay.” he says simply.

You take his hand then, eyes fixing on your intwined grasps. He’s warm. So very warm.

“What’s going on?” he asks again.

You gnaw your words like a desperate rat. They’ve been known to chew their feet off to escape traps, through delicate flesh and brittle bone.

“I’m… tired.”

He goes to speak, but he gives you another moment.

“Too tired.”

And he waits some more.

“I… don’t know… how you guys all do it.”

“Do what?”

“I’m…” you sigh, and your eyes light up, “I’m just so tired… and Hotch sent me home.”

Spencer probably should’ve known you’d be unhappy about being sent away. You’re stubborn to a fault, and as much as he loves the battle sometimes – especially when your stubbornness is a refusal to back down from how handsome he is – there come these moments where your resolve and pride get the better of you.

You’re exhausted, and you’re embarrassed, and you’re ashamed of your own mortality. You would apologise for bleeding. You’d deny your wounds, knowing you could never repair yourself. You have.

“Sweet girl… do you have any idea how many times all of us have been sent home or sent away for one reason or another? Being exhausted is definitely not the most shameful reason to be dismissed from your duties, trust me.” His eyes glint with knowing and his thumb caresses your knuckles, as though you’d beaten them bloody, “You just need some rest and you’ll be back on top form, like always.”

“You guys worked for another ninety minutes without me.” you mumble.

“Worked is a strong word; Derek – uh – started laughing at this picture of a dumpster we took at the crime scene, and Hotch called JJ your name three times and then sent us all home.”

“What about you?”

“I was thinking about you in our room.” he admits.

Your brows pinch and you desperately fight the amusement from your face, but it breaks through despite your best efforts.

“And I – uh – don’t get much done when I’m thinking about you, so…”

Clocking your softening expression, he leans forward and kisses your hand, lingering in a way that says this is not a chore, you are not a chore, and pulls back to gaze up at you with those melted-chocolate eyes. Rugged and handsome, in all his tiredness, he is still just as glorious as the day you met.

“Is that it? You’re upset that you got dismissed.” His grip tightens around yours.

You don’t want to snap again so you say nothing.

“All right,” he hums, voice hoarse, “you know, I’ve been in this unit for ten years now… I get all the feelings that come with the job, which means I’m the perfect person to talk to about this stuff. So… you don’t have to shut me out. There’s no judgement from me; there never has been. No tricks. No illusions.” He sighs softly, “I mean it when I say I want to understand you.”

His eyes flick between yours. There’s silence as he reads you. Intimacy is, by definition, an act of violence. To understand somebody so deeply is to slice them open to their strands of DNA and scream why, why, why, as once asked by a man with nails through his palms.

“I know, I’m sorry…” you mumble.

“It’s okay, I know you’re sorry.”

You jaw tightens as your cheeks burn red and your eyes grow glassy. Spencer frees a hand to clear your hair from your face and tuck tendrils behind your ears, and, on its way back to your patient hands in your lap, strokes across your cheek just because.

Loving Spencer taught you why people feared death.

“I get that talking about your feelings is hard for you, but we’re going to have to find a way around it, because… I really love you,” he says, “like…. a lot…” his gentle expression widens in a smile, “and it’s because I love you that… we can’t spend the rest of our lives tiptoeing around being vulnerable. I know it’s hard, and I’m sorry, but… you have to open up to me…”

You believe your first ever sound was an apology; I’m sorry I’ve brought you all here today, I’m sorry for the pain I have and will inflict, I’m sorry I have stained you all in blood.

“It’s difficult. I don’t… like… telling people that stuff. I don’t like people knowing what I feel; not even I know what I feel half the time.” you confess roughly.

Spencer’s gaze softens. His hands escape yours and come to your thighs, one on either side, as though securing you in place, and his thumbs, in unison, continue their metronome motion. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“I think you know exactly how you feel… and I think it probably scares you to death.”  He wonders.  

You ponder if your emotions, once yielded, had been turned to arrows for your destruction. If your sadness was deemed shameful, if your shame was deemed weak, if your weakness was grounds for cold concrete and spit.

Not by him, of course, but the body is a stubborn thing. Humans are animals. Animals learn the first time they get bitten.

Survival of the dweller.  

“But I love your big, complicated feelings. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

You find very little to say.

“Bed?” Spencer asks suddenly.

You nod at him, head aching, each blink lasting longer than the one before. Spencer straightens a little and kisses your forehead, one hand coming to rest on the back of your head. It lasts longer than it needs to. Your eyes close. He embraces you in a way that promises your safety – that recognises you, that’s intentional.

And he comes to a stand and smooths your hair, and his grasp slips from you as he heads away to ready for bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his light blue shirt and loosening his tie. The bed creaks as you adjust where you sit, eyes following him about the amber room as his tie finds a home on one corner of a vintage chair and his shirt hangs from the other.

He heads to the bathroom then.

“Spencer?” you call delicately.

He pauses in the doorway and turns back, a sleepy smile hanging on his lips.

“Hm?”

“I love you too.” You say.

He observes your loose, drowsy apparel, from your drying hair to your fluffy socks, pulled to the bed as you sit cross-legged.

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.” You mumble.

“Everything’s possible.” Spencer says, leaning back on the doorframe as you speak, “Statistics, for all their worth, only operate in the physical world – in the material, in what we experience. Odds are dictated by the rules of the three dimensions, but there are theories exploring infinite dimensions outside of this one – string theory, for example, proposes there are ten dimensions, with one of them being temporal and the other nine being spatial. Uh – that means that we have six extra physical dimensions curling up on top of our current three, with time – or, I think more accurately, uh… decay… ageing… passage – being the spatial one, and combined with the theory of the multiverse-,”

“You’ve gotta stop whipping out your big words on me every time you wanna prove a point.” You grin all nostalgically.

Spencer’s eyes roll as his head tilts towards you.

“Well… possibility isn’t real, not outside three dimensions… so… I guess you’ll never be able to prove me wrong.”

Maybe he is just as stubborn in his own beautiful, admirable way. Maybe stubbornness is not in chewing your tail but in honouring your heart.

Your cheeks burn pink.

“Well, I love you a lot.” you hum, “In all the dimensions I occupy.”

“I know.” he hums.

“And… I might not be a genius, but… I know that… I have loved you in every universe I’ve met you, and in the ones I haven’t, I’ve wanted you. Like… like… a seed planted in a dark room that searches for a sun it’s never seen. That’s the real theory. Call it… Spencer Theory.”

His brows slightly pinch.

“You can have my idea for free; I’m sure it’ll challenge string theory in popularity.”

Your eyes lock in this infinite moment of understanding.

He abandons the doorway once more and leans across the bed, hands planted in the ruffled sheets, and he glances at your lips.

And you kiss him. And it’s gentle. And it’s just because.

He caresses your head again, a soothing gesture – you wonder if he hopes it goes more than skin deep, if he’s testing some theory about physical stimuli and emotional reaction, like how holding your hand reminds you that you are not alone.

He pulls away, caresses your cheek, and offers one last kiss for good measure.

“Rest your head. I’ll be there in a minute. I promise.”

If you liked this, feel free to check out my other Spencer Reid fic i will do more but i have like a job and shit so yk

you guys wouldnt know this but i bare struggle to pick a gif because i start flushing like a fifteen year old girl mamma mia

Requests and feedback are welcome xoxo gossip girl

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Well, here we are--at the end of the road (though there will be a sizeable Epilogue coming up in the future).

But I want to thank everyone who stuck with me since October 2023, when I first got the bizarre idea to write a story about a London Matchmaker and an Arsenal footballer. I hope you all enjoyed the journey and I hope that the conclusion is satisfying.

TW: EXPLICIT (there is a long sex scene in this one)

Also, it's a long chapter.

Please let me know, Anon or not, what you thought of what came to be known as 'Matchy'.

Thanks again!

-

Chapter XVIII

I Got Mine

“Fine. It’s all a lie.”

Elain sighed and hung her head dejectedly.

She was tired. So very tired. She rubbed at her throat, which was aching from all the rough treatment that Azriel inflicted on her neck. He’s been unusually rough today. He wasn’t very gentle to begin with, his grip on her typically tight and firm. But today, he was almost vicious. 

“You happy now?” she walked to the door. “You’ve lied. And I believed you. I am a stupid naive woman who fell for a playboy’s lies. Tale as old as time,” she shrugged.

She fiddled with the handle, not realising that he’d locked the door with a key.

“This was a mistake,” she said with some finality in her voice.

“Is that what you think?” Azriel asked in turn. “That we were a mistake?”

“Seems kind of obvious now,” she pointed out to him. 

“I don’t think so,” he argued. “Actually, I don’t think so at all.”

“Please open the door,” she begged him, with tears in her eyes.

“No.”

“Azriel,” she hissed. “I am tired. I want to go home. I want to take Piglet and I want to go home. Open the damn door right now!”

“Or what?” he was curious, “You’ll start screaming?”

“If I have to.”

She turned to face him and said clearly, “Listen, all I want is my fee and I will be out of your hair and you can live happily ever after.”

He seemed to think about her words, and then crossed his arms and said, “Hmmm. That's going to be a problem.”

“What will?”

“The fee,” he explained calmly. 

“Why is that?” she hissed with indignation.

“Because you are fired.”

He said it in a bland tone, like it didn’t mean anything. If she wasn’t listening closely, she probably would’ve missed his words. But she heard him, and her eyes popped wildly.

How dare he?

Fired?

FIRED?

He was firing her?

“You can’t possibly!” she cried. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would. And I am,” he assured her dryly.

Fuming, she exclaimed, “why?! What did I do? How could you?!”

“Your services were lacking,” he shrugged callously.

Elain’s hand flew to her neck, and she glowered at him in utter shock, her breaths jerky and short. Say what he will, but she was good. She was excellent at her job. Her services never ‘lacked’ anything. Even with him and their complicated relationship, she still fulfilled the terms of their contract and introduced him to viable matches. Not only that but he was getting married! To one of the matches. And now he was claiming that she didn’t do a good job and that she was lacking.

“My services do not lack anything, sir!” she snarled at him angrily. 

The corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smirk. 

“Sir?” he repeated. “I like it.”

She didn’t even understand what he was referring to for a moment, but then it dawned on her and she just about growled in her throat. All he ever thought of was sex! Or something juvenile or utterly daft.

“You want to call me ‘daddy’, baby?” he offered, smiling that nasty smile. “Oh, wait, you already do! In fact, you called me that today.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh yes you did. When you told that fat mongrel to stop biting me,” he reminded her.

“My dog isn't a mongrel! He is purebred,”

Azriel scoffed and asked, “what are the breeds? Pug, asshole and psycho?”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “I now wish I didn’t pull him off of you.”

“And what? Have him bite my dick off?” he mused.

“I don’t care! It’s of no use to me,” she waved her hand dismissively. 

“Are you sure, sweetness?” he snorted a laugh. “Might as well use it to get yourself off a few times.”

She gasped and reddened adorably.

“Or,” he continued, but she begged him, 

“Please stop talking!”

“Remember when I walked in on you?” his voice lost its sharpness and his expression seemed to soften a smidge. Though Elain had no idea what he was referring to and what he’d walked on. 

“You remember,” he pressed, stepping closer to her.

