#thank you to the anon who suggested the flower shop AU

[glasshousecats]

Shamus page 1

Based on the amazing fic by @onetrickponi

[waterfire1848]

Mailee!!

#6. Coffee Shop AU

Hello, anon! Thanks for the ask!!

Modern AU by the way!

Mai was gonna kill someone if she had to deal with one more annoying customer. If one more person came up to her and said she did an order wrong, even though she never did, or that someone in the shop had taken their seat, or that they didn't like how she in particular was dressed, she was going to jump over the counter and strangle them.

"You seem upset." Mura, her aunt, said, coming from the back room with a tray of pastries.

"What? No. What gave you that idea?" Mai groaned.

"Mai." Mura snapped.

"Sorry, aunt Mura." Mai whispered, "I'm just tired."

"I can see that. You look ready to kill someone." Mura chuckled, "Just, please don't actually kill a customer."

"What? You mean I can't go to jail for murder? You're no fun." Mai had a whisper of a smile on her face as her aunt chuckled, placing the pastries in front of the glass so customers could see them.

The entire shop mostly sold coffee but they also had some bread, cookies and brownies for people to nibble on. It was her aunt's way of competing with larger businesses. That and the fact that everything here was much cheaper.

Mai started working for her aunt last year after her dad went to prison and her mom ran away. She moved into her aunt's house the next day with her baby brother. Mai herself was nineteen when her mom left, old enough to be on her own but not to have custody of her brother. Her aunt refused to let her just try and make it on her own and took Mai in as well. Now, she was working at the coffee shop to earn some extra money for college.

"How many sales?" Mura asked.

"Not many. It's a slow day." Mai gestured outside to the pouring rain, "I don't know anyone stupid enough to drive out to a little coffee shop in this weather."

As if waiting for that exact moment, Ty Lee came running in. She was wearing a raincoat that was soaked and the wind has caused her hair to break free of her tight braid, "Mai!" Ty Lee cried.

"Ty? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be out in this weather." Mai tried to keep her emotions down, old habit from her parents, but she couldn't hide it. It looked like the start of a hurricane and here Ty Lee was, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

"Oh, it's just a little rain. I'm not going to let that stop me from seeing my friend! I've come here every day for the past three months and I refuse to break my record now." The acrobat took her usual seat, "So, how are you? You were planning on calling your ex, right?"

"Yeah. I backed out of that." Mai admitted, "I don't think it's a good idea to get back together with him."

"I told you. I never liked that Kei Lo guy." Ty Lee said. Her voice was filled with a dislike for the man, which was weird to Mai seeing as how Ty Lee had only met him three times.

"What?" Mai knew Ty Lee didn't like Kei Lo that much, but the way she talked about him. You'd think he killed her dog or something, "Why? He was a sweet guy."

"He was a boring guy." Ty Lee corrected, "He spent thirty minutes talking about his favorite flower. I'm sorry, Mai, but I think you would have just gotten bored of him after awhile."

"You're not wrong, but...I don't know. After Zuko, I felt like I needed something more boring and safe. Kei Lo seemed like the perfect guy for that." Ty Lee nodded.

"Fair." She allowed, "Maybe...maybe there's something else you could ask for a date?" Ty Lee suggested, pressing her lips together.

"Like who?" Mai asked, "I don't know anyone else I could date."

"Really? No one? No one has shown any interest?" Ty Lee asked. Her hand went up to her hair, releasing it from the braid to let it fall down to her hips, "That can't be true. You're really pretty and kind and funny." Mai sighed.

"I don't know what to tell you. No one has-"

"Mai!" Mura called, "I need your help." The older woman waved Mai over to her with a sense of urgency.

"I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting." Ty Lee's smile seemed kind of sad but Mai ignored it. It was probably just in her head.

Mai walked back behind the counter and to her aunt, "Trouble with one of the machines again?" Mai asked.

"No, I just couldn't watch that anymore." Mura sighed, "Ty Lee wants to date you."

"What!?" Mai froze for a moment. She hadn't meant to yell. Mura's soft smile and nod was enough to remind her that her parents weren't here. She wouldn't get in trouble for showing emotion, "She doesn't like me."

"She just called you pretty, kind and funny. That girl has a major crush on you." Mura told her, "Even I can see that as clear as day." When Mai didn't respond, Mura spoke up again, "Do you like her?" Mai nodded, not trusting herself to speak, "Then ask her out."

"What if she says no?" Mai asked, "She's been one of the few constant things in my life right now. I don't want her to stop coming to the shop."

"I have a very strong feeling that she won't say no, but, Mai, how much happier would you be if you were dating this girl?" Mura asked, "I see you looking at the clock before she comes in because you're waiting for her to arrive. I see how much happier you are when she's here."

Mai thought her aunt's words over. She wasn't wrong. She did find herself constantly counting down the minutes of when Ty Lee would arrive and, even on their busiest days, Ty Lee always managed to make things better. Even when she was at home and tired from both work and school, Ty Lee's texts were always a big help.

"Okay. I'll do it." Mai agreed.

"Good. Pass me your apron so you can talk to her without customers talking to you." Mura said.

"Thanks." Mai walked back out into the main room with as much determination as she could muster. Ty Lee's face brightened up when she saw Mai return and take a seat.

"You look so serious. Is everything okay?" Ty Lee asked.

"Yeah. I just want to ask you something."

"Sure! I'm all ears!"

"Would you want to-" Mai didn't get to finish her question because an older woman began speaking behind her. From the way she dressed, Mai instantly knew what kind of persons she was dealing with.

"Excuse me. Are you the teenage girl who works here?" She asked.

"I am, but I'm not working at the moment." Mai snapped.

"You are being very rude, young lady. I'm just trying to buy something from your shop. You should be grateful." The older woman snapped back, "Come on, you can get up and help me pay." Mai took several deep breaths. It wasn't a big deal. This woman was not going to get to her. In fact, it could actually be a funny story between her and Ty Lee later.

"Ma'am, she's not-" The woman held up her pointer finger which made Ty lee stop talking.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, honey, I asked for your friend to do her job." She said, "Now, chop chop. I have places to be." Okay. Mai did plan on handling this responsibly but she drew the line at someone being rude to Ty Lee.

"Hey. You do not speak to her like that and you don't speak to me like that. I will not be helping you today because you can leave. Feel free to come back when you get a better attitude." Ty Lee almost burst out laughing at that but held it together to see what the woman would say.

"How dare you!? I am a paying customer-"

"Not anymore." Mura said, taking the coffee, "Please leave our shop and, as my niece said, feel free to return when you have a better attitude."

"You can't just kick me out!"

"Actually, I can. This shop reserves the right to refuse service to anyone. If you stay, I will have to call the police and I'd hate to take up their time." Mura said, "So, if there is nothing else?" The woman looked between Mura and Mai then stomped out.

"I apologize for her Ty Lee, I hope that wasn't too unpleasant."

"Are you kidding?" She finally allowed herself to laugh, "That was hilarious! I just wish we got it on camera."

"I'll send you the security camera footage." Mura chuckled, "Now, I believe Mai had something to say."

"I did." Mai confirmed, "Would you want to go out sometime? With me?"

"Of course I would!"

"Okay, I understand-wait!? Really?"

"Of course. Why do you think I keep coming here every day? It's not just for the free brownies." Ty Lee said, "I really like you, Mai." She grabbed Mai's hand, beaming at her.

"I really like you too." Mai said, "Sorry, I was so oblivious."

"No." Ty Lee brushed her hair away, "It's cute."

"Awww." Mura said, earning a look from the two, "Right, sorry, fade into the background."

"So, where would you want to go on our first date?" Mai asked.

Ty Lee brought her hand to her chin, as if pondering the question deeply, "Coffee shop?"

[underburningstars]

Request for a mafia au where tony is a single rich mafia bachelor meets Peter, who is a florist shop owner, who is engaged by someone who is secretly cheating on him

Hope you like it anon!

Part Two

on ao3

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Pairing : Tony Stark/Peter Parker

Tags : Mafia AU, Florist AU, slight Quentin/Peter, sweet Tony, cute Peter

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"We need flowers boss."

Hearing Happy's voice Tony looked up, "Why do we need flowers?" he asked with furrowed brows.

"It's a funeral." without even seeing Tony could imagine Happy's eyeroll clearly.

"Funeral of the man I killed. Do I really need to take flowers?"

"Yes." Happy deadpanned causing Tony to sigh.

"Okay, just stop at some flower shop on the way." a few moments later when the car stopped Tony looked up from his phone. Looking at the flower shop he had the strangest urge to go inside himself. "Hey, Hap. You wait. I'll get the flower."

At that Happy raised an brow but didn't say anything more.

Just as Tony stepped inside a chirpy voice said, "Welcome to Your Neighborhood Florist! How can I help you?" right there standing in front of Tony was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

Tony cleared his throat and composed himself, "I need a bouquet. Something that represents happiness and long life, maybe."

"Oh, then I'd suggest Chrysanthemum flowers for you. I'd be perfect." The florist beamed at him, confident in the choice of flowers.

"Well, if it's about perfection then I'm sure you know best." Tony's heart flipped as he saw the lovely blush rise up the florist's cheeks.

"I'll-I'll get the bouquet ready." the florist shuffled awkwardly towards the flowers. A few moments later he came back with a bouquet of beautiful Chrysanthemum flowers, "Here you go." Tony didn't think Norman Osborn deserved such pretty flowers, but he accepted them gratefully.

They walked to the counter and Tony took out his card to pay. Right as the florist was taking the card Tony noticed the ring on his finger and felt a pang of disappointment.

Tony was carefully looking at the florist to see what his reaction will be seeing Tony's name. But to his great satisfaction, although recognition colored the boy's expression, there was not fear or discomfort. "Thank you coming, Mr. Stark." the younger man said as he returned the card.

"Thank you for your help too, Mr...." Tony trailed off.

"Peter. I'm Peter Parker."

"Mr. Parker."

"Have a good day Mr. Stark." Peter called out as he was leaving.

"Oh, my day has gotten better than ever already." Tony laughed on his way out as he saw Peter blush bright red.

Tony wasn't the type to put his hands on the taken ones. But there was just something about Peter that kept pulling him. He's simple boy. Peter Benjamin Parker, no parents, has a aunt, is engaged to a guy named Quentin Beck. That's it. Nothing special. But Tony still can't help feeling drawn to him.

Afterwards, he ends up visiting the flower shop often. He never makes a move on Peter, just subtle flirting because he loves the blush too much.

Peter never says anything. Just welcomes him with a smile and indulges his behavior.

¦

Not in a million years Peter could've imagined that he'd have a conversation about groceries with a Mafia boss. But weirder things have happened, so Peter doesn't give it much thought.

When Tony - anything but Mr. Stark - first came to the shop, rather than being scared like any other person would be Peter felt intrigued. He wanted to know what kind of person he was (a human disaster). What was his favorite color (hot red), was he a perfectionist like he looked or was he secretly clumsy (definitely clumsy). And what his favorite flower was (sunflower).

Especially with how things with Beck are going Rocky and with Ned and MJ out of New York, the only people he talks to is May Nad Tony.

And Tony's subtle flirting does make him feel good. More so, considering how things with Beck are.

Two months after getting engaged to Beck, things became weird. The only time they spent together was when they had sex. But other than that they had close to zero interaction. Even sex had been far and between these days.

Peter and Beck have been together since high-school. So he doesn’t want to sabotage the relationship by useless suspension. But it's becoming harder and harder to not be suspicious.

Even when they live in the same place, Peter feels he's the only one there. They don't even talk during eating anymore. Beck refuses to touch Peter and dodges kisses and hugs. There are time when Peter almost breaks down.

