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nikethestatue · 3 years

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La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

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

“Would you like me to show you around?”

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

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

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

“What sort of business?”

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

“Flowers?”

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

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

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

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

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

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

“Um,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

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

“I heard,”

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

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

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

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

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

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

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

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

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

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

Gorgeous.

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

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

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

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

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian

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

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

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

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

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

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

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

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

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

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

Elain giggled.

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

“Only just.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting.

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

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

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You are welcome, by the way,”

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled.

Azriel

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

He shouldn’t have asked her.

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

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

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

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

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use you?”

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

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

“I am not a flower expert,”

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

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

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

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

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

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

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

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

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

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

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

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

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

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

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

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

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

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

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

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

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

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

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

“I can take an Uber,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

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

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The third.”

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

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

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

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

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

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

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

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

Elain

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

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

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

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

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

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

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

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

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

She wanted to cry.

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

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

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

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

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

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

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

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

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

“Why?”

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

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

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

He sat up and rolled his neck.

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

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

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

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

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

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

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

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

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

She blinked at him.

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

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

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

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

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

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

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

“Cass?” she smiled.

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

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

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

He then asked, “coffee?”

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

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

“This is what you drink?”

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

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

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

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

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

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

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

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

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-uh.”

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

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

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

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

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

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

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

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

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

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

“So confident, ombre?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now

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

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

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

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

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

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

Azriel

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

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

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

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

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

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

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

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

Nevertheless, the word got around.

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

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

Well, they liked it.

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

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

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

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

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

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

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

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

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

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

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

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

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

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

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

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

Now

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

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

Elain

Their day was long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

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

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

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

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

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

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

“Naughty.”

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

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

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

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

“Like it? I love it!”

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

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

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

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

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

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

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

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

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

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

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please what?”

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

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

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

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

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

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

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

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

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

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

He stilled, waiting for more.

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

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

174 notes · View notes

darthmaulification · 3 years

Note

Requests? 👀 I think I have an idea...

May I request something with Reader and Din who have been traveling together for a while and grown close, and they find Luke and Grogu so Din is able to see him again. But, while they visit, Reader learns from Luke that she's also a force sensitive, and Luke offers for her to stay and train with him...But she doesn't want to leave Din. Refuses to, even.

A/N: i fully support saying Fuck Canon and reuniting our favorite little green bean with his dad, so this ain’t just a visit, this is a child custody case. 👏😤

also, i love the idea of some force sensitive people going like... their entire lives not realizing that they’re force sensitive. like it only ever manifests as being really able to literally feel others’ emotions or something, so they just think they’re exceedingly talented empaths.💀

also also, this is some of my best writing??? this turned out SO GOOD??? i am very happy with this. 😌💕 that’s why it took a bit to get this one out, sorry for the wait, anon! (and everybody else lmao)

also also also, to those of you that have sent me a request, i am working on all of them to the best of my ability! i hope to have at least two (2) more done by the end of this week. 👍

hope you enjoy! 💗💗

content: a tasteful dusting of angst, sad man din :’(, force-sensitive!reader, gn!reader, din and reader are SO in love but also don’t know how to tell each other, also you’ve somehow never seen din’s face yet, so face reveal!, luke is that friendly stoner that offers you chips when you’re upset, G R O G U 💗, please no one bully me on my absolutely butchered descriptions of star wars planets/locations and how the force works💀, HAPPY ENDING ALWAYS 😤

word count: 4,639

“What if he’s not there?” The stifling silence is broken tenderly, when Din’s low, naturally melodious voice crackles through his helmet, and you look over at him. He’s not facing you, acting as though he’s focused completely on piloting the Slave I to Lothal, but you know better, and you know he knows too. The pure heartache underlying his tone is so obvious in his words, he probably fears the despondency will somehow show on his face despite you being unable to see it.

Your gaze wanders the sleek, sterling silver of his beskar helmet, the pride of any Mandalorian who wears one. If the unique, eye-catching piece of armor wasn’t covering Din’s face, you wonder if you’d be able to see if the pain is written across his face, if his jaw is tight, if he looks sunken, distant. The mystery of the mask makes you ponder this every day since the Jedi took Grogu, since Din honored his mission and handed him over.