“No, I have no idea.”

“When I walked in on you,” he repeated. “And you had my sweatshirt rolled up into a ball, and you tucked it under your dress,”

She blushed violently, remembering it. Oh god. Why now? What was he bringing this up now?

He was so close to her now, and then his hand was on her face, cupping her cheek, the scars so familiar and so beautiful, that she wanted to cry again. She wanted to bury her face in his hands and have that rough, scarred skin scrape over her cheeks, over her eyes…She wanted his fingers touching her lips, the way he always enjoyed it. 

“You stood in front of the mirror,” he whispered, his chin landing on her head, and his arms wrapping around her. “And you didn’t know that I was there, watching you. You were looking at yourself, with a big round belly under your dress, thinking how you would look with my baby inside of you.”

“I…i,” she attempted to argue, but there was no reason. It did happen. She’d imagined it. Many times. What she’d look like pregnant, what it would feel like to have his baby inside of her, what their family would look like.

She couldn’t stifle a sob, which ripped out from her throat. It was a loud, choking, dry heave–a cry for the future she’d never have.

His hand migrated to her head, and he stroked her gently, his chin still resting atop the satin band. He was huge, his body even bigger and more muscular than she’d remembered. 

“Shhh,” he cooed quietly. “Don’t cry, lassie.”

That only made Elain sob harder. When he called her ‘lassie’, she could barely function on a good day. Today wasn’t a good day. 

“I have to fire you, sweetheart,” he told her again, calmly, almost soothingly.

“What are you talking about?” she sniffled, still perplexed by what he was trying to convey with this. She pulled away from his chest and looked up at him through her tears.

“The problem is,” he explained, as he moved his hand back to her face, and stroked his knuckles over her cheeks, “is that you are very unprofessional,”

Elain sucked in a breath and readied herself for an argument, but he didn’t pay her any heed and just continued talking, 

“Because you made your client fall madly, irreversibly in love with you. And he adores you insatiably. Every longing he’s ever had is just his desire to possess you with every word and every action. You’ve consumed every thought in his head. You quieted the demons inside of him. You made him like himself more than he ever thought possible.”

Elain blinked rapidly, staring at him with incomprehension. She wasn’t sure what he was saying exactly, but it sounded an awful like a love confession. 

“So you understand why I must fire you,” he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Nooo,” she whimpered.

“Conflict of interest, my love,” Azriel smiled at her. “You are my conflict. My conundrum.”

“But…” she reached up and squeezed his neck. “Azriel. What are you saying?”

He sighed. 

At that moment, someone banged on the doors, rapping on it impatiently and they heard an unfamiliar voice, saying, “Mr. Night. This is highly irregular. The ceremony is to be held in 30 minutes. Mr. Night…”

Azriel tilted Elain’s head the way he wanted to, ignoring the irate attendant. 

“You can’t hate me for this,” he said firmly. There was something mischievous in his gaze, but also devious and unrepentant. Elain gulped down on some air, frightened of what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Or Feyre,” he added.

At the mention of her sister, she shuddered visibly. She didn’t expect him to bring her up. Whatever this was, it was bad. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was referring to.

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice trembling. Despite the general heaviness of her elaborate dress, she was shivering against Azriel’s broad chest, her palms cold and sweaty at the same time.

“You want to sit down?” he offered thoughtfully, gently rubbing her bare arms up and down, warming her up.

“What did you do?” she repeated.

“Lied to you.”

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, which stretched into an uncomfortably long pause.

At last, Elain managed a tiny, “how?”

She felt small and wounded, like a hunted animal under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“I needed to make you suffer,” he said cruelly. 

“Why?”

“So I’d know that you loved me,” he squeezed her chin almost painfully in his hand. His eyes bore into hers, and his mouth turned into a straight, angry line. “So you would know what it’s like to be without me. So you’d feel it. The way I felt it. I don’t think that you knew that this was real until you’d lost me.”

“What the hell are you saying?” she pushed at him, but he held her steady, squeezing her arms and her face in his huge hands. “I always knew that this was real!”

“Yeah…no, I don’t think so. Like I said, Elain, you needed to be humbled,” he reminded her with that same cruel glint in his eyes, “you needed to understand that I was your man. You needed to cry and you needed to beg for forgiveness, knowing that you’d lost me.”

“I am not going to beg you!” she shoved at him, cheeks red. “Not for anything!”

“Oh, you will,” he assured her. “Because I hold your happiness in my hands.”

“So hooking up with Gwyn was your way of making me beg?” she huffed a hysterical laugh.

He released her so suddenly, she almost fell. 

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I lied about that,” he announced blandly. 

Her brow furrowed and she stared at him, fearful, annoyed, and hopelessly hopeful. What she was hoping for, she wasn’t even sure.

“You lied about…” she began saying, but was interrupted by his vigorous nodding.

“Told you, you were threepence short of a shilling,” he scoffed. 

“Stop insulting me!” she yelled.

“Then stop being daft!” he yelled back.

Composing himself instantly, he let go of her and circled the room, looking agitated. She was still waiting for more–for an actual explanation of what he meant when he said that he’d lied. Frankly, right this moment, she didn’t care about the logistics or complete comprehension of what had occurred. She just stood in the middle of the room, trembling. 

“You…you aren’t with her?” she whispered pathetically. “You aren’t with Gwyn? You broke up?”

He ceased his pacing and looked out the window.

It was a lovely, sunny day outside. The birds were loud–he could hear them even from here, and the greenery outside was pregnant with life. It was bursting and flowering, blackthorn trees were already heavy with pink and white flowers, and cherry plums began blooming as well. It was unusually beautiful for this early in the spring. 

“I was never with her.”

Elain’s head snapped towards him and she stared intently, looking for any sign of dishonesty.

“What do you mean?” she whispered brokenly.

“You know what I mean,” he turned to look at her. “You know exactly what I mean. I am firing you because I am in love with you. And it would be a conflict of interest to continue to employ you. I’ve never loved anyone but you,” he added quietly. “Only you.”

“So,” she was shaking so violently, she grabbed the back of the chair, to hold herself upright. “This…this whole thing? What is this…what of Gwyn?” 

A look of complete bewilderment flickered over her flushed face.

“Like I said, a ruse,” Azriel didn’t look at her, as he inspected her forearm, carefully pulling the drying paper towel off. “I asked Gwyn to play along and she is a romantic at heart, apparently,”

Elain wiped her face, feeling faint. 

“Don’t worry,” he glanced at her, though he sounded frighteningly rational. “I know it’s fucked up. But you wouldn’t fucking listen. So drastic measures needed to be employed,”

“You are grotesque,” she moaned, staring at him in horror.

“I’d call it ‘crafty’,” he argued. “I find solutions, you see. I always win. I wanted you, and I was going to have you by any means possible.”

“You…you…” she choked out, “you will not have me!”

“No, I will,” he assured her.

“You did all this,” she made a wide swipe with her hand. “You…what…” she was feeling so out of sorts, so discombobulated that she was actually afraid that she was either losing her mind or experiencing some kind of an episode. She scrambled to recall stroke symptoms–was that numbness in her left arm? Was her face drooping? Could she still speak and make sense? Because if she thought about this objectively, nothing made sense. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone concerned, as he noted her confusion, and her sweaty pallor. “Do you want some water?” 

The good thing was that the antechamber had been set up with champagne, water, whiskey, truffles, and biscuits. Azriel poured her some water and came to where she was standing.

“Sit down, sweetness,” she urged her gently, wrapping his arm around her waist and carefully pushing her down on the chair. She all but collapsed, without even arguing, and sat on the chair, while he brought the glass to her lips and held the back of her head, so she could drink.

“Drink,” he cooed, stroking her head. “That’s my girl.” 

He put his palm on her abdomen and whispered, “breathe, Ellie. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Azriel,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, not even caring what that looked like, “you need to be honest with me now. Are you marrying Gwyn?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “No, I am not. I am hoping to marry you, actually.”

“Then what is all this?” she insisted, looking around. She was very well familiar with this venue–it was popular with well-off brides, who could afford the exorbitant prices. Lots of celebrities were married here as well–Judy Garland, Patsy Kensit and Jim Kerr, Prince Pavlos of Greece, Irving Penn and Lisa Fonssagrives, Wallis Simpson, Patrick Vieira, Marco Pierre White and others. This venue required deposits and arrangements and advance notices. This was not a walk-in. 

He went to the refreshments table, poured himself a whiskey, pulled up a chair and sat facing her. 

“Listen,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I was really pissed at you, especially after that day at the Ivy.”

She tried to remember, but came up empty handed. What happened at the Ivy?

Azriel didn’t expand on it though. He continued, ignoring her confusion.

“It was a combination of bad advice and my own personal anger. And frankly, I am still pissed at you, but whatever. I am over it. I got your sister to help me,” he said, and it dawned on Elain that he meant Feyre.

“What did she do?”

“Well, I couldn’t go to Nesta because she’d rip my cock off and I am fond of the thing,” he confessed. “Though it’s withering and dying as we speak, due to disuse,” he sighed dramatically and Elain couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t understand,” he pressed, “I’ve not been inside a pussy since early September. We are in March now.”

“Oh!” she scowled, “however are you surviving?!! Poor lad,”

“I am! I am a fucking poor lad!” he agreed vehemently. 

“What did you rope my sister into?” she asked instead, taking his tumbler and throwing back the rest of his whiskey. He snorted a laugh at her, his brow raised in amusement.

“Got her to find an appropriate venue–this was her choice, but I think she did well,” he said, looking around. “And then of course, she designed the invitation,” he told her sheepishly. 

Elain’s mouth popped open.

The invitation.

Mr. Azriel Singer-Night and Miss Gwyneth Berdara request the pleasure of your company at their nuptials…

“Jesus Christ,” Elain moaned softly.

“Okay, before you freak out,” he said quickly, but she cut him off,

“Before? BEFORE I freak out? I am freaking out, Azriel. I am so past freaking out, you have no idea!”

“Okay, I understand,” he nodded, caressing her arm soothingly, like it made it okay. “But don’t blame her. I bribed her,”

“With what?!!”

He winced and said quietly,

“Unlimited hugs from Pink?” rubbing the back of his neck, he added quickly, “so you’ll need to sort that out with him, because I can’t. I would–I absolutely would–but he hates me. So I am not sure he’ll listen. So you should probably get on that sharpish.”

“So you are bribing my sister with my dog to create a fake invite to your fake wedding with another woman? And I have to be the one to make good on your promise?” 

He considered it and then acknowledged, “Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound good.”

“It doesn’t sound good,” she concurred.

She couldn’t even comprehend the depth of his deception. It was truly unhinged. Diabolical.

And yet…

To go to these lengths was truly inexplicable behaviour, unless Azriel was genuinely…in love. 

“But,” he continued, “on the other hand–,”

“There is more?” she groaned, needing more whiskey. Sharpish.

“I planned a wedding for us,” he said, trying to look innocent. 

She let out a hysterical laugh. 

“You actually think that I would marry you after all this?”

Azriel opened his mouth, but there was a forceful knock on the door and they heard Rhysand’s voice,

“I brought your trousers and a new jacket.”

“How long is this going to take?” Nesta echoed. “If it takes you over 45 minutes to convince someone to marry you, then maybe they are not that into you,” she shouted. “And you should take the hint! She can do much better than you!”