He's always on his phone and stays out late. When he asks, Beck gets annoyed and says he was with his friends. MJ calls bullshit and even Ned tells him to be more careful.

But it all breaks down when one day Beck come home at 5 in the morning drunk, with hickies on his neck. Peter doesn't say anything right then. Just gets up takes a shower and packs his bag. Beck keeps on sleeping.

The confrontation comes in the morning, "Going somewhere, Peter? You're bags are all packed." Beck says after coming out of the bedroom.

"You're awake already? I thought you'd sleep till noon. With how late you came home yesterday." Peter was determined not to show any of his feelings on his face. He refused to give Beck the satisfaction of breaking him.

"Yeah, I-um was with my friends."

"Hmm. Was it a friend that gave you the hickies?" Peter took grim satisfaction in how Beck's eyed widened in horror and he touched his neck.

"Pete..." Beck whispers, voice slightly desperate.

"I don't wanna hear it." Peter takes his ring off and puts it on the table, "Let's not see each other ever again." with that Peter takes his bags and leaves the house, ignoring Beck calling his name.

Peter doesn't cry on his way to May's house. He refuses to shed tears for that bastard. But when May jugs him close, he let's himself drown in the sorrows and helplessness.

In the end he feels so emotionally drained that he ends up turning off his phone and closing the shop for a indefinite amount of time. On the tenth day he finally turns his phone on. He checks his texts. Ignores and deletes Beck's and texts back to MJ and Ned telling them not to worry.

An unknown number catches his eyes. At first he thinks it's Beck and decides to ignore it. But curiosity gets the best of him. Reading the text Peter's pretty sure he knows who it is.

It takes a while for the reply to come. So in the meantime, Peter showers, eats breakfast and chats with May. She still looks concerned. But now when Peter's smiles to reassure her, it's more genuine than the previous ones. So she relaxes a little.

Peter enjoys his last day off instead of brooding. He goes shopping with May and eats a ridiculous amount of food. It's time he moves on. He can't let some entitled asshole hold him back.

Tony, as promised, visits him the next day. Peter had noticed it a while back that when Tony is coming from 'work' or will go there after meeting Peter, he's always wearing fairly intimidating suits. But other days, he has old MIT sweats and jeans on. Peter likes that more.

"It's been so long!" Tony says in lieu of greeting.

"It's been ten days."Peter points out.

"So long." Tony huffs making Pater laugh. Seeing Tony like that makes it hard 5o believe that he is one of the most feared Mafia leaders in the world. Peter tells Tony exactly that and Tony replies with a, "Somethings aren't for everyone, honey bee."

The intensity in Tony's voice makes Peter gulp. He enjoys chatting his time away with Tony. It feels good to talk to someone while preparing endless orders. Tony doesn’t ask about his absence. For which Peter is endlessly thankful.

¦

Seeing Peter again feels good. Tony didn't realize how much he'd gotten used to the boy until he couldn't see Peter again. At first it worried him. But he didn’t want to be too pushy. At last he gave into temptation and texted Peter. It went better than he imagined it would, considering how he got Peter's number.

Peter didn't look unhealthy but there is a slight weariness on his face. As far as to y can tell it had something to do with his fiancée, or maybe ex-fiancée. If the missing ring was any indication.

But Peter didn't say anything and Tony didn't ask. He was too busy planning on making moves on the boy anyway, since he's single now.

After the first time, texting became a common affair between them. Tony would send Peter pictures of coffee and Peter would reply with flower pictures with their meaning. By now Tony knows all about flowers.

Peter also never brings up Tony's work life. Not even when he once went to see him with bloody knuckles and a busted lip. Peter just looked at him, sighed and brought the first aid kit. Tony is pretty sure he's in love with the boy.

Admitting to himself is easy. By now he can even admit it to Rhodey. But asking Peter out is another kind of challenge. One that Tony isn't confident about.

¦

For a Mafia boss, Tony can be pretty cowardly. He is working so hard to gather up courage to ask Peter out that he almost takes pity on the older man and does it himself.

They've been constantly flirting for two months now. They've went to eat together in several places. They were practically dates! Peter doesn't know why Tony is so worried. It's not like he's gonna say 'no'.

"Hey, Pete."

"Yeah?" Peter acts like he doesn't see Tony sweating like crazy.

"Do you have plans this Thursday?" Finally! Peter thinks.

"Um...no. I'm free. What is it?"

"Well, there's this gala I'm going to. Wanna come with me?"

"Your work gala?" Peter asks.

"My work gala." Tony confirms. He then sighs and rubs his face, "Look Peter, I like you. I've liked you fo a long time. But at first you're with someone else." at the mention of Beck Peter tenses, but Tony continues, "And then I didn't want to rush you. But I'm saying it now. I like you. So yeah." Tony shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Will you go out with me."

"Yes." Peter doesn't even hesitate. He's been waiting for this for too long.

"Hey, hey. Think about it a bit first."

"I don't need to. I like you too, Tony. A lot. And I can understand why you wanted to give me time. But I don't need it anymore. I want to go out with you."Peter insists.

"You know what I do Peter. I'm not gonna suddenly turn into good guy and stop. You know that right?"

"Yes, I do. I'm not asking you to stop Tony. I'm not even going to pretend that I don't know what you're doing. I'm all okay with it. I'll be that boyfriend who will fix your wounds while scolding you." Peter beams when to us lets out a chuckle.

"Being seen with me will automatically make you and people around you a target. Can you handle that?" Tony doesn't sugarcoat his words but Peter has already thought of all that. He had even talked with MJ, Ned and May about this. May was concerned but still relented when Peter assured her that Tony made him happy. Ned was cool as long as Peter was cool. MJ demanded a donation to several charities.

"But you'll protect us all won't you? I know you will."

"You really want this." it wasn't a question. Tony's voice was filled with something that can only be called awe.

"Of course I am." Peter didn't budge. Peter was ready to say more but was stopped when suddenly Tony's lips on his. It wasn't the hurried, frantic kiss Peter imagined a lot of times. It was soft and tender with only a slightest bit of tongue.

When they pulled away Tony pushed their foreheads together, "Thursday at seven. I'll send you the suit."

"Deal."

[catgirlforkaeya]

I've asked someone this before, but I want your take on it for the Valentine's Event (If you want)

Thank you! :)

Kaeya, Royal Au, drabble request?: You anonymously leave love letters and your favorite flowers at his door. The guards catch on, but find it kind of cute. So they'll pretend to not notice, provided they can inspect it for the prince's safety. (It's become a game for them to guess what each letter says nefore opening it, each guess crazier than the last.) How does Prince Kaeya respond (Imagine if he anonymously sent one back oml)

love letters

kaeya x gn!reader

fluff

warnings: all lowercase + not proofread

a/n: my god the kaeya royal au brainrot has been severe lately god bless you for suggesting this anon ily mwah /p (this is also very short i apologize i’m rushing its been a busy week)

you’ve had a crush on the prince for quite awhile now. i mean— how could you not?? that man is absolutely gorgeous and just has one of those personalities that’s almost magnetic in a way. you two are fairly good friends. you don’t get to hangout all that often since he’s busy with whatever duties he has and you’re busy with your flower shop.

you have absolutely no idea how he feels about you. you don’t expect much because there’s multiple other candidates who are probably better. but, you still take your chances by just sending love letters with certain flowers and leaving it at his door. is it risky? yes, but you’re too scared to say anything like that face to face so letters was the best option.

whenever you pick out the flowers to go for the letter it’s a very back and forth process. most of the time when you can’t figure out anything you just go with roses. since you’re a florist you have a pretty good idea of what every flower means though. you usually pick flowers that represent love so your choices are between roses, lilacs, camellias, tulips, or lilies. they’re basic yes but they���re also the easiest.

the letters you’d write would be all over the place. most of the time though it was actual love letters— poems, small sweet messages, sometimes the whole paper would be filled with writing. it just depended on your mood.

you tried your best to be consistent on when you’d place the letters at his door. you decided on tuesday’s or thursday’s. they were the least busiest days for your shop so it was the best option. you’d give them one-two times a month normally. sometimes you wouldn’t feel like actually writing anything so you’d just lay flowers and no letters.

every time you go to drop the letters off you can always feel the guards eyes burning holes through you. they give cheerful smiles and waves. little did you know that they actually find what you do really adorable. whenever they check the letters (they have to follow a protocol) they always guess what’s going to be said this time. they’re usually far off but have been right sometimes.

you never receive letters back— which isn’t shocking to you. although you feel a little bummed you never got your hopes up too high. you knew kaeya was very busy and most likely just viewed you as an acquaintance.

or, so you thought…

it was a normal day so far. you woke up, showered, ate, and went into work. you had one of those slot mailboxes that come through the door so every morning when you arrived at work your mail was sitting on the floor. it normally consisted of stuff like old bills that you’d already paid, advertisements, mostly just junk. today was different though.

when you walked in you immediately noticed an envelope, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. what was out of the ordinary was the embroidery on said envelope. it was a dark royal blue color with gold embroidery on the edges. most of the mail you received came in normal plain white envelopes— not something this fancy. you’d only ever seen envelopes like this when the royal family would send out invitations to balls.

you quickly hurried back towards the room behind your desk. you had a small room for your break time. sitting down on the edge of the couch, you slowly opened the envelope. your fingers moved delicately against the material, afraid to be too rough and damage the beauty of it. once it was open you took out the paper inside that was folded perfectly. once you unfolded the paper you felt your heart skip a few beats.

you were expecting some invitation but you were highly mistaken. you saw a letter that was addressed to you. whenever the castle sends out invitations it’s just addressed to the general public.

with shaky hands, you began reading the letter.

“y/n,

i’m sorry i kept you waiting for so long with these letters. i’ve just been so busy with everything lately and haven’t had time to sit and write something. i’ve read each and every one though and they’ve made me realize a lot of things. i do not feel that it’d be appropriate to say all of this over writing on a piece of paper, so could we meet up? maybe the courtyard behind the castle at noon?

happy valentine’s day by the way. hope to see you later darling”

you didn’t know how to react. you were obviously ecstatic but this was so unexpected. the letter wasn’t signed but it was obviously from kaeya— right? who else could it be?? he’s the only one that you’ve ever written letters to. plus the way it was worded was the way he talks.

you whipped your head up to look at the clock— the time read 11:45AM. 15 minutes. you could get there in 15 minutes if you ran. you picked up your satchel and slung it over your shoulder, then bolted out the door. your customers were going to have to wait today.

you swiftly ran through the streets, weaving in and out of the crowds. the muscles in your legs were on fire, but you ignored them. you knew it wasn’t the smartest idea because you’ll definitely be sore later, but that’s a problem you’ll deal with when it comes. you kept cursing yourself under your breath for picking a shop that was all the way across the city.

thankfully by the time you heard the churches begin to ring their bells to signal it was noon, you were rounding the corner to the courtyard. once it came into view you saw kaeya standing near the fountain— your suspicions were right.

“hey—“ you breathed out, trying to catch your breath still. you hadn’t ran that much in forever. “i’m sorry i kept you waiting— i came into the shop late a-“

“shh, stop talking,” kaeya cut you off as he moved closer to you. his thumb brushed over your lips lightly. “you don’t need to apologize.”

next thing you knew you both were leaning in for a kiss. your brain didn’t even have time to process what was happening before you felt kaeya’s lips land on yours, arms snaking around your waist. the kiss was soft at first, but deepened quickly. he tasted like wine— which wasn’t surprising considering his drinking habits.

when you pulled away your head was spinning. the man that you’ve been crushing over for at least two years just made out with you in the middle of a courtyard. you weren’t complaining but still, you were stunned.

“i love you,” kaeya whispered. he caressed your face gently, causing you to lean into his touch.

your heart fluttered at his words. with a smile, you whispered back. “i love you too, but that’s a little obvious.”

both of you started laughing at the last part of your sentence. you two gave each other some more kisses— very short and light ones. you felt like you were on cloud 9 right now. after dreaming about stuff like this for so long you could finally call kaeya yours.

seems like cupid’s arrows hit both of you today.

© all rights reserved to catgirlforkaeya. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

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

“Would you like me to show you around?”

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

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

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

“What sort of business?”

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

“Flowers?”

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

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

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

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

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

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

“Um,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

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

“I heard,”

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

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

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

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

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

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

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

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

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

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

Gorgeous.

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

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

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

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

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian

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

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

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

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

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

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

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

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

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

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

Elain giggled.

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

“Only just.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting.

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

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

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You are welcome, by the way,”

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

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

He shouldn’t have asked her.

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

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

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

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

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use you?”

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

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

“I am not a flower expert,”

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

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

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

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

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

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

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

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

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

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

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

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

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

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

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

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

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

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

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

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

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

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

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

“I can take an Uber,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

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

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The third.”

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

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

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

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

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

[sylvies-chen]

Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”

[pedros-mustache-main]

l'oiseau chante

“au where the reader is a singer instead of a painter?” for anon

to close out sd!deaky night(s), here’s 3k words of an au of my own au. i got incredibly carried away but had so much fun writing this.

the duet reader sings is called “duo des fleurs” from the opera, lakmé. i recommend you listen to that as the song is described for the full ~experience~. thanks for indulging me the last few days! much love! xoxo!

suggestive content below (discussions of a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship & a few suggestive moments/language). please be mindful if under 18!

april, 1985.

“no, really! i’ve got to go!” she’s laughing as she says it, pulling out of his arms to make for the door, but john is quick to catch her waist, spin her on her heels, and press his body flush with hers.

he works his mouth along her jaw and mumbles, “but we’ve only just started having fun.”

he can feel her relax against his ministrations, fight the urge to leave. she wants to stay, he knows that. why wouldn’t she? their arrangement is new and exciting, each moment a new opportunity to discover what makes the other tick. thus far, he knows she likes to dabble in gardening and running. she prefers opal over diamonds and shoes over handbags. she’s as luxurious as she is grounded, but she knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to go after it. he likes that assuredness. it’s part of why their arrangement works. she’s not looking for anything other than pampering and a roll in the hay, and he can give that to her in heaps, but not much else. his heart is far too guarded after all these lonely years to really hope in anything more.  

still, she’s a hell of a good romp, and he’d rather spend the evening in with her than attend the blasted party freddie planned for—what was it?—the arrival of spring.

“john, please.” she pushes on his chest with the palms of her hands and lifts her brows. “i’ve got this gig, and if i’m late the conductor will flay me alive. you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

he considers, tilting his head to the side. “i’d rather be the one to flay you but—”

aghast, she hits his chest, though bell-like laughter belies her amusement. “john!”

finally, he releases his hold and moves to hold open the front door. “fine. if you must leave me...” he swings his arm toward the crowded street outside.

she grabs her handbag from the catch-all table beside the door. “i’ll ring you in a few days, alright?” she hesitates on the front stoop, her eyes roaming over his face, lower lip between her teeth. she looks... guilty, and he knows why.

“[y/n], we’ve talked about this. i’m fine with it.” he waves to the street. “go on. you shouldn’t be late.”

the worry on her face eases, and she releases a breath. pressing her lips to her finger tips, she waves, manicured nails wiggling in the air. “thanks, love.” she’s already half-way down the steps and to the curb when she looks over her shoulder and says, “i’ll call you!”

nodding, john waves once more then shuts the door with a gentle shake of his head. 

he has his rules for this set-up. 

his number one requirement? don’t ask about queen. he doesn’t like to talk about it, not with her. that’s too intimate, and their relationship is strictly physical. in the six months they’ve been together, they’ve done little more than fuck and smoke cigarettes afterwards and laugh about inconsequential things. they are not dating, not even friends with benefits. there’s a clear line—almost professional—that neither is willing to cross, and he likes that. she makes him feel good, spoils him with attention and fluttering eyelashes, and he pays her rent and buys her expensive things. there’s no need for her to know about his life outside their moments together, and there’s certainly no need for his life outside their moments together to know about her.

like him, she has her own rules for the set-up.

her number one stipulation? no kissing. when she first laid out her terms and conditions for the arrangement, he hadn’t been expecting that. it struck him as odd originally, but the more he’s gotten to know her, the more is makes sense. she’s a professional through and through, both in her singing career and in her pleasure arrangements. for her, kissing is too intimate like talking about queen is too personal for him.

it works. they work. he’s happy, and he thinks she is too. it’s nice to have someone to spoil, someone to hold. it’s been a long time since anyone ever—

he rids himself of the melancholy and starts up the stairs. no reason to mull over it now, not with her at his relative beck and call. 

the party fred has planned for the evening is scheduled to take place at the ritz hotel. it’s the most unreasonable thing john has ever heard of—a party for the beginning of spring—but it’s freddie’s own money, and john doesn’t have the luxury of not showing up. so, he showers, dresses in a tailored suit and tie, and washes down his dread with a shot of scotch before leaving his darkened flat. 

it’s not that he doesn’t like parties. it’s just that he doesn’t like parties where he hasn’t got anyone to be his buffer, and he hasn’t had a buffer for a very long time. she couldn’t very well be his buffer. people would ask questions—fred would ask questions—and the entire thing would fall apart before it even got started.

no, he’d go to the party alone tonight. maybe he’d call her after or wait until the morning. they could go to that little shop on the corner. he knows she’s been eyeing a pair of earrings and—

“mr. deacon?” he’s pulled from this thoughts by the driver. “we’re here, sir.”

john mumbles his thanks and slides from the car. bright and flashing lightbulbs greet him, and he manages a pinched smile for the photographers. a sigh wells within him, but he pushes it down. it’s going to be a long night.

the ballroom set aside for freddie’s party is magnificent, john will concede that. the whitewashes walls are draped in faux-ivy and fresh flowers. the crystal glasses and china plates on linen-covered tables sparkle beneath the light of the chandelier overhead. a golden statue of a woman, twisting to look over her head at trumpeting cherubs, is ensconced in the wall, but fitting for the evening’s theme. at the far end of the room, a wall of frosted mirrors towers over a small orchestra playing to a lilting, classical tune. 

“oh, deaky, i’m so glad you’re here!” ever the man of the hour, freddie meanders through the tight crowd waiting to be seated at their dinner table to pull on john’s arm. “come on, we’re sat near the orchestra.”

john takes freddie’s offering of a champagne flute. he doesn’t normally like champagne, but he’s desperate for anything to take the edge off his sour mood. he feels stiff in his suit, and aside from fred, he hasn’t seen anyone he knows yet. 

“the place looks—”

“smashing, right?” freddie beams and points to an empty chair at the circular table. john drops beside roger and tries not let the fact that there was only a sole chair saved for him be a bother. it shouldn’t bother him, really. it’s just been him for a long time.

“here.” roger hands john a stiffer drink. “it starts to get fun when you’re a little buzzed.” he slings his arm around dominique’s chair and looks over his shoulder, returning to conversation with his partner and jim.

john remains quiet for some time. freddie is the perfect host, darting from table to table in his white coattails, laughing and smiling and kissing the back of any hand he can grab. he is in his element. roger, too, seems at ease. he likes the lavish lifestyle, and any party that is dripping in jewels and rich wine and expensive food is good enough for roger. even brian, who once was so awkward and gangly, leans back in his seat and chats with someone who looks much smarter than john and much more eloquent than anyone else at the table. 

not for the first time, john shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. he doesn’t have a buffer. he could really use a buffer—or a smoke.

he’s about to excuse himself for a cigarette break when freddie steps to one of the two microphones in front of the orchestra. he taps on it, and a sharp boom followed by a squeak fills the room. john leans back, close as he is to the speaker, and cringes.

“oop, sorry about that, dears. well, don’t you all look marvelous from up here? really, never seen such a group of attractive people.” after a smattering of laughter, freddie continues, “i want to thank you all for coming tonight. i know this isn’t some of your scenes—mostly you, roger.” 

more laughter; john just takes another sip of gin. 

“before dinner is served, i have a little treat. to accompany our lovely orchestra, we have two singers here to bless us with their fabulous voices. please give a warm welcome to iona buckley and [y/n] [y/l/n]. now, i’ll get my fanny off the stage to let them work their magic.”

fred slips the microphone back into its stand and scurries to the table, clapping along with the rest of the audience. well, the rest of the audience save john. his hands are occupied with gripping onto the edge of the table for fear he will fall out of his seat in shock.

trailing behind her duet partner, she takes her place behind the first microphone, the one closest to john. she—his paramour, his lover, his baby. she looks radiant, like one of the roses in the table centerpieces. her red satin gown is simple, the straps thin and back open. he swallows hard as his eyes trail to the necklace resting on her sternum. he bought her that. it was his first gift, and there she is standing not twenty feet from him, wearing it, and not a soul knows how he took her in the shower his afternoon. 

john doesn’t catch her eye before the orchestra begins to play but surely she knows he’s there. is her heart in her throat like his heart is in his? are her palms sweating? he twists to grab his drink, needing something tangible to curl his hand around lest he clench his fist to his chest like a damsel in distress. as his back is turned, she begins to sing.

he’s never heard her sing, and the clear, soprano voice that flows from her throat is not what he expected. when she told him she was a singer, that she regularly sang at different gigs, he assumed she must be one of those bar singers floating from venue to venue. never this, never this. he doesn’t understand a word that she sings, but he thinks she must be singing about love. her face is soft, devoid of any worries or cares. for her, the only thing that seems to exist are the words flowing from her mouth and filling his ears. she sings with ease, even the highest and strongest of notes. like the back of her hand, she follows the melody, the roll of the foreign tongue, and the timing of the conductor’s wand. john doesn’t even realize the song is a duet until she pauses, allows a moment for her partner to shine. in that brief pause, her eyes flick to him, and her smile widens. he loses his breath. then she’s back in the spotlight, easily shining over her partner with the clarity and force of her voice. 

tears prick the corners of john’s eyes, and he bites hard on the end of his tongue. fuck—she could be the ruin of him. he’d let her ruin him too—happily.

the party-goers sit enraptured by the singers, by her. even roger has shut his mouth, his eyes wide with interest. john has to hand it to freddie: he’s outdone himself. the decor and the setting and the song—john can practically feel the warmth of spring curl around his frozen heart, and it’s all because of her and her voice. he could listen to it forever; he could listen to this song forever and nothing else.

but the song winds down, ending on the final note of her just voice echoing in the room. there is a moment of expectant silence. john holds his breath, watches as she turns to hand the conductor something then glance over the crowd, glance at him. he starts the applause first, and he is the last to stop clapping, even after she’s taken her seat across the room.

“fuckin’ hell, they were good!” roger hits his palm against the table as dinner is brought out from the kitchens. he reaches over to squeeze john’s shoulder. “i thought deaky was gonna pass out.” 

freddie practically bounces in his chair with glee. “they’re divine! like angels!”

john nods without realizing he’s doing so. “m’yes, she is.”