Azriel winced and murmured, “fuck she is brutal”.

Elain took the interruption as an opportunity–she jumped from her chair and rushed to the door, hissing at Azriel “open it!”

He sighed, but did not argue and walked to open the door.

Nesta was standing there with a sneer on her face, arms crossed on her chest.

“You knew too?!” Elain cried out, not believing that her sister would do this to her.

Nesta rolled her eyes slightly,

“I didn’t. But I guessed,”

“How?” Explain!” Elain exclaimed. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Cassian piped in, looking a tad lost in this conversation.

Rhys meanwhile wrinkled his nose, looking at Azriel’s paper-toweled arms, and his torn trousers, ordering him, “You need to change.”

Fenris and Feyre were minding the snarling Piglet, and Feyre had the good sense to look guilty and avoid Elain’s blazing glare.

“Is there always this much drama with these families?” Fenris wondered out loud, smirking at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“How did you know?” Elain insisted, while Azriel wrapped his fingers over her upper arm and held her close to him.

Nesta pursed her lips, giving him an unamused look and then said, “I didn’t believe that he left you. Not for a second. He loves you too much. Always have.”

Elain stared at her sister, eyes wide, expression shuttered. 

“Told you,” Azriel breathed into her ear. 

“Leave me alone!” she tried to wrestle her arm out of his hold, but to no avail. 

Rhys handed Azriel a garment bag, saying, “if we could make this happen some time today, it would be wonderful.”

“You knew it too?” Elain asked accusingly.

Rhys shrugged innocently.

“I am married to Feyre darling, you know. It certainly didn’t take an hour to convince her to marry me, did it, Fey?”

Elain pointed her finger at her sister, and growled at her, “I will have a very serious talk with you later.”

Cassian stepped forth, looking puzzled.

“Wait. You aren’t marrying Gwyn?” he confirmed.

Nesta groaned.

Azriel said ‘no’.

Cassian exhaled loudly and exclaimed, “oh thank God! But are you marrying Elain? I am so confused.”

“Clearly,” Nesta sniped under her breath.

“He is not marrying me!!” Elain howled desperately. “He made his bed and,”

“You’ll be in it,” Azriel told her with mad confidence.

“Ha! Dream on. Never. You are a liar! And a cheat. And a manipulator.”

Azriel’s facial expression did not change, though his eyes turned colder and lines bracketed his mouth. His huge hand squeezed the back of her neck and he pulled her roughly to him.

“Apparently,” he gritted out, “we have more to discuss.”

All the other men straightened and made themselves known, watching how he rough handled her, but before anyone could say anything, he half-dragged her back into the room and slammed the door closed. 

“Ow,” Elain attempted to twist out of his hold, but he gripped her tightly and even as she tried to unlatch his hand from her neck, he just held her, though he did not squeeze.

“Clearly, we are not on the same page yet,” he grunted with displeasure. “And you, beautiful, seem to not understand your position,”

“My position?!?! What is my position?! Let go!” she attempted to slap his hands away, but wasn’t successful.

“No. Your position is to understand that this is happening.”

“Nothing is happening. You didn’t even ask for forgiveness!”

“And I won’t,” he warned her. “Don’t expect it.”

He finally released his brutal hold on her arms and she noticed faint purple marks on her skin. Wonderful…

“I know what you want from me,” he said with a sigh.

“And what do I want from you?” she asked, her voice shaking, adrenaline pumping through her and making her feel like she was on drugs. She’d done a couple of lines of cocaine in uni. This felt even worse. 

He scowled and explained, “You want me to tell you that I will be okay. That time will pass and I will grow comfortable being without you. You want me to tell you that I wouldn’t need you like I do right now. That I wouldn’t want you. You want me to tell you that time heals all wounds and that I would move on.”

She was blinking at him, watching his beautiful, devastated face, and how he was shaking his head.

“But the truth is, beautiful,” he gnawed on the inside of his cheek, still shaking his head, as if imagining what that would look like for him–the reality of her not being there. “The truth is that, no, it won’t be okay. Because frankly, I love you too much. And I know that I am a fuck up who probably fucked up any and all chances of actually being with you. Now I see how stupid it was, but I can’t go back and change it. It is what it is. But you need to understand that I wouldn't be okay at all. Because you, Elain, well, you are my endgame. My soulmate. Really the only possible ‘happily ever after’ that there is for me. I am not an easy man to love. I am dick to everyone, or almost everyone. A real twat. And not a simple option for any woman to like, let alone love. Birds have been throwing themselves at me for a decade and I think that screwed things up for me in my head. Not an excuse, I know, but I also know that from the moment I saw you–and I saw your legs first, without even seeing your face–I somehow knew this was it. No more birds for me after I’ve met you. Haven’t even thought of anyone. Haven’t paid attention to a female. When I saw you, I knew that I was going to become a nutter for you and my world would begin and end with you. And to this day, I am absolutely convinced that you are entirely too good for me. I am punching so above my weight I can’t even wrap my mind around it. But you are my person. My only fucking love. The only love I want,” he sounded exhausted and absolutely defeated, as he wiped his eyes and his forehead. “And no, I will not be okay without you, Elain.”

“But you lied to me, and you manipulated me,” she began whispering, “and,”

“And I’d fucking do it again,” he told her, his tone stern, his voice rough. “You want me to beg and grovel? Is that what you want?” he shrugged. “Sure, I’ll do it! If it makes you feel better, I’ll do it. But it’s a waste of time,”

“Why?!” she exclaimed, “are you not sorry for putting me through this?!”

“I’ve put myself through worse,” he argued. “And no, I am not fucking sorry. And yeah, I’ll grovel if that will make you happy, but don’t expect any kind of bullshit of us ‘taking it slow,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “or me giving you ‘time to decide’ or get ‘in touch with your feelings’, none of that shite,”

“Excuse me?!” she cried out incredulously. 

He stepped closer to her and before she could pull away, he cupped her face between his hands.

“What it means, beautiful,” he said severely, his face grim and intense, “is that the only way you are leaving this building today is as my wife.”

She attempted to step back and get out of his hold, but he squeezed her cheeks tighter and pressed on, “You are marrying me today, Elain.”

“You are insane! I am not,” she screeched, but he shook his head in a firm NO.

“Yes you are. You are becoming Mrs. Night. Today. I am done playing fucking games with you.”

“I am not marrying you!”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “And if you aren’t, then it’s me kidnapping you and keeping you in a cage. Like, your choice, baby.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“You are completely insane!” she gasped.

“Maybe. But I also love you more than life. Love you more than anything. Yeah, call me obsessed, unhinged, deranged–I’ll accept it. Because I am all those things. Because of you and how I feel about you. And I am sorry, Elain, but I love you selfishly. I love you too much to let you go. So I am not,”

“And if I say ‘no’?” she demanded.

“It would be better if you said yes,” he suggested. “Because then I’d have to do something drastic, and I don’t want to. But I will steal you,” he warned. “I don’t care what it makes me and I don’t care if you think that I am an obsessed freak.”

“You are!”

“So I am.”

Suddenly, he dropped down in front of her to his knees and wrapped his heavy, strong arms around her thighs, burying his face in her belly. She stood still, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides, a desperate need to touch him and comfort him clawing at her. Unable to help herself, she threaded her fingers through his thick black hair and whispered, “what do you want, Azriel?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kneeled in front of her, and held her, inhaling the scent of her, his palms gently stroking her bottom. 

“You,” he said at last. “Only you. I only want one thing, Elain. And it’s you.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. But then, Azriel looked up at her and asked the same question, “What about you? What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I do.”

“Of course you do,” she rolled her eyes at his confidence.

“You want the same thing you’ve wanted for a long time now–me. Deny it or not, it won’t make a difference. We both know that it’s true. You want to be married to me.”

She choked and attempted to say something, but the next moment he shocked her by pulling out a small box and shifting to one knee.

“Always wanted to do this, never thought I’d get the chance,” he muttered under his breath. “Okay, here it goes,” he looked up at her and asked, “marry me, beautiful. Today. Right now. And I promise to be the best husband to you. I will love you and I will be loyal. I’ll respect you. I’ll take care of you. You’ll never want for anything in your life. I’ll make you laugh. I’ll save you, if you need saving. I’ll pick up Pinky’s turds. I’ll participate in all your high society crap with you. I’ll dedicate every goal to you. I’ll fuck all your holes and you’ll love it,”

“Jesus Christ,” Elain gasped, her whole body shaking. 

“I’ll get you pregnant and I’ll be a good father to our children. I’ll cook and I’ll wash dishes…No, we have a dishwasher, so that’s a moot point.”

She couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“Same for laundry. Also, we can just hire maids and housekeepers because we’re rich. I am not paying you your fee,” he warned. “Your services leave much to be desired, frankly. But the 230 mil–you get that, along with me, because you’ll be my wife. And we are together for life. Maybe we’ll take some longevity shots and live forever! These are my terms. I suggest you accept them.”

Elain scrubbed her face and muttered, 

“This is the worst proposal ever.”

“No it’s not!” he exclaimed, scandalised. 

“It is. It actually included the words ‘fuck all your holes’ and ‘turds’.”

“Practical things,” he shrugged, opening up the little box. Inside, Elain found a lovely ring–not ostentatious or enormous–but a gorgeous pale pink oval diamond set in a flower-like setting. There were little emeralds surrounding it, resembling leaves and tiny pearls for flower buds. 

It was a perfect ring.

Of course.

But then, Azriel knew her. Knew how she was and what she liked and what she wanted. He always knew, without her even telling him.

“The only acceptable answer, Ellie, is a ‘yes’,” he reminded her. 

She bit her lips, looking at him, at the ring, her mind scrambling. 

Finally she asked, “you’ll be honest and true with me, always?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“And you love me like you say you do?”

“I do. Even more than that.”

She traced his cheekbone with her finger and whispered,

“I love you too. I love you so much that even if parts of me tell me to say ‘no’, I cannot. “

“Your heart won’t allow you to say no to me,” he told her confidently. “It knows you better than your brain does.”

He waited for her and she murmured, “I am scared.”

“Don’t be.”

“Will it be okay? Will we make it?”

“We’ll make it, baby. We were written in the stars a long time ago. Also, I asked your father for your hand as well,”

She gasped, “you did?”

“Of course. I am not a neanderthal.”

That was questionable, but okay.

“Asked him a long time ago,”

“What’s a ‘long time ago’?” she wondered. “We’ve only known each other for a little bit of time.”

Azriel sighed and admitted, “I asked him over Christmas.” 

Elain stuttered. Christmas??

“You asked him and then you broke up with me?!” she cried.

“I never broke up with you,” he corrected her. “I gave you ‘time’,” he scoffed at that. “Something you kept saying you need. So you had your ‘time’ and you were miserable. And now, I am not giving you any more time. By the way, your father gave me his permission to ask you. He told me that I am an ‘unorthodox choice’ for you, but a good choice nevertheless.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips.

“So tell me?” he asked, “what’s your answer?”

Elain swallowed hard.

What was her answer?

“Yes,” she said clearly. 

Because there was only one answer for them. 

Elain Archeron loved Azriel Night. 