“she?” roger laughs, tossing his head back. “got a crush there, john? ‘s okay. i wouldn’t blame you.”

john looks up sharply, but says nothing. maybe he does have a crush, as silly as the term is. he’s not fourteen. he’s nearly thirty-four. but, god, if she doesn’t make him sweat like a fourteen year old boy. god, if just the sight of her and the sound of her voice doesn’t send his blood pumping anywhere but his brain. it takes all his willpower not to stand up from the table, stalk across the room, and drag her into the hall. 

he manages to make light conversation with brian about some business related things throughout dinner. several different times, he feels her eyes on his back, and he’s reminded of what they did on his living room carpet two nights ago. he needs her badly, and he’s starting to worry he’ll need her in more ways than one sooner rather than later.

the orchestra strikes up more classical music as dinner ebbs into dessert, and couples begin to float on the cramped dance floor. john waits, biding his time until everyone is good and distracted before he slips across the room. 

she’s sitting alone, scribbling something down in a small, black notebook. before john can say her name, roger beats him to it, appearing as if from thin air. john clenches his jaw and resists the urge to deck his bandmate. she turns at the sound of her name and meets john’s eyes first. she stands and greets them both, accepting roger’s praise with a modest nod her head. 

“i think someone’s fancies you a little,” roger says, squeezing both of john’s shoulders this time. “never seen him so shocked as when you started to sing.”

john openly glares at roger. he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels then meets her eyes. “you are very talented,” he says.

she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, looks away, as though bashful. “thank you, mr. deacon.”

“john,” he says—and his voice is throaty, deep.

she looks up, smiles, licks her lips.

“well, i can sense sexual tension as good as the rest of ‘em. i’ll leave you to it.” smirking, roger slinks away, surely reveling in the match he thinks he’s made.

john speaks first. “i didn’t realize this was your gig.”

she shrugs. “i didn’t want you to feel obligated to come.”

“i was obligated to come.”

“i didn’t want you coming for me.”

he hesitates. “i meant what i said: you are very talented.”

“thank you.” on a chuckle, she adds, “i’ll warn you next time if i’m to sing at another one of freddie’s parties.”

“after tonight? i’m sure you will sing at them all.”

they stare at one another, eyes searching, hands twitching. it’s all john can do not to grab her wrist and slam his mouth against hers. he wants to taste her, taste the mouth that can cast such a spell over anyone who hears her voice. he wants to claim that mouth as his before everyone, before the world.

but she has her rules, and he respects that.

“come with me,” he says and takes her wrist.

he leads her to a darkened hall near a coat room and, wasting no time, presses her against the wall. he latches his mouth to the exposed skin of her neck, sure that if he doesn’t kiss something—anything—he will go insane. his hands roam her curves, her back, her ass. likewise, she runs her hands along his back, his shoulders, his arms. she’s gasping, even though he is the one kissing and sucking her sweet skin.

“i thought—oh my god, don’t stop—i wasn’t sure if—if you would like seeing me here,” she confesses. her voice is thick, and it drives him wild.

he pulls away long enough to meet her eyes. “everyone is inside the party talking about you,” he says. he presses his palm against the side of her face, runs the pad of his thumb over her lip. “and i’m out here about to fuck you senseless. i’d say i liked seeing you up there.”

she laughs, and the sound is almost as nice as the sound of her singing. winding her arms around his neck, she draws him closer, pressing her hips against his. “why don’t you take me home, then?”

he doesn’t have to be told twice.

later, when she is asleep, naked beneath his sheets, he lights a cigarette. the embers glow in the darkness of his room, and he sighs. this time, he sighs in contentment. he reaches over to rub his hand along her back, feeling the ridges of her spine. she’s good for him, and so long as she’ll have him, he’ll be hers. even if this is all they are—a shag here, a present there—he’ll be happy. just so long as he can worship at her feet.

he’s got it bad. he knows that now. he’s on the verge of losing himself to her, and he doesn’t even mind. it just makes him smile into the night, happy for once not to go to bed alone.

[whitherliliesbloom]

✿ stories you want to write

Tagged by: @earthlystar, @fistsoflightning, @stars-bleed-hearts-shine​, @windup-dragoon​ THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Tagging: idk, whoever wants to do this lmao. just say I tagged you!

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a bundle of unfulfilled ideas / headcanons. I have a lot of stories / AU ideas I want to write.. but either don’t have the time or energy to write them... Or you know, I’m just plain lazy.

I’m also kind of leaning more towards Genshin Impact now than FFXIV oops

1) More time travel AU

I KNOW!! I’m the only one who cares about this au okay but 

TIME TRAVEL STORIES ARE ALWAYS SOME OF MY FAVORITE STORIES??? ADDING TO THAT ANYTHING INVOLVING LIKE.. META COMMENTARY AND POSSIBLE 4TH WALL BREAKING??? STEINS;GATE??? MADOKA MAGICA??? CHARLOTTE??? UNDERTALE??? The ability to stop time and rewind time is just such a COOL ASS concept to me?? I won’t shut up about wanting time mage in ffxiv just so I can OFFICIALLY make her a canon overpowered time and space manipulator. Maybe then, time travel au won’t just be an au anymore.

On top of that I just really like Cronus. The idea of an Illya who is so damaged and broken she becomes an entirely different person. I just don’t really have a set plot planned for this au or have any idea on how to resolve the conflict between Cronus, present timeline Illya and Alphinaud... or if I even wanna give Cronus a happy ending iafnioafas. But whenever there’s an opportunity to talk about time travel au, you bet your gil I will.

2) More Nier Automata AU

I kinda lost steam for this AU really really quickly for some reason but.. I had pretty ambitious plans for the plot of this which I really hope I’ll find the inspiration to write out some day.. because I really don’t like just.. reducing my ideas to simple bullet point headcanons. 

Some brief idea of what I had in mind though:

 bad ending depending on illya’s actions at one of the climatic scenes

different ‘good’ endings depending on her last dialogue choice which would lead to her ending up with different love interests. 

love triangle, of course

side plot for alisaie and ryne involving an escort mission

really really meta writing about the meaning of an android’s life and who 2C feels like she really is

scene of 2C regaining memories of alphinaud’s death and losing her shit

Like I said. I’m a bundle of lots of ideas that are almost always unfulfilled. I still really like this au though and I don’t want it to go to waste...

3) More Modern AU

Oops another AU. At least this one isn’t depressing or something that might give you an existential crisis. I have A LOT of headcanons for modern au ffxiv characters... not to mention different versions of the modern au concept. There’s Youtuber Illya AU, there’s highschool AU, there’s that AU where Illya works at a coffee shop and Alphinaud is a university student. 

I just love how laid back and Slice of Life-y modern au can be and I just... really love the idea of Illya living a normal happy life that doesn’t involve her having to kill gods every other day as much as i do love to torture her, yes. 

Some ideas for modern au fics i had:

Highschool AU Ryne asking her friends to cosplay sailor moon characters for a cosplay convention. Laurelis as Sailor Moon and Haurchefant as Tuxedo Mask. Ryne herself as Sailor Venus. Gaia as Sailor Mars. Illya as Sailor Saturn. 

Youtuber Illya attempting to vlog outside her home for the first time while she’s on a date with Alphinaud because her viewers requested it so much. Just pure fluff and the dorks being dorks. 

Highschool AU Illya working on a set of mini terrarium jewelry to sell at the school fair to raise money. The jocks at the school sort of laugh and lowkey bully her for the idea but she ends up making a ton of money.

SOL comedy AU where alisaie and alphinaud both have a crush on Illya sort of compete for her attention. She’s completely oblivious to all of it. 

Cafe AU where Illya has raised enough money (and with Alphinaud’s generous donation) to send in an entry to university. Alphinaud helps her study for the entrance exam. 

More double dates? :eyes:

4) To Aru Majutsu no Index AU

LOOK SOMETHING I HAVEN’T TALKED ABOUT ON MY BLOG BEFORE. I just really like the premise / setting of this anime. ARE YALL READY FOR WORD VOMIT???

Academy city, a city that houses many schools, and research intuitions devoted to the study and advancement of science. Espers are individuals who use scientifically based supernatural powers, all of whom gained and trained their powers artificially under the system of Academy city. However, there is another underground side to the city - a small organization of people with supernatural abilities that cannot be explained by science. They are called magicians - and due to the rarity of magic, and how Academy city is so repulsed by the idea of abilities that defy the laws of conventional science and their understanding, some people even believe that magic is simply a myth or urban legend. 

While espers typically specialize in only one or two types of ability, magicians are often able to wield a variety of different abilities that take time to train and nurture, making them so frightening to the science side of academy. Some magicians even end up dabbling in the occult or black magic.

Alphinaud, a level 4 esper with the ability to physically see energy waves emitted by other espers. Couple that with his high intelligence, he is able to analyze the movements and abilities of other espers and even pin point the weak points of their abilities. His twin sister Alisaie is also a level 4 esper who is able to teleport herself and one other person she touches a certain distance in a radius around her current location. 

Alphinaud comes across Illya on his home from his training program one day, beaten and exhausted on the side of the road. He wants to call the hospital, but she begs him not to, saying she’s afraid that ‘they’ will find her. He takes her back to his home and nurses her wounds. Not seeing any energy waves being emitted from her, he assumes that she is simply an ordinary citizen. He asks her where her home is and how she ended up injured on the side of the road, but she refuses to tell him.

One day, a fight breaks out on the streets near his home, where a level 5 esper has gone rogue and is attacking innocent bystanders. He asks Illya to stay behind while he and Alisaie takes care of the situation. They are outmatched however, and Illya, watching the situation from the balcony of his home finally decides to step in. She easily incapacitates the esper using a variety of magical abilities the twins have never seen before, draining the man of his energy before returning to heal Alphinaud and Alisaie. 

They question Illya later, and she finally confesses to being a magician who is on the run from an organization who had been keeping her captive for the past few years. She has the ability of perfect memory - being able to memorize spells from any grimoire she reads and utilize the powers for herself, though often at some debilitating cost. The more powerful the spell, the more dire and painful the side effects.  She has been forced to read a total of more than 500 grimoires by now, and only managed to narrowly escape thanks to a mysterious man who took pity on her. 

Due to the side effects of her ability, and also having done nothing but be chained up and forced to read grimoires for the past few years, Illya is physically frail and cannot fend for herself beyond using magical abilities, which she is often hesitant to do.

5) Pokemon AU...carmela im looking

Waiting for @windupnamazu​ to provide more details on her pokemon au buttttt i’ve already been working on illya’s sort of backstory, her pokemon team, alphinaud’s pokemon team and other headcanons regarding this au. Also.. working with an artist regarding illya’s design for this au, which i’m very excited to be able to share =3c Not the time yet tho

I actually talked about a pokemon au with Jam as early as June of last year. I made a pokemon team for illya aaaaaand only half of her original team I had for her over a year ago is still in her current team oops. It’s okay, the retconned ones can stay at home and relax with Lachlan. 

6) More amaurotine stuff

Oh finally something relating to canon. I’ve been thinking about Chloris x Apollo from time to time and honestly I.. really love their dynamic.. despite how sad and lowkey awful Apollo can be towards her. But I think that’s part of the charm of what makes alphinaud and illya’s relationship later so sweet, being able to acknowledge that they had their flaws and learn from them ;w;

I had an idea for Chloris inventing a type of flower with the unintentional suggestion of Apollo, and it later makes an appearance where Alphinaud discovers the flower and asks Illya about it. 

7) The twins... no, not the Leveilleur twins

I think everyone’s talked about their lovechildren more than I have and I’ve already kind of explained why I haven’t made any screens or talked about them at length but.. I really do love them so much ;;;; I wanna find the opportunity to write a fic of them maybe spending a day inside with their army of carbuncles... Also @ancientechos​‘ OC Esme (son of haurche and laurelis) developing a crush on one of them =3c 

Also another idea I had involving them is being taken to the site of some of Illya and Alphinaud’s adventures...

8) Butler AU...hey, anyone remember this? 

Remember when I did several comics back to back and was super motivated for this AU? I do. I miss being motivated and inspired and not like.. wrecked with depression. I have plot points... ALSO INTERACTIONS WITH OTHER OCs WHO JOINED THIS AU???? Maybe one day I’ll find the drive again. At least I was able to finish one plot arc!! Which is more than I can say for most of my other AUs. Someone get me back in the shoujo manga mood!!! please!!