Loved him from the first time he showed up in her office, full of swagger and contempt. She loved him when he was rude to her. She loved him when he was kind. She loved him when he told her the names of the children he was going to have. The children that she’d give him. She loved him because he was loyal and true and good and no matter what, she knew that he’d love her with the same deranged passion until her dying days.

“Alright then,” he grinned. “Let’s get fucking married!”

He placed the ring on her finger and rose to his full height.

“Now, I have to change, pretty girl. I suggest you get your swollen puffy face under control–you don’t want to regret those wedding pictures later on.”

Elain stared at him.

“Are we really doing this now?” she whispered.

“Fuck yeah we are. But before anything happens, I need to talk to my pug.”

Elain straightened her dress, her hands shaking. 

“You gonna hyperventilate and freak out?” he asked seriously, unbuttoning his shirt.

Elain shook her head and then said, “No. Are you really going to marry me?”

He smiled and said,

“You know it, baby.”

She walked to the doors and opened them.

Everyone was there. Were they listening? She wouldn’t put it past them.

“Az!” Cassian yelled loudly. “May I remind you that you said that you wanted to marry a girl who knew how to bake. And Ellie knows how to bake! So technically, yours is a match baked in heaven!”

“For the love of god,” Nesta groaned.

Azriel was laughing.

“You are right! That’s why I am marrying her!”

Cassian’s roughly beautiful face broke into a wide smile.

“Ellie, you said yes?”

Elain extended her arm forward and showed off her new ring to everyone.

“I am happy for you, pumpkin,” her father stepped forward and threw herself in his arms with a sob.

“Now, don’t cry, sweetheart,” he stroked her head. “Rhysand has been kind enough to let me know that the thing is done. And here, I brought your mother’s veil, in case you wanted to wear it. Feyre didn’t get the chance, so I thought that maybe you’d like to.”

-

It's a light relief from a bad habit

It's my mother's cookin' when I can't have it

It's the last train home from the day trippin'

It's the place I know when I start slippin'

Darling, won't you take me home?

Send me shivers somewhere I used to go

Wrap my name across your mouth

When I let my feelings down

Darling, won't you take me home?

Yeah, won't you take me

Tell me, does your mother know? Oh

I still love you, head to toe, yeah

Like the back of my car on a sunny day

You're the song on the radio I never play

You're the words in my soul that I wanna say, yeah, I wanna say

So won't you make me stay?

‘Home’ was the song that Elain Archeron walked down the aisle to the man she loved.

He stood there, grinning, his arms thrown over the shoulders of his brother and his cousin, waiting for her at the end of the road.

She held her sisters’ hands, because for better or worse, they were there for her, come rain or shine. And there were no better people to bring her to her Azriel. 

Her father and Fenris walked ahead of the three sisters, with Piglet between them. 

If there was one creature who was giving Elain away, and trusting her to Azriel, it was Piglet. Her faithful companion. Her friend. Her protector. The one who had saved her just as much as she’d saved him. 

Elain was blinded by tears of happiness, but she’d noticed Lord and Lady Darling, and Dev, and some rough looking men, who she’d assumed were Azriel’s mates from days long gone, and there were his teammates in attendance as well. Her friends were there too, and somehow, she realised that she was always a foregone conclusion, and Azriel knew it. So he chanced inviting everyone to their wedding, because he knew that Elain belonged to him and would become his wife on this day. 

-

Every song that they had danced to was called ‘Home’. 

Their wedding song was ‘Home’ by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

“Home is wherever I'm with you,” Azriel whispered in her ear, holding her close to him. He kissed her head and added, “you haven’t stopped crying, you know.”

Elain craned her neck to look up at him and demanded, “kiss me right now!”

He laughed and pressed his lips to hers. It was a slow kiss, relaxed and leisurely. Like he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did.

“I am too happy,” she admitted, her hands wrapped tightly around his neck. “I am overwhelmed and I am too happy.”

“So I guess you did want to marry me?” he teased. 

“Pfff, not even a little!” she argued.

“Obviously.”

Feyre was dancing with Piglet and Fenris. And Dev, much to Cassian’s chagrin, somehow snatched Nesta into a dance. Rhysand had smooth, hip-thrusting moves which caught the eyes of every woman at the party. Too bad he only had eyes for Feyre. 

At that moment, Piglet jumped out of Feyre’s arms and trotted to the newlyweds.

He got up on his hind legs, swaying to the beat and asking to be picked up. Which is what Azriel did. He picked the pug up and pulled Elain closer, so the dog was between them.

“One minute you are asking for her number,” he muttered, “and then next minute, you are a dad to a spoiled dog you never asked for. And you are married.”

The gorgeous black-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to Azriel and Cassian was introduced to Elain as their mother. 

“Ohmygod,” Elain murmured, watching her father and her new mother-in-law dance rather affably, before they went to drink champagne and giggle.

“Ohmygod,” Azriel echoed, his eyes wide. 

“Are they,”

“Into each other?” he finished her thought. “Looks like it!”

Cassian descended upon the two of them, wrapping his massive arms around their shoulders and grinning like an idiot.

“Ma and your dad are getting it on!”

“They are not getting it on!” Elain gasped. 

“Ha! Looks like there will be a coupla wedding nights tonight,” he winked at them, and then rushed to sweep Nesta off her feet in a dance. She pushed him away a little, but then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. Cassian smiled and caged her in his embrace, holding her close.

“Treat my elske well, yeah, mate?” Fenris, tall and imposing, appeared at their side, and gave Azriel a measured look which hid a bit of a warning in it. “You got my first love to fall for you and marry you. But she will always be my first love.”

Instead of arguing or protesting, Azriel pulled Elain close to him, his hand resting on her hip, and extended his other hand to the blond man.

“I promise,” he said seriously.

“Good man. Now, did she tell you that you gotta take her surname now?” Fenris laughed, shaking Azriel’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder.

This was news to Azriel, who turned to look at Elain, confusion written on his face.

“Beautiful?”

She bit her lip and mumbled, “Ummm…well, yes. You have to. It’s, well,”

“I have to become a Mr. Archeron now? Since when?”

“Well, in my family, if a man is of lower rank, he takes the Archeron name…” she explained lamely.

“Well, newlyweds, I’ll let you sort it all out. Welcome to the family, Azriel,” Fenris smiled. “See you at Ascot! Oh yeah, did she tell you? You’ll need to participate in all the fun social events now. She used to drag me when her ginger wasn’t available. Now she has you, Mr. Azriel Archeron.”

“We have to discuss this Archeron thing,” Azriel said, as he watched Fenris greet a stunning woman with striking green eyes. “Can I hyphenate it at least?”

Elain nodded, “Yes. That's alright.”

“Well thank god for that.”

The wedding venue

-

By the end of the day, when Azriel and Elain left the Old Chelsea Town Hall, showered with flower petals, he not only had a new wife at his side, but also a new name.

And somehow, he didn’t mind it one bit. Especially because he shared the name with his son, and his wife. He figured he’d drop the surname of his hateful father, Singer, because he wasn't sure why he was still keeping it, and would make it official:

Azriel Archeron-Night

Elain Archeron-Night

Piglet Pinky Archeron-Night

Only Piglet was staying behind. He wasn’t thrilled. However, Azriel was pretty firm on this–Piglet needed to sit a few days out, while Azriel was going to make his new wife truly his. The things he was going to do to her did not include catering to Piglet’s many whims or waking up at 6:30 in the morning to take him out.

So Piglet was staying behind. 

At first, Feyre volunteered to take him, to which Rhys made horror eyes. His helpless and terrified gaze was caught by Sir Charles, and he beckoned Piglet to him.

“Do you want to stay with grandpa, big boy?”

Piglet considered and then gave an affirmative bark. Yes, he would stay with grandpa. He would like that very much. Because that meant pretty much unlimited snacks, running around in grandpa’s big house, long walks in the park behind the house, and he knew they’d be going to the Connaught Bar where grandpa liked to go every night for a drink, and where Piglet was allowed to sit quietly–which he did. 

“We’ll take care of him,” the lady told Azriel. 

The lady seemed nice, at least at first glance. Piglet would need to do more bonding and see how she was with snacks. But it looked like grandpa liked the lady, so Piglet was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Ma,” Azriel began, but Sir Charles interrupted him and said, “don’t worry about us, son. We’ll take care of the pooch. You take care of my girl.”

We.

Apparently, Sir Charles and Azriel’s mother were going to take care of Piglet together. Azriel wasn’t sure what was happening, but he overheard the man inviting her to Scott’s tomorrow night for dinner. Scott’s was on Sir Charler’s street–only a block away from where he lived. Would there be a…nightcap afterwards? Azriel shuddered. Life was stressful enough: he just got married, he was on the verge of winning the Premier League title with Arsenal, he needed to move house, and he likely was going to be selected for England’s National Team for the Euros in Germany come June. He really couldn’t think of his mother and his father-in-law getting hot-n-heavy in Sir Charles’s mansion. That was too much to take even for Azriel. He already felt like he was a walking heart attack waiting to happen. 

But at least Piglet was sorted out, even though Feyre promised (threatened) to take him to the park tomorrow for a ‘long walk’. Chances were that Feyre would be carrying Piglet through Kensington Palace Gardens herself on her ‘long walk’, but Azriel figured that that was between Piglet and Feyre.

-

Azriel helped Elain into the car, folded her train carefully onto the floor and then got in himself.

He’d left Dev to party and there was one of Lord Darling’s drivers waiting for them.

“Congratulations on your wedding Mr. and Mrs. Night,” the driver greeted them pleasantly. “Where to?”

Elain glanced at Azriel with gentle hope shining in her eyes and he said, “We live in Bloomsbury. Near Russell Square and the British Museum.”

“Certainly, sir,” the driver nodded and pulled away into traffic.

Elain threaded her arm through his and put her head on his shoulder.

“Alright, beautiful?” he asked.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Still happy?”

She nodded again and buried her face in his shoulder. Azriel reached and cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her gently, before dropping lower and pulling her hair out of its bun. A thick lock curled around his finger and Elain sighed with relief, once the tightness in her scalp lightened. 

Azriel pulled his phone out, and then smiled to himself.

“What?” Elain finally asked, noticing his little smirk.

“Oh, I don’t know…it’s nothing,” he shrugged, but she knew that it wasn’t ‘nothing’.

“Tell meeee,” she whined and he laughed.

“Look,” he showed her the phone. “It started off with Crazy Pug Lady, then I changed it to Pretty Matchmaker,” he explained, as she watched him thumb through his contacts. “By November, it was Az’s Girl,” he chuckled, “and finally, the much maligned Mrs. Night,”

She blushed at that, but he tsked and muttered, 

“Time for one last change?”

She glanced at him quizzically, and then watched his fingers delete Mrs. Night. In turn, he typed a new contact: Wife.

Azriel had all kinds of plans for his wedding night. To say that he hadn’t thought about it–a lot–would be a gigantic lie. He thought about his wedding, and his wedding night all the time. Constantly. Because somehow, he knew that as bizarre as it was at this day and age, he’d have to marry Elain first, before having sex with her. And he was correct. Here he was, married. To the love of his life. His beautiful girl. His proper soulmate. 

What he didn’t expect was for Elain to take charge. 