9) Idol AU 

Hey idol AU anon where are you.... WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD ME YOUR EXTRA HEADCANONS PLEASE COME BACK

10) More Alphinaud and his interactions with DRK Illya

I’ve already written a good number of fics about this, but I still... wanna do more... Acceptance, unconditional love, Illya learning that he won’t leave her despite all her insecurities and flaws... ILLYA FINALLY LEARNING TO IDK ACCEPT HERSELF. HELP.

I just really like DRK Illya okay, and you can pry the symbolism of her duality with her dark side from my cold dead hands. 

[inkedberries]

(1/2) Hi, anon here!! (The one who suggested the shoumob imagines) Ok so, for ideas, I honestly thought they would suit the roles because 1) shou's hobby is drawing might as well expand it into something like painting or even sculpting and 2) shigeo kinda fits the description of "(s)he who is milk-white"

(2/2) Also having these thoughts of, if pygmalion isnt interested in women what if he actually just swings the other way?- And the concept of a statue having emotions and having a perspective of love is like uwu. I hope that makes sense jxnddnfn

hhhhhhhh  oh my gosh, the concept of a statue having emotions you are so so right. if this were from the point of view from the statue, man the longing.

bc with pygmalion, he was able to give galatea jewelry, fine garments, flowers, to show his adoration of her still very sad bc... she a statue. galatea tho.. she could only look at him treating her with so much devotion and love but she couldn’t thank him. she couldn’t reach out to him to touch his cheek or feel his warmth.

and then when aphrodite does her shit the both of them being able to get what they want!!!! cries beautiful

but for me, even as cheesy and hopelessly romantic this shit is, i want some dialogue and drama jksfhdk

so ummm have you watched the 1938 film Pygmalion?????? BECAUSE. IT’S PRETTY GOOD.

if you haven’t watched it yet, please please pleeeeaaase!!!

and of course, there would be a few things i want to change (mostly, the what would be sho’s character) and other things i want to put more focus on (read: how liza got that ring my gosh i want a whole scene of that but alas.. basically more liza and higgins interactions without the screaming djkfghk)

I HAVE!!! IDEAS FOR THIS AU....... imagine shigeo selling flowers by the street. shigeo just being surrounded by flowers is always good. like liza, shigeo wants to be a proper gentleman and open his own flower shop in one of those high end streets. 

sho is an heir to a grand empire. he’s mostly an influencer, a trendsetter. and he thought he would do a service and help shigeo become a ‘proper gentleman’

but sho won’t turn shigeo into a guinea pig to prove his expertise. sho’s intentions are more superficial. it’s like a fake dating au basically. sho turns shigeo as arm candy (which is a feat bc of how ‘plain’ shigeo is but he’s so compliant about everything so dkfh)that he takes to social parties and also to shake off very desperate ladies lmao  

shigeo, obviously just did it for the money (and also he feels kinda bad for sho), and sho just bc he thought it would be a break from all of the boring parties lmao

and then, they start to unexpectedly like each other’s company. AND THEN feelings start to happen.

i think it’s very similar to pygmalion where sho shows his affection with showering shigeo with very expensive shit and that’s the only thing he could do. but this time, he thinks it’s bc he has no right to fall for him?? he picked him up from the street and dangled his status in front of him like an asshole so???? he’s trying to apologize and sincerely show shigeo that ‘hey, i think i’m in love with you’

and with shigeo, he thinks that everything sho gives him is temporary. like no feelings attached. and when shigeo starts to understand his feelings that ‘oh no, i’ve fallen in love with him’ and there’s that longing. the longing and hope that the affection sho shows him is real (AND IT IS THEY’RE JUST IDIOTS)

and there’s that confusion that settles.. the thought, ‘where should i go after i do my part?’ like the part where liza lashes out at higgins. he’s too posh for the streets but not enough to be part of sho’s crowd.

BUT I’VE TALKED ENOUGH THAT’S ALL IM GONNA SAY for now 

[femaleboysblog]

♥ super(hero) love ♥

| hwang hyunjin x superhero!reader | sorry for any mistakes! english is not my first language!

part i | part ii (final)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: tumblr!au, fanfic writer!reader x fan!hyunjin, enemies to lovers, fluff!!!, minor violence cause u know superhero stuff yadda yadda, some cursing here and there, (1) alcohol mention, 

A/N: just rewriting some old stuff :) | gender neutral reader (if you consider dude a gender neutral term lol)

“ Hi y/n! I’m sorry if i’m bothering you, but i just came by to say that i’ve read your last chapter last night and i can’t help but fall in love with your writing, you never disappoint! You’re always so creative when it comes to making stories and putting them into words, it’s almost like you’ve lived them! haha. So i just wanted to ask, where do you get your ideas? What are your inspirations? With love, Genie ;)”

 Damn it. I stared at the ask i just received for a few long and tortuous minutes, definitely more than it was actually necessary. But hey, don't blame me for that, i mean, how in the hell i'm supposed to answer that? I can’t just go and say "Hi again Genie! Thank you for all the love, i really appreciate it! I get all my inspiration on my day-to-day life as a superhero. You probably have heard about me, i'm that one person with white clothes that shows all the time - if not every single day, in the morning news for saving and helping the city and their beloved citizens. Most people just call me 'the light hero' even though they know the right name for the supervillains, in special, Scarlet Devil - my arch enemy. In case you don't know my superhero name either, i go by Starlight. Kinda lame, i know. But it fits with the backstory of how i got my powers. Since it's a situation i went through, of course i'm going to know all the details in full experience and in first person, even that one where the protagonist rips his pants in the middle of a fight in the street and in front of everyone, only to reveal his red underwear constrasting the rest of the outfit, that is something i will never be able to forget, sadly. Hope i didn't disappoint you!" Let's be real, i could. Kinda.  But i won't be doing that for obvious reasons, i don't want even more people after my back because of this, the police is more than enough.

I sighed, pushing my chair closer to the desk and cracking my fingers so i could write something in return that didn't sound suspicious at all. "Hi Genie," i started, already struggling a little,"I really appreciate asks like this and i'm also happy to know that at least one person likes the lame things i write! :) I get all my inspiration from.." No, stop, stop. I can just go all in like that, i have to be subtle. Normal writers usually get their inspirations in a lot of differents things and ideas, if i say something like that there is a chance that it would come out weird. I think. "I get most of my inspiration in, well, superheros, of course. I read a lot of comics, books and i really like watching movies and animations with any types of heros. :)" Sent. That actually went a little better than expected. "Genie" whoever it was, sent another ask only a seconds after, i clicked on it already starting to feel anxious again. "That's so cool! I suppose you are into superheros in real life too. If so, are you fan of any of them?" Why did they had to send questions that are so hard and complicated to answer like that? The only superhero i know well enough to pretend that i am a fan of is Jeongin, you probably know him by Spark. But he also reads my blog and wouldn't let me live if i ever said i'm his fan, another thing i'm not really found of. Another superhero i'm really close with would be, well me, of course.

"Actually, i do. I'm a big fan of Starlight for some time, what about you?" I answered, my choice of words trying to be as lowkey and casual as possible, putting the right amount of weight in them. This person, whoever they were, seemed to be nosy sometimes like a shy high-schooler wanting to keep the conversation going with someone with that they liked and in a way, that was most likely the situation. They’re the only person who follows my blog for some time that i remember constantly sending me messages and checking up on me but the one thing that was different this time was that the person, my fellow readers, forgot to put the ‘anon’ option on this time, their blog url shined brightly and effortlessly on my computer screen.

This time, Genie took a while to answer, so i took that as a chance to take a look at their blog. Clicking on their url, i started scrolling down their posts. I couldn't help but cringe really hard when i started noticing that most of their posts was reblogs from fyeahscarletdevil and others fansites with cheesy compliments in the tags, they seemed to be a really big fan of the supervillain, my supervillain. The one who puts kittens in really high places where they can't come down anymore, the one who sets fire in close neighbourhoods backyards and gardens to ruin their grass and flowers they worked so hard on, the one who sets dogs out of their leashes suddenly creating an army of dogs or anything that would cause disturbance in the peace of those around him in the world. I want to say i am starting to see red out of anger but in all honesty, that would make me even more pissed. Red is his color, just like white is mine. Unclenching and relaxing my jaw, - bad habit, i know - i hadn’t even noticed Genie had answered. “Oh really? I’m a major fan of Scarlet Devil!” No shit, Sherlock. Duh. “I think he’s a great dude who fits perfectly in the whole ‘model’ supervillain concept! Especially when it comes to Starlight too! They both are made for each other and have a perfect chemistry, they would be nothing without one another like soulmates. I probably sound like a total nerd now, but thats what i think lol wbu? - Genie” They signed in the end, even though it was obvious it was them. Not only did this person ship me with my arch enemy, they were also a big giant nerd and a huge fanboy of the red devil. Rubbing my forehead, i prepared myself to write back a long and sharp reply arguing against everything they said, ready to win and probably lose one of my readers in the process. Or more than one, you never know how many creeps who are his fans are lurking on this website.

Turns out Genie, was a very cute boy called Hwang Hyunjin who lived close by the neighbourhood i lived at, he was tall and acted very shy when he wasn’t talking about things that he liked very much, such as supervillains, dancing and comics. After our argument that day about which one was better - Starlight and the one who shall not be named, we got extremely close to the point i couldn’t go one day without texting him and in some nights we’re one of us couldn’t sleep, we would call the other and talk for hours. Since today, we both had the day free, he suggested that we met in person for the first time and the weather being intensely hot and stuffy right now, we settled in the shopping, going for a walk and eating ice scream while getting to know each other more and maybe even watching a movie together. But if that’s not obvious enough already, i have a major, gigantic, mega, blast, huge, enormous crush on him. From the way he softly laughed when he talked about this new move he learned with his group of friends who danced too, from the way he asked me how my day went and actually listened to me talking about it carefully showing he actually did care, the way he blushed at every compliment i gave him. I could feel my heart beat faster with the thought of seeing his cute moles in person and of even having an opportunity to hold his hands. But, was this a date? Does he even like me back? Would he stop talking to me if he found out i am Starlight? Would he start liking me only because he found out i am Starlight? No, i should worry about all of this later. I took a deep breath in hope to calm myself down, looking at my phone. I’m not going to bring it with me this time, what if Jeongin calls me for an emergency or him being a trickster and ruining the moment? I shook my head. Y/N, you can’t think like that. As much as Nini can be a little shit sometimes, he’s still your baby brother and you need to be there for him when he gets into trouble with your uniform, fists and powers ready to help him. Grabbing my phone, i ran by the door hoping i would be able to get there in time.

I checked my phone. And then, checked again. No calls or texts from spark boy and most importantly, Hyunjin. I sighed in frustration, am i about to be stood up by my crush in our first time meeting in person? Is it bad that i’m getting ice scream before he shows up? Too many questions, calm down, ok? You’re the city’s biggest hero, you got this. - Hyunjin, Jin, Jinn-i said out loud to myself to distract from my anxiousness as i paid the lady for the ice scream but my line of thoughts were interrupted by well, another voice. A soothing voice. - Genie. Did you call me? You have three wishes. - he replied jokingly with a sweet smile in his lips and holding three fingers up. I just stared at him, amazed, not sure of what to do. It was like an angel had just spoke to me. - W-What? - he asked softly, his cheeks getting red out of embarassment. - Nothing, i just...I can’t believe you’re really here... - I trailed off while hugging him tightly. The way he hunched a bit to put his chin on my shoulder making my heart beat faster inside my chest. Get it together, Y/N. - Wait, - he stood back a little, to look at my face properly - You didn’t think i would leave you hanging, did you?    - Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened. Nothing personal. - i said, trying to laugh it off. - Then you’ve been going out to dates with the wrong guys. If i couldn’t come, i would’ve called you or still had came here to let you know we can’t spend the day togethe- - D-Date? - i gasped quietly but he was still able to hear, his face getting a tad more redder.  - Ye-yeah, i mean, if yo-you want to, i’m okay with that with thi-this being a date. Yeah.- he shrugged, looking down while visibly embarassed. - Yeah, i want that. It’s a date then! - i added confidently after he nodded, acting like it was no big deal for me. - Is it okay that i got ice scream without you? Sorry, it’s just that it’s so hot today, i couldn’t help myself. We can go back to the line if you want to! - No, it’s okay. Shall we? - he offered his arm which i accepted, his boyish eye smile making it even harder for me to control the butterflies in my stomach. I was falling for his charms, indeed. After a few minutes walking side by side and commenting on the things we saw on the windows of the stores, i decided i should finally take initiative. - So, what did you do today? Besides coming here, of course. - i asked with an interested smile before turning to my ice scream, the cold on my tongue seeming to help me deal with the hot weather better. God, why is it so hot today? What’s going on with the weather? - I slept really late before waking up and coming here, i almost lost track of the time. - he laughed lightly.  - Oh, same. - i replied in a flat tone. Right, cause i totally didn’t take two hours to get ready for Miss ‘I woke up like this’ right here. - Unless for the time part. Did you stay up praticing your moves? - Something physical like that, yeah. - he said, serious. - Did you stay up last night too? - Yeah, actually. - i agreed, regretting instantly. I stayed up all night because Jeongin had trouble sleeping, nightmares which made him cause a blackout in the whole neighbourhood by accident. Me, being the good older sibling, brought him to the energy station of the city and helped him bring all the power back before tucking him into bed and waiting for him to sleep again. If only had it been that easy., tsk tsk. On my way to dragging my sleepy little brother back home, i was met face to face with my arch-enemy straying through the city’s street during the night, his shameless bad-boy persona flirting with me while showing off his dark jacket and threatning to set my shoes on fire making my blood boil again. The reminder that i shot his hand for touching me, leaving a lightburn mark. My brand. - Are you okay? - My date’s voice cut me off. I shook my thoughts away, i already spend too much time thinking about that damned boy who liked setting my life on fire. Sometimes too literally. - Yeah, i just have too much on my mind, i guess. I stayed up most part of the night because my brother couldn’t sleep..I had to hold him until he fell back sleep so he wouldn’t have nightmares. - Oh, i didn’t knew you had a brother! - he looked surprised, rolling his sleeves up while guiding us to sit somewhere more reserved. - He’s not really my brother, he’s like a....consideration brother, if that makes sense. It’s complicated. - In fact, it really isn’t. I really do consider Jeongin my brother, i take care of him at any and all times especially at matters that his parents couldn’t understand, his powers. But i can’t just explain that to any normal person. - I see. I have a brother too, actually. Older. His name is Chan. - he replied brightly. Frostkiller. No. Not every Chan you know is the frosty meanie who happens to be partner with the Scarlet Devil, i’m sure there’s a lot of Chan’s all there, in the world. Far away from here. I smiled back, making him laugh lightly, his eye smile showing up again and making my heart skip beats. He had his chin propped on the palm of his hand, his eyes looking down shyly, his pink lips pressed together in a small smile. - Aren’t you hot? I mean, i feel like i’m melting here even though there’s AC here. I don’t know what’s going on today with the weather. - Oh really? I don’t feel anything, i even thought today was a bit chilly, actually. - What? - i gasped loudly, stretching to touch his forehead with the back of my hand - Are you okay? You aren’t sick, are you? - Don’t. - he stated coldly, closing his hands around my wrist to stop me, his warm fingers digging on my skin. But it was a bit too late, my fingertips touching his forehead already, i flinched taking my hand back, fearing it would burn my skin. - Hyunjin, oh my god! You’re on fire! Aren’t you with fever, shouldn’t we head to a hospita- - No. I’m okay, really. Don’t worry about me, okay? I guess i’m just that hot, pun intended. - he opened a sweet smile, winking - I’m going to buy us something to eat, sit still. - i stared at him, mouth open, still on shock. What does he even mean with ‘i’m okay’? I felt like i just had touched a heated oven or fire. Pure fire. I stared at his back, confused. I have enough experience to know something was definitely up, something not common. My area of expertise. I opened my lips, about to argue back but something caught my eye as i analised his back. Red. I got up from the table, charging at his direction with my fists closed and ready to feed him his own teeth. - What do you want- Oh! - he turned around, his face flushing and his eyes getting a bit bigger because of our proximity. - Give me your hand. - i demanded in a stern manner while stretching out my own hand. - W-What? - he gasped innocently, not affecting me now that i know he’s not so innocent anymore. I pulled on his wrist, turning and examining his forearm and instantly finding exactly what i was looking for. - What’s this? - i questioned, trying to hold back the poison on my tone. He looked down, biting his lips nervously. - Ok, you got me. I stayed up last night cause i was partying with my team colleagues and one of them was so drunk he started playing with fire and i tried helping him before things got worse but he ended setting my sleeve on fire and burning me. I didn’t tell you cause i was scared of what you would think about me, i don’t want you to have the wrong impression. - I bit the inside of cheek, thoughtful. - It doesn’t look like a fire burn though? - he gasped like a fish out of water, i didn’t care about our surroundings and if we looked like a couple arguing, i let his arm go ready to throw my second accusation at him. - What’s this the- Before i could finish and stick my hand behind his back snatch the evidence from his pocket, i was interrupted. Dance the night away, let’s dance the night away! Ooh! I sighed loudly, taking my phone out of my pocket. and turning my back to him. - This is not over yet. - Hey, Y/N. Could you- the voice in the other side of the line said quickly but i cut him off. - No. I’m in the middle of a date as we are speaking, ok? I told you that earlier! I really like this guy and something sketchy came up, i can’t do my light thing right now. - i whispered the last part. -Bu-But, Y/N! - Here we go, the whining - I’m about to have my ass frostbitten! You need to help me! I’m your brother! Are you really just gonna leave your little brother freezing here? - Jeongin whined loudly, hissing noises echoing in the background. I flinched, already picturing the mess on the street with tall buildings half-frozen and snow covering the sidewalks and cars. - Is the grumpy old dude there? - Yes! And very much gladly, Scarlet Devil isn’t here yet. Lucky you. - Can’t you just tell him to calm down? I’m sure he won’t hurt you if you do that, he loves you just as much as he loves his penguins on North Pole. - Very funny, ha. Just come here, you firefly. - Fine! Let me make up an excuse then. - Thank you, Y/N! - he replied in a singing voice. - You own me a pizza. - i said flatly before hanging up. Turning around, my date boy scratched his neck, his cheeks visibly red and hyperventilating. He looked like he would melt away at any moment out of embarassment. - I gotta go. - Yeah, me too. My room mate texted me and he needs help with the, hm, - he coughed before continuing - Caking a bake,i-i mea-an, Baking a cake, yeah.. - Sure. - i nodded at him briefly and in an awkward way before leaving. - Bye. - Wait! - He reached for my arm - I can still text you, right? - he questioned shyly. - Not if you’re gonna keep lying like this to me, Hyunjin. - i see. - he nodded back after giving me a hurt puppy look and letting of of my arm. I felt my heart clench at the sight, i just wanted to hug him and give him a chance to explain himself but i needed to talk with someone first. I gave him a weak smile before going my way, knowing i had broken his heart. Maybe Changbin was right, i had a bad taste on guys.

[ft-dads-au]

Why don’t you do anything about including neurodiversity or disabilities? There’s more to people than just sexual orientation and gender identity. Try to be a little more original than making a character gay or trans or nb; it’s already been done countless times.

We didn’t set out to be original, we just started with a small idea that started leading its own life, growing into a rather large story that we wanted to tell and a world we wanted to build.  At the end of the day, this isn't what we do for a living, we do this because we enjoy writing the characters we love in the way that we envision them.

Even though sexuality is not what we're putting the most of our focus on, we know that it is one of the big themes throughout this AU, and yes, it has been done many times before. So have Coffee Shop AU’s, Soulmate AU’s, Flower Shop AU’s, the list goes on and on. That doesn’t make them any less enjoyable to read or write. 

What this AU does deal with is love, friendship, family, grief and loss, as well as trying to put your life back together after tragedy strikes. While also, in many cases, having children. We have begun with Stingue and Gratsu and their immediate families because that is what we tend to write and what we feel most attuned to at the moment. We have, however, already begun to lay the groundwork for other things and we have lots of ideas that we would like to write. 

As far as whether there will be disability and/or neurodivergent representation in our AU, there already is some to a certain extent. We have written Natsu in a way that suggests him having some level of ADHD. Gildarts has a prosthetic arm and leg, as he does in canon and we will address that topic in more detail when we get to Silver, Gildarts and Mika's story.

The fact of the matter is these are conditions that have a profound and permanent effect on a character's way of acting and thinking, not to mention their loved ones. In a world as big as the one we’re attempting to set up, where the stories are all interconnected, consistency is tough enough as it is, and so far there have only been two of us who have posted stories.

We’d love to include as many things as possible, but we don’t always feel confident enough about writing certain topics, and as much as we feel like they deserve exposure, we’d want to do them justice. This is why we envisioned this as a collaborative space, because there are plenty of writers who do feel comfortable writing about the topics that we don’t, and vice-versa. This is still something that we are interested in. We also welcome suggestions, about the only requirements we place on these is that they make sense to the specific character or sub-plot and don’t conflict with any aspects of the existing world as currently defined. 

In the case of neurodiversity, since that was what you brought to our attention, it wouldn't make sense to portray a character as say, on the autism spectrum, when there have already been one or more other stories in which that character shows a personality that conflicts with that. That is the pain of consistency, it takes a huge amount of planning and consideration.   

Thank you for sharing your standpoint, anon, we hope this answers your question of why we don’t do anything about including neurodiversity or disabilities. And please remember, this AU is a work in progress that currently spans over forty years and will extend for as long as we want it to. Other characters will be added, both Fairy Tail and original, new situations will arise, present ones will be resolved and past conflicts will come to light.  We’re far from done :)

On a last note, we'd like to reinforce that although we want many others to enjoy this AU, at the end of the day we are writing it for our own enjoyment. This is our hobby, not our job or an obligation to satisfy others, and for the record, calling someone’s work unoriginal is in really poor taste.

[shadesofjungkook]

doodle sessions

words: 1146

au: tattoo artist!jungkook x florist!reader

genre: fluff (with a tiny bit of spice towards the end)

a/n: first of all thank you for all the love on a secret garden(ia) of love! i was so nervous posting it but the feedback has been great so thank youuuu 💖 this is an extension of ASGOL so I suggest you read that first to fully understand! and to the anon who requested this i hope you like it. have a good night homies! ✨

things worked out between you at the tattooed boy from across your flower shop. the first date was filled with awkward giggles and shy touches but it's only gotten better. now eight months later the giggles are wholehearted and the touches are confident.

nowadays jungkook and you spent quite a bit of time together after work. you two were always trying to make up for lost time from many months ago. your dates were never something over the top. they were just little cuddle sessions here and there. or as jungkook liked to call them, his personal doodling sessions.

despite having a tattoo artist for a boyfriend, you yourself had no tattoos. nor were you looking to get any tattoos any time soon much to jungkook’s dismay. you weren’t against them (duh, your boyfriend was covered in them), or afraid of the pain of getting one. you were just too nervous about putting something on your body for the rest of your life. you wanted to wait until you found the perfect thing to tattoo.

so until that time comes around jungkook doodles his tattoos for you on your arm with a pen. he'd bring you in close in his lap and mark you up along the lengths of your arms. where his pen strokes didn’t touch jungkook’s lips did as he stamped your exposed skin with kisses. you loved you cuddle/doodle dates. you loved the simplicity, intimacy of them and of course jungkook.

throughout your current doodle session with jungkook, you two talk about your day and lives at your shops. "i had this cute kid come into the flower shop earlier today," you bring up.

jungkook is engrossed in his markings but still pays close attention to your words. "oh really? how so?"

you smile to yourself reminiscing, "he was going to go on his first date with someone and he was super nervous. he was really trying to pick the perfect flower for them."