Once the car pulled to the house and the driver opened the doors for Elain, Azriel rounded the boot and shushed the man to step aside. The driver wasn’t put off, but only smiled and let Azriel scoop Elain into his arms. He threw ‘’night’ to the driver and headed toward the white steps, bounding up pretty quickly. Good thing he thought to grab Elain’s purse on the way out, because otherwise, they’d be locked out right now and that didn’t bode well for the sucking and the fucking that was currently on his mind.

As soon as he opened the door and carried Elain across the threshold, she gently wrapped her arms around his neck and coaxed his face lower, so she could kiss him. Her little eager tongue slipped easily into his mouth and she kissed him hard, impatient hands tugging on his shirt.

None of that virginal, shy, timid behaviour that Azriel came to expect from Elain. He figured that he’d have to cajole and gently sway her into it, and he was prepared to do that. He was prepared to be slow and careful and romantic. He was prepared to worship her, lovingly lick her pussy and make sure that she was comfortable and cared for throughout.

But now, he was reconsidering things. Quickly.

Elain wasn’t acting timid or shy.

The way she was kissing him–possessively, hungrily, deeply, swiping her tongue into his mouth was anything but bashful.

Heat and sweat broke out all over his body, and he grew boiling hot under his suit and his famed self-control all but slipped and disintegrated right then, just as Elain pushed her hand under his shirt, pulling it out from under his trousers with feverish ferocity. 

“I need to see you,” she breathed heavily, “I need to see your body,” she demanded, touching him tentatively, and pressing her palm to his firm abdomen, her flesh hot against his own.

He smiled a smug sort of smile, watching her desperation, and how she trembled against his body.

“And you haven’t seen me naked yet,” he murmured into her panting, soft mouth. Elain stilled mid-kiss and then snorted a laugh. 

“Of course you would say that,” she dragged her nails over the back of his neck. “Is it an implication of the size of your cock?”

“Oh, baby, you know my cock is big,” he winked. “You had copped a feel a time or two,” he reminded her, before wrapping his fingers around her hand and whispering, “care to take this inside the house and not stand in the foyer?”

“So impatient, Mr. Archeron,” she stroked his stomach again, before proceeding to unbutton his shirt slowly. 

“Mrs. Night,” he said casually, watching her long lashes flutter against her cheeks, as she watched his body reveal itself to her, and his thumb skimmed over her bare collarbones. “You have no idea the kind of impatient I am right now. However, the kind of sex I want to have with you isn’t done against the wall of the house entrance next to the coat closet.”

To demonstrate, he leaned against her, pressing his pelvis into her belly, and showing her exactly how desperate he was for her.

“Impressed, sweetness?” he whispered into her ear, before nipping on the earlobe and flicking it with his tongue. 

She swallowed hard and looked up at him. A bit of her bravado had disappeared once she felt the heat of him and the overwhelming size of his 6”5 foot frame and the jumble of muscles that covered his body.

“I want to show you how good sex with a man can actually be. Sex with your husband,” he reminded her heatedly, as if she would forget. “Your Fenris was impressive and I am sure that he is hung like a stallion,”

Elain gasped and blushed profusely, which made Azriel smile. “But,” he continued, “you were young and inexperienced. And your subsequent blokes probably didn’t rock your world. But I am eager to show you, baby,” he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

She licked her lips and moaned, “show me then.”

“I will, sweetness. I will.”

Under her long skirt, Elain’s thighs fell apart around his own and he decided to offer her just a taste of what was about to come. So he shifted his leg until the upper part of his thigh pressed into her warmth. Grabbing her hands in his big one, he lifted her arms over her head and pinned her to the wall, and then lifted her skirt up and over her legs, so he could slot his leg in at a better angle.

Elain groaned, her eyes falling shut, her neck arching backwards.

She was hot and damp and he felt her through the material of his trouser, the soft folds parting for him, as he ground her down on his thigh. He dragged his tongue against the flushed skin of her throat, while he moved her hips against him, bucking her down and pushing hard. 

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged. “Rub that pussy over me. Get yourself nice and soaked for me.”

Unable to touch him, she writhed and moaned a long throaty moan, her hips gyrating on his leg, scooting in a way that allowed for the most amount of friction for her clit. 

“Oh god,” she cried out, “I am going to come.”

He nodded, urging her on, strangely proud of the fact that the first act that they experienced as husband and wife in their house was her orgasm. The thought was delicious.

“Two minutes of a bit of rubbing and you are coming already?” he teased. “I fucking can’t wait to do all the things to you.”

“You want my first orgasm to be in the foyer?” she moaned.

He shrugged. 

“I am not denying my wife any orgasms. Take what you need, my love. There are numerous ways that I can make you come. This is just an amuse bouche.”

He didn’t touch her with his fingers yet, but found the plain cotton knickers that she favoured and tugged them upwards, wedging them into her pussy. He sawed them back and forth over her clit, making her shudder and plead for relief. Her hips jerked and she stretched her arms tightly, trying to break free from his grip, which was impossible. But her breasts popped from under her dress and looked down at her, wantonly beautiful and on the edge of orgasm, Azriel couldn’t help but wince at the ache in his cock. He bit her neck sharply, his teeth skimming her pulsing vein.

“I’ve not seen your stunning orgasm face since December. I can’t wait to watch you again,” he grunted into her neck, “and I can’t wait to get inside of you and watch you as you clench my dick.”

Shaking and panting, she came quietly, but powerfully over his leg, her slim fingers squeezing his. 

“That’s my girl,” he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her mouth, “keep coming. You are so beautiful, it’s fucking with my head.”

“I…I’ve never seen you,” she breathed, riding out her climax, “never seen you come,”

“Well you will today,” he promised with a laugh and kissed her again.

“Please,” she murmured, voice almost pleading, her eyes hooded and warm, her cheeks hot. “I want to…”

Azriel felt his cock stir, scenting the heady whiff of her orgasm wafting between the two of them. Releasing her hands, he squeezed her jaw in his fingers and kissed her savagely, his other hand tangling with her unbound hair, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to grip all that gorgeous hair while he fucked her mouth and buried himself fully between those pink lips. He’d make her love it and she’d ask for more.

When he pulled away from her at last, panting for breath, she grunted, “we need to get upstairs”.

He nosed into her neck, murmuring, “you want to get fucked, baby?”

She nodded, clutching at his shoulders, while he caressed her thighs and then hoisted her up, grabbing her ass and giving it a hearty squeeze. Anal. Maybe not today, but eventually. Definitely. Though, considering how things were progressing so far, he wasn’t sure what the night would bring.

“Do you need a drink?” he asked, though he was heading upstairs as he spoke.

She smiled and shook her head. She didn’t need liquid courage. She needed him.

Looking at her, he couldn’t miss the heated look and the flushed cheeks and her messy hair that hung down his forearm.

“Yeah, no drink,” he muttered and she laughed.

“Maybe later,” she offered. “Once you’ve had your way with me.”

“Once I’ve had my way with you,” he promised savagely, “there won’t be any walking for you. For a while.”

“Okay, but please don’t cripple me with your dick,” she requested.

“I won’t, if you are going to be a good girl for me.”

She bit her lip prettily, looking sexy and fetching, and nodded, “I’ll be a good girl”.

He smiled, nodding to himself. 

Elain liked to submit. She was feisty enough in real life, successful, and in control. But she relinquished control when he was around–and he wasn’t sure whether she realised that or not. 

“And I will make you feel wonderful,” he promised, opening the door to her bedroom. Their bedroom, he supposed. Now, it was their bedroom. “And you will fall in love with me even more!”

“You are awfully sure of your magnificent prowess in the sheets,” she chuckled, but he kissed her along the jaw and smiled.

“I’ve got some experience,” he shrugged modestly. “And,” he set her down on the floor, and then reached behind her body, and tugged on the laces that kept her dress in place, “I am in love with you. Which makes me want to outperform myself. But now, I need to get you naked for me.”

He shifted the dress, loosening it around her body, and then pulled it down, and once it pooled around her feet, he offered her his hand in a most chivalrous manner and helped her step out of it. 

True to herself, she was wearing stockings with wide lace bands around her plump thighs and there was no way in hell that he was going to remove them. The knickers were plain white, with lace inserts and even from here, he could see that she was wet for him. Her full, round breasts were stuffed into a strapless bra, which he unclasped in one quick move, tossing it on the floor. It was a shame to watch her generous cleavage disappear, however, once he weighed the soft globes in his palms, he couldn’t think of anything else but watching how they swayed and moved with every touch, and how his thick brown fingers dug into the pale skin. He squeezed them, not gently, unable to help himself. Filling his hands with all that softness felt better than any drug–it was mesmerising to watch how he moulded her flesh to his liking, roughly thumbing her pink nipples, until she moaned a pathetic little ‘Azzzz…” She trembled with pleasure, her skin covered in goosebumps, her heart beating rapidly and loudly–he could see the blood rushing to the surface of her skin and colouring it a pretty pink.

He pulled her nipples hard, twisting them between his fingers, squeezing tightly until she whimpered in pain and gasped, balling her hands at her sides. 

“Oh, it hurts,” she breathed.

“I know,” he told her simply, twisting and pinching her nipples harder, watching them redden between his thumb and forefinger. “You can take it, sweetheart,”

She nodded, licking her lips again. 

After he nearly fisted her the first time, and he only stopped short of cramming his whole hand inside of her up to the wrist, Azriel learned that Elain liked some pain with her pleasure. She liked the discomfort. She wasn’t as vanilla as everyone'd assumed she was. And truthfully, after meeting Fenris, Azriel wasn’t surprised. The huge blond bloke was pretty as fuck, but there was something sordid lurking beneath the handsome visage. The man was into something hard, and Azriel was going to discover what it was later on. But Fenris took Elain’s virginity, and no matter what, he couldn’t have been all gentle and accommodating. It just wasn’t in him, because in Azriel’s case, it took one to know one. 

So, instead of easing his grip on her tits, he asked “more?”

And his good girl nodded and mouthed, “more”.

He pushed her against the wall, so there would be some support for her, and then squeezed her breasts together and dropped to his knees in front of her, bringing them to his mouth. He pulled her swollen nipples deep inside and gave them a rough, hearty suck. He watched her wince, when he worked his tongue and his lips over the puckered buds, biting them, and sucking ferociously, but she only whispered, “Oh, that’s good…Please, my love…”

Yeah she fucking loved it. 

“Hold them for me and feed me,” he grumbled an order and she hurried to squeeze her breasts together and hold them for him as an offering. He palmed her ample behind in his hands, massaging it slowly, enjoying the feel of her skin, the heaviness of her tits in his mouth, the nearness of her body. He dipped his fingertips into her crack and pulled her cheeks apart, slowly at first, and then harder, until he felt around her tiny hole and pressed his fingers around it, feeling how it stretched. 

He pulled his face away from her breasts and her wet nipples glistened next to his cheek. The breasts bounced, and he licked them, until they were wet with his saliva. 

“Baby, anybody fucked your ass?” he asked, knowing the answer in advance.

“Nooo,” she shook her head, glassy-eyed and perfect, panting softly, while he played with her little hole. 

“I’ll have to fuck it, you know that, right?” he said plainly. 

“Yes,” she agreed simply. “Today?”

“We’ll see how your pussy fares,” he rose to his feet, but didn’t release her ass from his grip. “If you can’t take anymore dick in there, you might have to take it in the bum.”