"what flower did he pick in the end?" jungkook asks, pausing to look at you. you turn your head to look at him, your hand moving to caress his face. "he picked primrose. they symbolize young love."

jungkook turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand. you grin and take your hand to tap the tip of his nose with your finger. he scrunches it up but continues, "i always forget that you know so much about flowers."

you chuckle, "well i do own a flower shop, it does come with the territory jungkook." he chuckles along with you, returning to his doodling, "yeah, yeah, i know but it's still pretty cool."

the conversation settles down as you look down at him, his concentration is focused in the softness of your skin. your smile is faint as you disturb the silence.

"actually, can i tell you a secret?"

jungkook looks up to you, his eyes raised in suspicion. "yeah, sure. what's your secret?"

you look down at your hands before you turn your head back to jungkook. you watch his eyes for a bit and sigh. "i was actually going to bring you flowers on our first date together. but i chickened out last minute and bailed on them."

a snicker falls out of jungkook's mouth and you pout at his laughter. he only squeezes your sides to show he's only teasing. "shouldn't i be the one to one who brings you flowers?"

"i mean, it would be pretty hard to surprise me with flowers considering you would have to buy them from my shop."

jungkook nods his head in agreement, "which is exactly why i could never get you flowers." he finishes his sentence with a kiss on your shoulder and a small smile attempts to break loose from your face. damn jungkook and his charm you think.

"do you want to know a secret?" jungkook whispers with his eyes peering up at you. "sure," you whisper back.

"i actually have a drawing of you i did a long time ago. it's hidden somewhere in my studio."

you lean back from jungkook's hold around your waist. your eyebrows reaching up into your hair. "oh really?" you say intrigued by this revelation. jungkook's cheeks turn a pinkish hue as he nods his head, "yeah."

you beam. "ooo you really like me, you really like me," you tease in a sing-song tone. a groan comes out of jungkook's throat as he makes the effort to conceal the smile trying to poke through his lips. "okay, okay," he admits, "i really like you" he finishes mimicking your teasing tone.

you smile still shines brightly as you turn in jungkook’s lap and bring your arms around his shoulders. they rest there as you lean in, your eyes glancing between jungkook's starry eyes and parted lips. he looks at you as well, his lips now upturned as he meets you halfway to seal everything up with a kiss.

you pull back slightly and peck his lips once more. "good," you say, "because i really like you too."

you straighten yourself up before you turn back to your original position. jungkook returns your affections with another kiss on your shoulder, bringing your eyes back to him.

jungkook raises your “tattooed” arm, "i think i'm done your make believe sleeve."  

you gaze immediately fixes onto your skin. it's covered in intrinsic designs and patterns. he's decorated it with memories of your times together and of course a single gardenia. you chuckle when you spot an arrow shot heart with you and jungkook's initials carved into it.

"cheeseball," you mutter a smirk on your face. he snickers at it. "what? it's cute," he defends, to which you only nod your head.

you trace your fingers over the rest of your arm, caressing each doodle with a tender touch. "thank you for this jungkook. even if i do get ink poisoning," you tease.

he beams with pride, pulling you closer to him. "i'd never let you die like that. but i'm glad you like it, even if it is a pain to wash off."

"you can come and wash it off with me," you suggest with a waggle of your eyebrows.

there’s only about a second if silence before jungkook pulls you down by your waist. he turns you over as your back bounces up against the cushion of the couch. he has you trapped between his arms and legs as he hovers over you, a smirk creeping up his lips.

"don't be so tempting," he purrs.

you only gaze up at him, your lips mirroring the smirk on his face. "make me."

jungkook pulls his bottom lip in and leans down closing in on the distance between you two. he pauses and takes one last look at you as you stare back at him. then he dives right in, giving in to all temptations.

[gingywritesimagines]

Photograph

Title: Photograph (by Ed Sheeran)

Fandom: Newsies

Pairing: Ike x fem!reader

Request: “Okay, so I loved the Mike fic?? Can I please get an Ike fic that is very much fluffy? Like, rot my teeth out fluffy? Thank you so much!”  -anon

Description: Living in Manhattan, you experience all kinds of crazy adventures that the newsies go on, but the biggest adventure you’ve witnessed was the adventure you went on yourself.

Warnings: Language, comma over-usage, is this period-centric or modern au?? I don't even know anymore

A/N: This turned into a songfic??? Oops??? Exams and Christmas were crazy I’m sorry I couldn’t write this until now and I’m sorry it’s short but I hope you like it. Also, sidenote, I threw in a bit of Katherine/Jatherine appreciation cause yeet. (Also, in this fic, Ike and the reader are both 17ish) Have fun.

Taglist: @berry-kitten-paws @tina20213 @mcoomcoo @fandomsneverdie14 @sims4ccshopingcart

Having lived in Manhattan, you were very familiar with the rambunctious newsies that filled the streets every day. You had befriended many of them; Racetrack always sold outside your apartment building, his best friend Albert selling a few blocks down. Romeo flirted with every girl he found outside the flower shop on 34th street and Jack always takes his girlfriend Katherine (The “absolute love of my life” and “the prettiest picture of Santa Fe you’ve ever seen”) on dates past your father’s shop. However, of all the newsies you’d befriended, you were definitely closest with the twins. Mike and Ike were two of the nicest boys you’d ever met, and they were certainly very cute. Catching feelings wasn’t particularly difficult with those two.

While you adored spending time with both of them, you found yourself being drawn more and more to Ike. He was kind, considerate, and he always gave you the sweetest compliments; you were falling for him in no time, and you weren’t the only one head over heels. Ike was freaking out to Mike and Crutchie in the lodging house.

“Fellas, what do I do?” he cried.

Crutchie sighed, “Just ask ‘er out, Ike! She clearly likes you too!”

“What? No, she doesn’t! Why would she like me?” Ike freaked, before his demeanour changed entirely, “Wait, why are ya saying that? Did she say somethin’ to you? What were her exact words?”

Mike groaned, walking over to his brother, “Ike, buddy, you’re my brother and I love you-”

“I love you too, Mike.”

“-but if you don’t get your ass out there and ask (Y/N) the fuck out, I’ll have Romeo do it instead.”

“What? You wouldn’t dare!”

“He would.” Crutchie promised, “And so would I.”

Scared out of his wits but refusing to let someone else have you, Ike set out to your apartment. Once he arrived, he knocked as hard as he could, pure adrenaline pumping him through the motions. He was more than relieved when it was you that answered the door, and he gave you a large smile in greeting.

“Ike? Hi!” You beamed back, “What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna go for a walk. Care to join me?”

You stepped outside, chuckling, “You’ve been walking all day. Aren’t your feet tired?”

Ike laughed, “Nah. I’m invincible.”

He flexed jokingly and he felt his heart swell as you laughed. You grabbed his hand, both of you blushing madly as you did so, and gestured down the street.

“Let’s walk then. Lead the way, Mr. Invincible.”

He chuckled awkwardly, tightening his grip on your hand as he lead you down the busy streets of New York City. As you walked, you discussed every topic under the sun- your family, Ike’s job with the newsies, the years that had passed since the two of you had met. The further you walked, the more your conversation went back on the topic of your relationship. Being friends for so long, you two knew you were definitely and obviously close, but your words hinted at the fact that both you and Ike felt a bit more under the surface.

“It’s been, what, six years?” Ike asked.

“Just about, yeah.” You replied, “And to think, I just love you more and more every day.”

Your eyes widened as you realized what you’d said, and Ike turned beet red.

He cleared his throat, gesturing to your neck, “Ain’t that the locket your parents got ya? For your birthday?”

You held the pendant between two fingers, running one of them over the crevice between the two sides, “My sixteenth, yeah. I still haven’t found a photograph to put in it though.”

“You could put a picture ‘a me in there if you want.” Ike blurted.

You stared at him incredulously, “What?”

Ike stopped, standing underneath a lamppost as it began to light up, and stammered out a reply: “You, well, you said ya loved me. Ain’t that what people are supposed to do with lockets? Put a picture of someone they love in it? Have I mentioned you got really beautiful eyes? Wait, why did I say that?”

You giggled, stepping closer to him, “Why thank you, Ike. And I suppose you’re right, but I think the person has to love you back before you put their photo in your locket.”

“(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N).” Ike shook his head, closing the gap between you two and resting his forehead against yours, “Who the hell said I didn’t love ya back?”

You grinned, starting to glow with the sweet nature of his words and the light from the lamppost when a door opened down the street. The two of you turned towards the ruckus to see a gaggle of girls rushing out of the nearby shop; they were clearly very, very wealthy and dressed in fine fabrics and furs, making you feel suddenly self-conscious in your simple skirt-blouse combo. 

“Someone’s got a talent for ruining the moment.” Ike chuckled as he turned back to you, pausing when he saw the look on your face, “What’s the matter?”

You sighed, stepping back, “You’re a regular prince charming, Ike. You deserve a princess, like them.”

He shook his head, “A princess? You are my princess, (Y/N)! Where are we right now?” he stepped back to look at the street sign on the lamppost, “Sixth street? You’re the princess of Sixth street!”

Ike ran up to you, lifting you in his arms and spinning you back to stand under the lamppost.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), princess of Sixth street.” his expression softened to one of pure adoration as he stood with his chest pressed against yours, “May I have a kiss, princess (Y/N)?”

Swooning at his words, you leaned in, relishing in the shadows that the lamplight and his eyelashes cast across his cheeks as he closed his eyes. You kissed him gently at first, but your love for each other took over as you both worked to deepen the kiss. As you stood under the lamppost, kissing none other than the sweetest boy in New York, you heard a camera go off. You broke the kiss and turned to see a man you recognized as the photographer for the New York Sun. He cleared his throat when you both made eye contact.

“Sorry, kids. We’re taking photos for a segment on the beauty in New York in the Sun.” he explained, “And that moment right there, well, it was really beautiful.”

You smiled at him, “It’s alright.”

Ike leaned to your ear, an arm wrapped lightly around your waist as he whispered to you, “That kiss was perfect, but it’d be even better as the picture in your locket, princess.”

You considered what he was suggesting, but just as you’d decided he was right, the photographer spoke up.

“You kids want a copy of that when it’s developed?” the man asked.

You took Ike’s hand in yours, fiddling with your locket and beaming brightly at the spot of lipstick on his cheek before turning to the photographer, “Yes please.”

[anobscenesumofsadforklifts]

Todoiida headcannons?

since you didn’t specify what you wanted, i put a bunch of ideas on a wheel and spun it. and i got: tattooartist x florist au.

Alrighty then my children, sit the fuck down, buckle up, and get ready for some god damn headcanons

TodoIida Tattoo Artist x Florist headcanons

Todoroki is most certainly not the tattoo artist

Nonono he is the florist.

Our dear Todoroki Shouto runs a small flower shop called “Phenomenon”.

It’s a simple shop, nothing too fancy in terms of decorations, since it was full of flowers. you had big, barrel-like pots on the ground in one section of the shop, tiered shelves in another, plants hanging from the ceiling

The shop just so happens to be right next door to a tattoo parlor.

Ingenium, a world famous tattoo parlor, owned and operated by Iida Tensei.

Well, I say operated, but, since he’s always out and about doing pop-ups and conventions and things, it’s actually operated by one Iida Tenya.

Now, these two shops don’t generally interact with each other, because why would they?

They generally just let each other be, save for the times fuyumi and natsuo come by to see shouto and then gone to the tattoo parlor. Apparently fuyumi knows the owner somehow?

Until one day, a tall, muscular, and heavily tattooed man walks into todoroki’s flower shop.

Strange, he isn’t the type of person who enter his shop. But who is he to judge?

He did look familiar, but shouto just couldn’t put his finger on it.

It wasn’t until after the man had turned to look at an arrangement todoroki had put together earlier that day that he sees the back of his shirt and immediately knows why he recognizes the man.

He’s the manager of the tattoo parlor next door! tensei’s younger brother.

“may I help you find anything?”

shouto you startled him. you idiot.

“o-oh! yes, i wanted to get a bouquet of flowers. they’re for my brother. he was in an accident.”

With an understanding nod, shouto begins into a spiel about various types of flowers and their meanings as he goes about putting the bouquet together.

“i see. well, it’s good to know that you’re quite knowledgeable about your craft.”

…

“n-not that i thought you wouldn’t be!”

Shouto dismisses it with a soft, borderline inaudible laugh. ‘cute’ was all he could think as he heard this mans nervous rambles.

He gives him the bouquet, and just as the man gets ready to pay him, he waves his hand.

“just take them, iida,” he says “and tell tensei that shouto todoroki says to get better soon, or fuyumi will get upset.”

“wait, you’re shouto? fuyumi and natsuo’s younger brother?”

“so you’ve heard of me.”

they delve into a conversation about how iida says “fuyumi has told me so much about you.”

“she always said you were quite a stoic person, but from what i see, that’s not quite true.”

“guess you caught me on a a good day then. you might want to get those flowers to your brother before they start to wilt.”

“oh, yes, i believe i should.”

he thanks shouto for his time and begins to leave when he suddenly stops, hand on the door handle, and turns back to shouto.

“i really am grateful for this, todoroki. maybe i can make it up to you? i could give you a tattoo, free of charge.”

a tattoo, huh? free of charge, plus he gets to see the cute blue-haired guy again. hmm…

“i might just take you up on that offer.”

BADADADA two weeks later and he’s still thinking about that offer iida gave him.

And how could he not? seeing as iida came over every other day or so to give him updates on tensei’s condition, shouto relaying that information to his siblings so they’ll stop worrying. They don’t stop worrying. It’s a lost cause.

They had actually become friends within those times he came over, and shouto felt himself falling more in love with iida, and iida found himself doing the same with shouto.

Fuyumi keeps telling him he should ask iida out, and he’s contemplated it, but talked himself out of it everytime. He couldn’t handle the rejection.

but now, shouto finds himself closing up the shop one afternoon as he prepares to go on his lunch break, thinking about that offer from iida.

He had put quite a bit of thought into what kind of tattoo he would get, where he would get it, he looked up care instructions, despite knowing iida would tell him what needed done to take care of it. the boy does his research, okay?

he ended up settling on a simple floral design on the inside of his left forearm.

So, taking his design with him, he walked next door.

The tattoo parlor looked exactly as he remembered the first time he entered it to introduce himself as the shop next door. well, almost exactly. it had been touched up and got a few new decorations, but other than that, it still remained with its sleek and modern industrial style design.

Exposed metal beams across the ceiling, black leather seating, etc. Y’know, the exact opposite of shouto’s store.

“hello, how may i- oh! todoroki, you came.”

“hello, iida. yes, i decided i’d take you up on your offer.”

shiiiiiit iida nooooo stop smiling, you’re making todoroki nervous.

“great. right this way then.”

he was led to one of the many different stations, iida asking him various questions about what he wanted and where he wanted it, shouto responding with short yet descriptive answers.

As iida is preparing everything for his tattoo, he starts to explain the whole process.

“well, it’s good to know that you’re quite knowledgeable about your craft.”

that cause iida to stop mid sentence and mid action, and when he looks up at shouto again, they both start to laugh.

holy fuck iida’s laugh is so nice.

god dammit shouto, you’re in too deep.

Iida continues on with his work and, after receiving the design and lining out the piece on shouto’s arm, he begins to permanently put the art in shouto’s skin.

it was a lengthy process, as iida said it would be, but it was rather calming, to shouto’s surprise. he’d never liked needles, but this didn’t bother him. in fact, he’d have forgotten the needles altogether if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were putting ink in his arm.

as soon as it was over, shouto kinda wished he had picked a more intricate design, simply so he’d have to be here longer. but, looking down at his plastic covered forearm, he decides that, yes, this one is perfect.

Once again, iida goes over all of the care instructions, despite already having given shouto an entire pamphlet of them.

Ask him out shouto. You know you want to. It’s now or never.

“Hey, iida?”

“Yes todoroki?”

…

Say it shouto! Say it!

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Nice! Now for his response.

The inevitable rejection.

He obviously doesn’t like you like that. I mean, you only just became friends, he doesn’t know you that well. What made you think he’d like you like that? Absolutely insane. You never should have said anything-

“Yes. I’d really enjoy going on a date with you, Todoroki.”

HE SAID YES? OH THANK GOD. i thought shouto was gonna have a breakdown for a moment there.

“Well, if we’re going on a date, then call me Shouto.”

“Alright Shouto, since we’re going on a first-name basis, then you have to call me Tenya.”

“Okay Tenya. I’ll see you tonight? At 6?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you tonight, Shouto.”

And with that, Shouto went back to his shop.

You can bet your ass that the first thing he did was tell Fuyumi that ‘he has a date with the hot tattoo artist from the parlor next door’.

i hope this is what you wanted when you sent this ask, my dearest anon.

thanks to @psychic-tagalong for naming suggestions for todoroki’s flower shop, as well as helping me past writing blocks that i ran face first into. my nose still hurts.

[madatobiweek2019-2021]

The Prompts So Far

This is not the official poll, this is merely a preview of all the prompts that you guys have so helpfully provided so far. We very much appreciate so many options. Thank you to everyone who made a suggestion!

Hopefully we managed to cull out all the doubles, as several people suggested the same prompts - although it’s good to see that several people are of a similar mind already! 

Love at First Sight

Blind Tobirama

MadaTobi from different clans (Inuzuka!Tobi/Hyuuga!Mada, Uzumaki!Mada/Nara!Tobi),

Arranged marriage

Domestic scenes

snowstorm

Crossovers/fusions

Bleach AU

Role swap

Cuddles

Spar

First date

Meeting by the river as kids

Awkward teenagers

Ridiculous transformation jutsu

First times

Alternate universe

Growing old together

Body swap AU

Modern with magic AU

Daemon AU

Oh brother

Tobirama/Madara's thing is interrupted by one of their brothers

Discovered by one of their brothers

Dreams

Fusion

Mirror

Time Travel

Loneliness

Kinetic

Travel

Mistakes

Marriage of Convenience

Fantasy AU

Soulmate au

Summons

Modern/No chakra AU

Domestic

Firsts

Sentinel and Guide

Dimension Travel/Crossover

Roommates

Flower Shop

Bakery AU

Post-Konoha founding

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Pining

Pacific Rim AU

MLB AU

KHR AU

Ghost story

Star-crossed

Drinking buddies

Prisoner of war

Rumor has it

I won't say I'm in love

Hindsight

Puppy love

Betrayal

There was only one bed

Something kinky (MadaTobi+1 maybe)

Space opera AU

Wizards & witches AU

Falconry

Myths & Magic

Stolen eyes

Mythology/folklore

Jutsu gone wrong

Akatsuki Tobirama

Fantasy/Creature AU

The space between two doors

Food

Battle without blood

Fantasy/supernatural

Animals

Tattoos

Red eyes

So far there hasn’t been any response as to whether or not we should pick an overarching theme between the prompts. We do encourage people to send their opinions to us, even on anon, because we need to know what you guys want. If no one responds then the idea will simply fall to the wayside. 

Possible themes that we’ve gleaned from your prompts:

Tropes

Love in all its forms

Alternate universes

Prompts in the form of quotes, dialogue, or particular actions

Supernatural/Fantasy/Mythology

Brothers

Marriage

Firsts

Battle in different forms

[jcmorgenstern]

📂📁 Can I have some Jonathan headcanons pleaaase

wow anon can you ever!!

Jonathan really likes shopping malls–melting into the crowd, literally, watching people and their lives. He likes junk food, especially sweet things. He might have a bit of disdain for mundanes, or at least pretend to, but secretly likes watching them go about their lives.

His piano playing is expressive but arrhythmic–he never really had the discipline to actually count while he practiced after Valentine left. When he played for Valentine, his playing was technically excellent but unemotional and rather bland. Probably has something to do with that whole finger-breaking thing.

He stole Sebastian’s bunny slippers and some of his clothes and keeps them in Lilith’s apartment.

He can eat almost literally anything. After a year locked in the basement of the cabin in Brocalind Forest, he ate a lot of rats. He can also catch rats and does this rather casually. This weirds people out but hey! kind of useful in New York.

He refuses to eat snails, however, and isn’t the biggest fan of cheese.

He bites and picks at his nails.

Whatever he learned about cooking was off YouTube, he took the line about watching a chef cook from the real Sebastian. He and Sebastian did visit the restaurant in question, though.

To be honest I’m not sure where he picked up the computer skills. When he was sent to Edom was probably the age of the Nokia phone–how on earth did he adapt so fast? I mean, rooting a phone and spoofing texts like that requires some wild expertise. I always loved the idea he sort of floated in the shadow world underworld for a bit and picked up neat tricks but that’s been pretty well debunked by canon.

As per the books he’s a wine mom, but alcohol doesn’t really have an effect on him, since he heals so fast (it’s a metabolic poison quickly filtered out). He mostly drinks it for the aesthetic.

Seelie wine is pretty much the only thing that can get him drunk but god is he a lightweight. Two glasses and he’s usually out like a light, crying, or trying to take his clothes off. Maybe both.

He probably eats a lot considering the weird physiology and the whole fast-healing thing (probably a fast systemic and cellular metabolism).

He and Clary (post team evil) have matching monogrammed silk bathrobes (black, ofc) after he saw a kiosk at the mall and refused to leave until she let him buy them.

Wears silk pajamas unironically.

I guess this is a weird one but I imagine he has a really sensitive sense of smell/hearing/etc (i think in the books she suggests he’s got superhuman senses but idk)? So not a huge fan of really strong perfume or loud noises like clubs etc. I had a lot of fun with that one in my sebvictor AU.

Shapeshifts into new clothes when he gets bored of them but still likes to go shopping. It doesn’t count if those Chanel boots are demon magic–gotta have the real thing.

Is actually allergic to flowers.

Has no real taste buds so would probably eat Izzy’s cooking and love it unironically. Since Izzy is the only one who has endorsed his cooking, we have no idea if it’s actually good.

Fucked all of Sebastian’s neighbors.

If he were to play video games, he’d probably want to play all the really violent ones, but also really sucks at video games, so Clary demolishes Doom while Jonathan peevishly conquers in Animal Crossing.

Especially after escaping Edom and impersonating Sebastian, really likes soft things. You know. Because he has skin. To like. Touch things. Fun fact–full-thickness burns damage nerve endings. Literally he has to wear someone else’s skin to feel things. It’s Not A Metaphor I Promise.

Ok I really need to stop because you didn’t ask for 10,000 headcanons but HERE I AM apparently anyway thanks for asking friend