Her eyes lit up with some sort of unholy excitement at his proposal, and she whispered, “I want to be yours.”

“You are mine.”

“You said you’ll fuck all my holes,” she reminded him. “During your god awful proposal.”

He slapped her right ass cheek hard and warned, “keep on talking like that, and I’ll tear your pussy and you asshole.”

She laughed and then stood on her toes and kissed his mouth. 

“I want to see your cock,” she whispered into his lips, kissing him all over his face.

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his groin, letting her feel how hard he was for her.

She squeezed him through his trousers, running her hand up and down his length a few times, before he ordered, “On your knees, beautiful.”

She didn’t question the command, but lowered herself on her knees in front of him. Her knees were on the rug, but he stepped away from her, unbuttoning his trousers, while he grabbed a decorative pillow from the armchair. 

“I am not a monster,” he told her and tossed the pillow down on the floor. 

She sighed with relief and climbed on top of it, her posture relaxing instantly. 

He wasn’t a monster, but he also wanted her to spend a decent amount of time on her knees in front of him, and didn’t want her thinking of anything but his dick, and least of all not about knee pain. 

“Hands on your lap,” he instructed, and she obliged, placing her hands on her lap compliantly and waiting. He knew how to undress quickly, and therefore got rid of everything that he was wearing in less than a minute. Less than 30 seconds more like. 

His massive hand was squeezing the base of his shaft, and still, his cock loomed hard and proud at his navel.

Other than Fen’s, Elain had never found penises attractive. They were utilitarian at best, but mostly ugly and weird looking. 

Her husband’s cock literally made her mouth water.

She swallowed the excess of saliva, unable to tear her eyes from the huge pole that stood tall and thick, the cut of his V a visual guide to all that glory. 6”5, with a glorious dick. She was one absurdly lucky woman. Though the size of him gave her pause for a second. 

He must have noticed a flicker of trepidation on her face, when he came closer and lovingly stroked her head, and then her cheeks. 

“Do you like it, sweetness?”

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “But…will it,”

“Fit?”

She nodded, nervously chewing the inside of her cheek.

Azriel scrunched his nose with annoyance. The idea that her previous lovers didn’t wait until she was ready and didn’t take their time to prepare her sufficiently kind of made him rage inside. Well endowed or no, she shouldn’t be concerned, or worse, frightened. He’d have to remedy that. A little pain with her pleasure was one thing, but this wouldn’t do.

“Ellie, who is made for me?” he asked, caressing her mouth with his fingers.

She blinked at him and whispered, “I am.”

“That’s right, pretty girl. You are. So you know I will fit like it’s my god given right. Because we were made for each other.”

“You are such a romantic,” she teased, relaxing in front of him.

“You wouldn’t be saying that when I am fucking your face,” he warned playfully.

“Still a romantic. I know you, Azriel. A man after my own heart.”

Before he could say anything, she opened her mouth for him.

God damn, his wife was perfect.

“No touching, unless I tell you,” he warned, and then rubbed the thick, smooth, pink head of his cock over her lips.

She didn’t move, remaining in the same position, hands folded on her lap.

But the moment he touched her face and her lips with his dick, she lurched to lick at it. 

He slapped her lips lightly, cautioning her, but she licked again, and he whacked his meaty shaft on her face again.

“I want it,” she whined, bouncing on her knees. 

“You are that hungry for cock?” he smirked, his chest expanding from sheer male pride that he was feeling right this moment.

“Please, Az,” she begged, eagerly lapping on the head, pushing the tip of her tongue into the little slit, smearing her lips with precum.

“Please, Az, what?”

“I need it in my mouth,” she pleaded. “I want to suck.”

He placed his hand on the back of her head and then urged his shaft inside her mouth.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby. Show your husband how sorry you are for being bad,” he pushed against her tongue, making her swallow him down. Her brows knitted in defiance, because she still didn’t think that she'd done anything wrong, but he wasn’t going to have this argument with her anymore. Today, his cock is not going to be loving. Today, it was going to be punishing. And maybe, once she learned her lesson, he’d give her loving.

He propped his hand against the wall, holding the back of her head with his other hand and pushed his cock deeper, not allowing her to pull back.

“Watch me as I fuck this bratty little mouth,” he said. “And remember every time you rejected me, turned me away, and argued with me.”

She glared at him, but took him without complaint, her heavy tits swaying with every shove of his cock. Her mouth felt heavenly–warm and wet, and she sucked him noisily and deeply, swallowing a little more with every push of his hips.

He stroked her hollowed cheeks, murmuring, “finally, my ornery girl, with a ring on her finger, my name next to hers, at my feet, her mouth full of my cock. Are you feeling contrite?”

She shook her head no, watching him brazenly with her watery eyes.

He sighed a heavy sigh and said, “Okay. I guess I’ll have to fuck you until you cry.”

And he did. 

He was merciless. 

Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she panted and dug her nails into her knees, moaning over his dick loudly. 

God. There was so much. He was so fucking big. She was feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, her mouth absolutely ravaged by the girth of him. Her throat hurt, because while he didn’t force himself down into her, he pushed steadily, deeper and deeper. 

“Good fucking girl,” he praised. “Are you tired?”

She was, but she wasn’t going to stop. So she shook her head no. She was going to suck for as long as he wanted her to. Because perhaps, she was feeling contrite. Maybe she was sorry. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He tsked in warning when she grabbed onto his thighs, squeezing them for purchase. 

“Did I say you can touch?” he gave her a disappointed look, and then pressed his cock deeper. She panicked and cried out, but he stroked her head and whispered, “you are okay. Breathe, breathe,” which she did, panting nervously through her nose. “It feels really good when you gag, sweetness. So I am going to choke you, but hold on to me, so I can feel how you are doing.”

He pulled her head back, holding it tightly in his palm and then stepped over her and pushed his shaft deep. She gagged desperately, but it didn’t feel unpleasant, especially when she looked at his blissed out expression and heard him muttering, “fuck it’s good…oh fuck, fuck…” She loved him and wanted to give him pleasure, and if this is what he enjoyed, then she was going to accommodate him. 

She stroked his firm, muscular ass–the thing could probably crack a handful of walnuts all at once. While he continued to fuck her mouth, she gently tiptoed her fingers closer to his hole and pressed on it. He stiffened between her lips and looked down. She looked for approval and he smiled at her, “Fuck, you look gorgeous. My dick in your mouth is exactly where it belongs.” He wiped her tears and told her, “suck me off, sweetness. Show me how hard you’ll work for me.”

The pressure on her skull finally eased and she was able to swallow him deeply and began sucking, bobbing her head on him. He grunted above her with enjoyment, and rasped quietly, “dip your pretty fingers in your pussy.”

She scrambled to obey, and smeared her fingers with her wetness.

“You know what to do,” he said then, waiting. She did. She wasn’t sure if he was into it, but apparently he was. Without breaking her steady rhythm, she parted his cheeks and carefully pressed her wet fingers inside of him. He tensed, as she worked them deeper inside and she noticed the whiteness of his knuckles. He was holding on by a thread. And Elain was very pleased. Because she did this. She drove him to the brink and it was clear that he was just about losing his mind. She pumped him firmly, sucking on his cock, and finding the spot inside of him which made him shudder and moan. He wasn’t particularly vocal in bed, but this stimulation unleashed him and his hips buckled against her. He wanted to last longer, but he knew that the future was bright and he could indulge in this play as frequently as he wanted. Thank fuck.

So he thrust hard down her throat and ground out, “choke”. The added vibrations inside her gurgling throat brought him over the edge and he came so hard, he was afraid he was going to black out. His new wife with his dick in her mouth, and he, unconscious on the floor. Whatta wedding night…afternoon.

He watched her suck on him, her throat contracting as she swallowed. “Show me,” he asked and she opened her mouth and showed him her cum-stained tongue. 

“My good girl. Swallow everything,” he urged unnecessarily. Of course she was going to swallow everything. “Holy shit, you are brilliant,” he vowed, caressing and stroking her. 

She smiled at him and he gave her his arm, lifting her off the floor.

“This was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” he admitted.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and smirked, “I am glad you liked it, husband.”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pressed his lips to hers.

“Say it again,” he hissed, almost crushing her against his chest. 

“I am glad,”

“No not that!”

“That you liked it?” she teased.

“Wife!”

“Yes, husband?”

“That’s better.”

He pushed her towards the bed and then tossed her on it unceremoniously.

“I need to eat your pussy, or I will die,” he declared dramatically.

“Die?”

“Do you want to be a widow?”

She frowned at his words and then smacked his shoulder. 

“If you don’t stop saying stupid things, I will kick you in the dick!” she threatened.

“Sorry baby,” 

He lay her on the bed and kissed her belly.

“See, this is me being contrite,” he told her, sliding her damp panties down her legs and leaving her naked except for her stockings. He placed an open mouth kiss right on her bare slit and dragged his tongue from her back hole to her clit. “Do you want to try it?” he offered. “It’s easy.”

“I am not sorry!” she told him stubbornly, grabbing the plush duvet in her fists and arching her back for him.

He pushed her knees apart, almost pressing them to the bed and kissed her pussy again.

“Spread yourself for me,” he requested, his breath fanning over her damp skin.

She blushed, which was kind of silly, because she was laid out in front of him bare and spread, but this somehow, was too much.

“You just spent twenty minutes being gagged with my dick in your throat, and now you are shy?” he cocked his brow at her.

She bit her lip, but wordlessly spread herself, pulling her folds far apart and exposing herself completely.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he moaned, “that’s perfect. No secrets between us. Nothing unsaid. Nothing unseen. You are mine and I am yours. The way it should be.”

“Az,” she breathed, feeling vulnerable and uncovered, and yet, trusting him for some reason. He might not deserve her trust, not yet, not everything that he’s pulled, but she couldn’t help it. At the end of the day, he did right by her. Married her. Trusted her. 

He tongued her clit steadily and it felt amazing, but she looked down at him and whispered, 

“Az, I know you will die if you don’t eat my pussy,” she laughed softly.

“Yeah,” he concurred, slurping her down.

“But I need you inside of me. Please. I want to be your wife in every sense of the word. I’ve waited for so long for you. And now you are here. And I can’t wait anymore.”

He sat back on his hunches and his thumb replaced his tongue, as he looked at her from between her legs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. 

“You think you are ready?”

“I’ve been ready since before Halloween,” she chuckled.

He grabbed his cock and gave it a few long, leisurely strokes, while she watched him with desperate hunger in her eyes.

“I want you inside of me,” she begged softly. He crawled over her and squeezed her throat gently, before kissing her deeply.

“Anything you want, my love. Anything for my wife.”

He licked her soft breasts and then lightly slapped them with his dick, poking her nipple with its blunt head. He lifted her breast up and said, “suck” and she licked on her own nipple, craning her head down. He pushed the cockhead inside, and closed his hand over her chin, making her suck both her nipple and the tip of his cock. 

“Good girl,” was all he said, watching her with a blazing gaze of absolute devotion. “The things we’ll do together,” he added dreamily. His imagination had no bounds when he thought of his wife and their sex life.

She popped her nipple and his cock out of her mouth and kissed the tip, saying, “take me, husband”.

It was an invitation that Azriel couldn’t resist.

He rubbed himself briefly and then kissed her lips slowly.

“I will go slow, beautiful. You are probably tight as fuck, so I want to make this count, and I want to make this last, alright?”

“Yes, Az, I want you so much I feel like I am going to burst,” she complained.

He pressed against her, rubbing his shaft in her slick, before sliding slowly inside.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, almost in surprise? “Oh…tight…”

Tight didn’t even begin to describe how incredible she felt. 

He seriously considered the possibility that he was going to blow his load before he was even fully inside of her. And that’s despite having come only ten minutes ago. Jesus fuck.

The blissful tightness was indescribable, and he shuddered like a dog, trying to pace himself.

Her nose was scrunched and she scowled adorably, before he stopped, allowing her time to get acquainted with the sensation and kissed her lovingly.

“You are amazing, Ellie. How are you doing?”

“You are huge!” she blurted out and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry, sweetness. Nothing I can do about that. Does it hurt?”

“It’s so fucking tight!”

“You are telling me!” he smiled, but then lay his palm on her stomach and stroked her lightly.

“Look at me,” he ordered, “and relax. You are tensing up. I am yours, beautiful. No need to be nervous.”

She exhaled heavily, following his instruction, and attempting to ease against him. He was insanely hot and thick, and despite the pressure, he felt mind-numbingly good. Her walls stretched, as he pushed his way in, and when he pushed his hand onto her mound and pressed his thumb to her clit, she moaned with pleasure.

“That’s right, sweetness,” he urged her on. “Pussy was made to please me.”

He sank deeper and deeper, pressing forward firmly, but without aggression. “Open up for me, Ellie.”

She helped him out, lowering her hips down onto him, panting loudly, while he rubbed her clit and finally bottomed out. His balls pressed to her ass and the entirety of his enormous shaft was lodged inside. 

She closed her eyes, and expelled a tortured, deep moan of pleasure.

“Finally in you, my Elain,” he breathed, cupping her face in his hand. “My god.”

“Finally in me,” she echoed him. “I love it. I love it so much.”

He fucked her then. Not fast, but driving each thrust hard into her. His hand was on her face, the scarred, uneven surface of his fingers tracing the hollow of her cheek. He touched her face, her lips, until he wrapped his arm around her head, holding her in the crook of his elbow. He watched her let go then, and become focussed only on that moment. The heaviness of him, the weight of his muscles and bones, and the heat of his skin, the pressure of his fingers on her hip, as he dug deep into her skin, and the sensation of his shaft filling her seemed to be the only things that mattered to her in that moment. 

“Make me feel like you’ll never let me go,” she moaned.

“I will never let you go,” he promised.

Shifting her hips on his cock, he made her groan, as she clawed at his bicep, because he hit that spot. And it seemed like no one else’s done this before, judging by the awed expression on her face. 

“You like that?” he smiled, kissing her and thrusting hard. 

“You are so deep,” she gushed. “The deepest.”

“I should hope so. I do have a long dick.”

But he looked prideful and satisfied by her comment. 

He picked up the pace then, driving into her smoothly and with single-minded intent. Her stocking-clad legs wanted to wrap around him, but he preferred to keep her open, so he could watch his dark shaft slide in and out of her pinkiness. He threw her knees over his elbows, keeping her nice and pliant and loose. 

It felt good. 

Just fucking her like this. Nice and deep and steady. 

He could enjoy the moment, watching her beautiful face, her messy hair, her breasts which jumped and bounced steadily from his thrusts. 

Their bodies slapped and rubbed together, and he loved the sexual sounds that they were making together. She bowed beneath him, arms thrown above her head, grabbing the edge of the pillow, eyes closed. 

“Do you want me to play with your clit?” he offered but she shook her head and said, 

“No. Just keep going like this. It’s too good. I never want it to stop.”

Ditto.

Azriel. Her husband. Her love. Her dream. Her forever. 

She didn’t want to come, but she couldn't stop the tidal wave of pleasure engulfing her.

He caught on to that and pulled himself higher, grabbing the padded headboard with his left hand, and gaining more leverage. His hips drove into her with increased speed, though he didn’t break his rhythm. 

“Az,” she whispered his name and he tucked his face against her cheek, listening to her laboured breathing, wanting to hear her say it again. And again. 

“My Az,” she repeated softly, worshipfully. “My husband.”

“Yours, Elain. Always yours.”

He felt when she came for him, her tightness squeezing over him, drinking from him, pulling him deeper. Her arm fell over his shoulders, holding him to her. 

Her muscles were still quaking, when he released a pleasured moan, enjoying her complete disintegration beneath him, while he found his own climax and came hard and deep inside of her. They were both bare to each other–soul and cock and cunt. 

He wasn’t ready to think about children yet, but he wouldn’t have minded if the outcome would result in a baby. If his seed found the way, then so be it.

He kissed her slowly, still spasming inside of her, his pelvis nestled next to hers. 

“I love you, beautiful,” he whispered, throwing her leg over his hip and keeping his spent cock inside.

When he looked at her, he saw that she was in tears.

“Oh my god, Ellie, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked in a panic.

She held onto him and said, tears rolling down her cheeks,

“I am in love with you.”

Relief flooded him, but he only stroked her face and said, “I am in love with you too.”

-

Behind the windows, the sun was setting.

London.

A black pearl of a city surrounded by the brightest green of emeralds, cut in half by the cobalt ribbon of the Thames. 

London.

Not agreeable. Not easy. Not forgettable. Always magnificent.

London. Where a bad day is still better than most good days anywhere else.

London. Where dreams are made and crushed, where surprising matches are made in the convoluted and circuitous corners, where a footballer and a Lady can find their own heaven.

London was home.

-

“You. It was always you. Even before I knew you. It was you when I first heard your voice. It was you when I saw your face. It was you that I had asked about, when I asked the eternal question–is this love? And the answer was yes. It’s love. And the one that I love is you.”

[turbulentscrawl]

Identity(V) Headcanons: Victor Grantz

Don't mind me, I just love him

-Victor’s biggest struggle in life is his crippling social anxiety. He’s a kind-hearted individual with a lot of empathy, but he’s deeply wounded by the pattern of abandonment he’s had in life (his mother, his uncle, any friends he made in school…) and as a result he’s one of the slowest in the manor to give true trust. He’s terrified of letting people in just to be abandoned again, and he doesn’t trust spoken words easily, so he simply avoids meeting people directly as much as possible. Promises, especially, make him feel gut-wrenching distrust for the one making them.

-(That said, Victor views keeping secrets as a promise of his own. One that others may not know he’s keeping, but a promise for their privacy nonetheless.)

-He believes people are more authentic when they don’t know they’re being observed, be it in-person or on paper. Victor doesn’t trust himself to accurately read someone’s tone or body language up close anymore—he becomes blinded by fear, and sometimes hope, so he takes things at face value even if it’s to his detriment--but he’s good at reading between written lines and gauging things from a distance. In this sense, he’s a decent judge of character. He’s a people-watcher both for enjoyment and to build himself a sense of security around others. (Though, sometimes this leads people to think he’s a bit of a creep, which makes him feel terrible.)

-All that said, Victor does not wish harm on anyone. He’s afraid of cruelty, not just for himself, but for anyone. And this is where his empathy comes in—he really, truly wants for the world and the people in it to be better. If he thinks there’s a chance of helping someone improve, he’s willing to help. If he thinks there’s a chance of saving someone from a painful death in a match…he’s willing to risk himself to see them through. He has some of the lowest pain tolerance in the manor, which is especially surprising to learn when you consider he’s among the most willing to rush into danger to help someone. (I mean he ran into a burning building to save a dog....)

-Ironically, Victor is very big on communication in the relationships he does build. When he finally gets close with someone, he’s not keen on losing them to misunderstanding or misplaced expectations, so he needs an open line—and patience—at all times. He still prefers letters to face-to-face conversation, however, so serious conversations can take a long time to sort through. (This goes for a modern setting, too. I know people think texting can be disingenuous, but Victor gets too stressed with face-to-face conversations and he prefers to have the time to think over and give a thought-out response that isn’t influenced by anxiety or fear.)

-He’s fit from all his walking, but doesn’t have much in the way of muscle. In fact, he’s on the soft side, especially in his arms and stomach area. He makes for a very cozy cuddle buddy, and he’s honestly one of the best huggers in the manor. (If he’s comfortable with the person, that is.)

-Personally, I feel like he’d be bit of a foodie. He’s not a picky eater and always happy to try new foods. (Though, while he doesn’t restrict himself from meat, he prefers fruit & veg.) If whatever he’s eating is dog-safe, he also likes to share bits and pieces of stuff with Wick.

-His preferred Love Languages to give are Acts of Service and Quality Time. To receive, he likes Words of Affirmation and Quality Time. In short, he wants to spend as much time with his loved ones as he possibly can. He doesn’t need you to do things for him because he’s used to taking care of himself, but he does like to receive sweet words (verbal or written) so he knows how much you love and value him! (That may sound counterintuitive given his suspicion for promises and sweet words…but by the time you’re close enough for love languages to matter, he’s gotten over most of those hurdles with you.)

-He’s a bit of a goofball! He’s anxious enough that it doesn’t come out for most people, but he does enjoy a good, silly time. He gets along well with Memory and Emma, for example.

-Victor talks with Wick a lot. Not out loud, or even in writing, just in his head. Social anxiety can get lonely, and having a cute doggy face to put half of his internal dialogue to helps bury those feelings…at least for a little while.

[ldrfanatic]

slytherin boys at ttpd songs - the anthology

part two of the first part featuring only the added songs from the anthology

I forgot tags im sorry!!

slytherin boys my bookcase

mattheo riddle as... the black dog

"old habits die screaming" + "And remember how my rain soaked body was shaking. Do you hate me?" + "For a cruel fraternity, I pledged, and I still mean it." + "Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes. And hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons."

explanation - following the war, I think that mattheo would have the hardest time out of all of them. Not because of being voldemort's son (I think he's used to the looks he gets from that). I think he has the worst time because of all of them, he has mad survivor's guilt. how is it that all of those good people died, and him, pledged deatheater, got to live? on top of that, mattheo is still wrestling with the trauma that his father inflicted on him. So, when a ministry member comes to begrudgingly tell him that he's inherited an estate from his father (really an estate his father stole from one of his followers), mattheo is actually sickened. He really does not want that property and cannot stand to be in that house. (he does eventually accept it and then donate it to an orphanage for magical children. there's a hopeful part of him that thinks that if his father hadn't been treated so poorly by muggle orphanages when he was a kid that maybe he could've been a better person).

draco malfoy as... cassandra

"When it's burn the witch they're shrieking, when the truth comes out it's quiet" + "twisting all my smiles into snarls" + "they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?" + "bloods thick but nothing like a payroll"

explanation - out of everyone in the series, explicit, canon, and otherwise, draco was the one that saw the best and the worst of both sides. when he was growing up, he was always taught the value behind being a pureblood. that it was blood purity that determined a person's worth. their value. but a lot of that changed when he started seeing the ugly sides of the malfoy family. by the time he realized that his father was little more than voldemort's lackey (and not even the most important one), it was too late. his father had already molded him. the bright and happy kid that he once was had started to sneer at all of his friends. he no longer felt like it was a service to the magical community to finger out mudbloods in his classes to his parents. afterall, he also quickly realized that his father cared far more for money and power than he ever really cared about purity. he was just a number on a payroll.

theodore nott as.... how did it end?

"and so a touch that was my birth right became foreign" + "it's happening again, the empathetic hunger descends" + "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "leaving me bereft and reeling, my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, d-y-i-n-g"

explanation - the sympathetic looks started when theo's mother died in fourth year, and theo decided that he absolutely hated them. He didn't want people to look at him like that, or to walk on eggshells like they were constantly in fear of saying the wrong thing. then once word got out that his father beat him, he started keeping to himself. it was easier to avoid conversation all together than to try to explain the bruises when everyone already pitied him for his mother's death. what hurt the most, was that his mother had died so unexpectedly. to a disease that killed less than 100 people a year. the odds were in her favor, and she still lost. then theo lost too. what hurt just as much, was the way that his father changed after his mother died. the way that every little thing seemed to set him on a warpath. when he was a kid, theo loved his parents, and now, it felt like when he lost his mother, his father died too. one man, two ghosts, and theo.

enzo berskhire as... the manuscript

"and the years passed like scenes of a show" + "looking backwards, might be the only way to move forward" + "and the tears fell, in synchronicity with the score, and at last, he knew what the agony had been for" + "the only thing that's left is the manuscript"

explanation - lorenzo berkshire had loved history his whole life. where his friends found the subject bore them to tears, lorenzo found it a bittersweet interest. afterall, he'd never been that good at potions, always doing something wrong, and while he could hold himself steady on a broom, he was never going to be a quidditch star. history was easy. it felt natural. to divulge in the stories of the witches and wizards before him. following the war, a lot of death eaters wanted to move past it all. they wanted to forget. but lorenzo knew that it was important. that as hard as it was and as many tears as it may cause them, that they had to understand before they could progress, and the only way to understand was to look backwards. so, he made it his personal mission in his late twenties to record. he traveled all over europe for nearly thirty years gathering stories from death eaters of all ages and backgrounds. at nearly age fifty, he published his first and only book, echoes of the damned: the untold stories of former death eaters. unfortunately, he fell ill and died before he got the chance to see the impact his words made on the wizarding world.

[skitskatdacat63]

Happy Birthday to Seb, and Seb only.

+ some explanations

I realized as I was making this, some of the little stuff probably only makes sense to me, and maybe people who have been following me for a while atp. So I wanted to explain some of the little details I included cause I really love them!!

First of all, I wanted to incude my original sketch for this(from like 5 hours ago lmfao), bcs I find it sooooo cute. Look at him!! Little guy!

I. Fernando's Gift

This is of course a reference to the Fernando teddy bear, but more specifically to the vettonso comic with the bear I drew a while ago. As you can see from my sketch, this is the first gift I came up, which I'm pretty happy about!! It's always so cute to me no matter its form. Though...I don't think teddy bears existed yet in the early 1700s, but Fernando found a way, okay? I like to think Fernando is all gruff in the beginning, but gives Seb this or something similar and remarks "to keep you lonely when I'm back in Spain," and then he has to pretend he has food poisoning rather than living with having said something so sappy.

II. Mark's Gift

I don't think this is really a reference to any specific post of mine. Dog!Mark is just an important Mark characterization in general, but especially in boy king au where he is really reduced to the status of dog by virtue of his upbringing and vocation. He definitely plays this off as wanting Seb to get another hunting dog(something he advocates for often. Seb knows it's entirely self motivated but loves to humor him bcs its cute to see how much he loves dogs. Well Seb loves dogs too, one dog in particular-)

III. Jenson's Gift

AAAAHHHH I'm so proud of this one bcs of how many leves there are to it!! I couldn't for the life of me think of what Jense would gift him but then I remembered I characterize him as horse obsessed(read: ye olde carfucker.) So this is basically the ye olde version of him getting Seb ultra detailed minatures of his cars. HOWEVER this is also a callback to one of my favorite posts I've ever made, back when I translated Seb's car names into Latin. So it was fun to actually get to canonize that in a way. ALSO! BTW! Those horses are specifically Lipizzans, which are a very iconic horse breed in the Habsburg Empire and Vienna specifically. A horse breed sought after by the Habsburgs for both war but also riding schools, and they still remain as the breed of horse trained in Vienna's Spanish Riding School today. The emperor Seb is based on comissioned the school's main riding hall, and his portrait still hangs above where the riders enter. So I thought that was a fun little easter egg to include!

Also the characterization in this is so funny. I guess I'd consider them a polycule, like they're a unit and all have interesting relationships between each other. But one of the main focuses is the kinda love triangle between sebmarknando. Like Mark and Fernando constantly fighting for Seb'cs undivided affection and attention. But as per usual, Jenson, who is on the sidelines, swoops in effortlessly with the most perfect gift ever. I feel like he understands and gets along with Seb the best out of the three, but just doesn't want to deal with such a complicated thing so he's satisfied being a bit distant(he secretly takes a lot of joy one-upping the other two. It's impossible to not crave your ruler's attention, no?)

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Heya! First off, this AU is great. I like how each character is implemented. Also, that Hug post made me feel very happy. Anyway, the thing I want to talk about in question. Okay, so I had a dream about this AU. It was not just about it, but it's one of the two parts I actually remember. I kid you not, the segment is a character called 'Postal Dude' walking around the dead City thing. I'm pretty actually happy on how it looked in the dream, looking weirdly live-action clay-esc, Tim Burtin like? Anyway, here is the exact way things happen, I wish I was making this up. Postal Dudes walking down the street, looks at a corpse and says 'Oh look, there's Jerry! I used to love what's happenin. Oh yeah, gotta get that petition signed. Good thing I'm a People person.' Pomni happened to be walking down the street, don't know what she was doing, but she was the only one there. So, he walks in her way. PD: 'Hi there, would you like to sign my petition?' P: 'Why would I do that, that sounds stupid? Buzz off.' PD: "Look, just sign the stupid petition, I've got stuff to do." P: 'YOU don't get to tell me what to do, dipshit! You wanna start a fight?!' PD: "Shut up, moron. Sign this petition or I'm gonna follow you home and kill your dog.' *Pomni then pulled out the sword she has and attacked. Some sort of weird anime scene type happened, where literally nothing interesting occurred except for Postal Dude saying: "You gonna sign this, or will it be your surviving family members?" Followed by Pomni jumping at him like that one Mugman book scene in the Cuphead show. There was a seperate like 3 second part of the dream where Postal Dude and Jax were tackling each other, but meh. I feel like memorizing all of PD's lines may have been overkill for my brain. Anyway, see ya. -The Dream guy

That is so WILD bro HELP 😭😭😭 That sounds like a pretty awesome dream HAHHAHA

[dewsgremlin]

I really don't want to be the one who always complains.

But Per is getting a lot of hate again because of his livestream.

One of the "problems":

He said that he doesn't know exactly what's going on in Lebanon, some kind of war. (It was not about the current situation.) But people are pissed because many wanted a statement from him.

But why? Is he a politician? No.

He's a musician, so why should he constantly make a statement about everything? He obviously doesn't feel like doing that either.

Also when questions like what do you think of "any political issue" or what do you think of Lgbtq+ come up, it's just about finding a reason to hate or cancel a person.

No matter what answer he gives, it will never be right anyway, because there's always someone who is bothered by something, because he didn't answer in enough detail or blinked when answering and blah blah blah.

Oh, and the thing with his dog is being picked on again. How bold of him that he doesn't like it when people insult his dog... And it's also clear that he doesn't like it when people "justify" that by indirectly calling his girlfriend ugly too.

Ghost's fanbase is partly just hateful and now consists a lot of immature teenagers who think that the band members are their puppets and have to behave exactly as they expect them to.

And as for his girlfriend: if you think it's right to cancel or hating on him because of his girlfriend, then you should cancel ghost completely. Or is it okay if the other band members are friends with Per's girlfriend? Is it only problematic when it comes to a relationship?

Of course his girlfriend is no saint (but who is really saint?), but you weren't there and you don't know how much truth there is to the accusations. The fact is that she is obviously good for him, supports him and is also friends with the other band members and gets on well with his family.

Oh yes, and by the way, it is also possible for people in a relationship to have different opinions on certain topics. But if you are otherwise happy together, then you don't throw away a good relationship just because you don't have the same opinion.

Just stop the hate.

[emerdoodls]

copying @violettehoneybee and drawing jean w a dog :)

(+ref)

[bsdsideblogidfk]

it’s crazy how atsushi believes humans are good and is still alive. he spent all of his life, from birth, trapped and locked up. he was abandoned (hints that his parents did worse things to him too) and put in an orphanage. he was abused for 18 years straight- he was singled out. he never knew WHY he was stuck with needles and beat up again and again. he was locked up for days without food. he was isolated by his caretakers and fellow orphans- he was accused of stealing candy when he didn’t. in the orphanage, he had all the right to believe that humans were all evil. nobody cared about him and would gladly blame him(sentence him to more and more abuse) just for their own gain. everybody hated him. he hated himself. his self worth became something he had to earn. he tied his right to being ALIVE to being able to help others and not be a burden. the headmaster made him hammer a nail into his own foot. he was young when this happened. he obviously couldn’t. and the headmaster hammered it in anyway. he learned to hate himself. learned that he was a burden. learned that it was better if he died. learned that he was a disgrace and had to earn self worth. when akutagawa confronts atsushi about how atsushi believes that if he fights for somebody else he will be fit to live, atsushi just says “and what’s so bad with thinking that?” himself being a burden and not worthy to live is drilled in his head. it’s really sad how he says such a FUCKED UP sentence- how he truly believes that he needs to help in order to live- LIKE IT’S NORMAL. how he would give up his life for basically anybody to save them- how he covered the fake bomb with his own body for people HE BARELY KNEW. he never wanted to have his tiger ability. he was born with it. yet he still was tortured for it. he doesn’t trust his own judgement either. he doesn’t trust himself. and after being kicked out of the orphanage(it was his only home. he lived there for 18 years. even if he was abused constantly. it still was his only home.) he is swept into a world of abilities and proceeds to get physically hurt all the fucking time. he finds out he was the tiger- the tiger who could’ve hurt many people. this messes him up. how the only reason he could DESERVE to live was shattered- he could’ve hurt people. he could’ve done the exact thing that would deem him unworthy of living.

yet after this, atsushi still thinks of humankind as- kind. he still views people as humans- they can change, they can feel emotion, and they deserve to be saved. all he knew from birth- for eighteen years straight- was abuse from humans. locked up and treated as if he was a bug. yet he still sees the light in humankind. he still treats people incredibly nicely. he helps everybody. he still is so incredibly kind AFTER being shown how disgusting and cruel humans could be for his entire life until 18.

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

Ok I know I'm heavily biased here but like I kinda love that Astarion's romance is one of the few in this type of video game where you basically end up canonically unmarried and childfree in his "good" ending? Just travelling the world??

Like it's honestly the millennial dream lmfaoo cannot believe i chose what would undoubtedly be my favorite option, first try

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[sysig]

Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)

[get-more-bald]

being a tf2 fan has you searching shit like "us draft 1968" "us military drafts" "wars united states participation" "vietnam war drafts"