You’ve thought this ever since the moment Din finally surfaced after an agonizingly long week of screaming, cursing, and unrelenting, tremendous grief. He had spent a week drowning in his own personal Hell, one that tore him to pieces and left him ruined. You find yourself thinking back to that a lot every time you look at that silver beskar helmet and hear the whispers of the howling wail that Din released when you held him in your arms, after he’d drunken his liver half to Hell. Such a haunting sound can come from a person when their entire world has been destroyed.

The dark memory begins to manifest on the peripherals of your mind, so you brush it back into the shadows with a small shake of you head. Your eyes move from Din’s helmet to his tense, gloved hands. They’re gripping the sterling wheel so tight the leather strains on his knuckles. You picture holding hands with him (a rare something done a smattering of times, each instance leaving butterflies in your stomach) and lacing your fingers with his. You want to link yourself to him again, but after losing... Grogu, it hurts to say his name... it feels as though Din may never want anyone close to him again.

The thought makes your heart pang.

But things are about to change, you’re sure of it. Lothal, your destination, promises it. And Boba, who would never lie about the intel he obtained (especially to Din or you, especially about this), promised it as well the moment he told you both:

Grogu is on Lothal.

Din had nearly wept.

Drawing yourself from your thoughts, you reach and place a hand on Din’s shoulder. Sure, the beskar pauldron is cool under your palm, but the man beneath the armor is so inherently caring and sensitive, the warmth of him seeps through. He turns his head to you, looking at your hand, at your thumb that runs the edge of the beskar. Your eyes travel the vastness of his dark T-visor, searching for where his eyes may be below. Briefly, you wonder what color they are...

“He will be. I just know it.” You respond in a low murmur, sliding your thumb one last time before you peel your hand from Din’s shoulder. It’s like your fingers ache to leave him, the way your limb wants to protest reminds you of magnets, and the stubborn bond between two of them. You sit back in the co-pilot’s chair and you notice that something lighter begins to creep up on the poignant melancholy that has been swirling in the room. It feels like it’s brightening the room, lifting the atmosphere. A chill raises goosebumps on your skin.

Hope, you think. This is hope.

The Slave I snaps out of hyperspace, and the suddenness of Lothal’s stationary beige and cerulean replacing the brightness of streaking stars is nearly jarring. Din steers the ship, and it goes careening to the planet, beginning the descent onto it’s grassy surface. You can feel your pulse in your throat, nearly overwhelmed by the swirl of emotions that permeate the cockpit. Din’s completely silent and still, but his presence is loud, ringing in the air.

He is skirting the edge of making the entrance through Lothal’s wispy atmosphere too dangerous, and when the ship rumbles at another too-quick dip, it’s only the blinking alarm that seems to shake Din from his tense stupor. You watch wordlessly as he corrects the error, and settles the Slave I into a gradual decline, and you see how it pains him to go slower, to take more time.

“Boba said the Jedi would be at the temple.” Din says this to the both of you, unnecessarily reminding you in order to assure himself. You nod and offer him a smile, despite him being turned away from you.

“He’ll be there, Din.” You reply, and neither of you are talking about Luke Skywalker. The ship trembles one last time, and then it’s gliding smoothly through Lothal’s airspace. Clouds wisp past the domed windshield, breaking apart to reveal rolling, grassy plains that stretch to the horizon in every direction. To the east, the shore of a freshwater sea peeks from over the skyline, and to the north, the tipped summits of the Jedi Temple beckons.

Thoughts race through your mind, some come as far as settling on your tongue, but none reach past your lips. There’s no words you can say that would ease the tension Din and you feel, nothing can quell the anxiousness. Din pushes the Slave I into a faster speed, towards the temple in the distance, engines roaring.

A stone settles in your belly, one that reminds you of everything that could be lost if Boba is somehow wrong about this. It chills you, the thought of them not being there, makes your heart ache painfully. You miss Grogu, how tiny he is, how sweet, his adorable eyes... You need to see him again, hold him, sing him a lullaby to sleep like you did every night for him.

But if he isn’t here... You’d lose him all over again. Din would lose him all over again. And Din certainly knows it too, in the way he’s so tightly clenching the steering wheel.

You’re not sure if he’d be able to survive the loss for a second time.

When the Jedi Temple comes fully into view, you have to admit it’s quite impressive. A massive, cone-shaped mountain sits amidst a whole entourage of smaller ones, looking as though it’s been pushed up from the surface. The ground surrounding it’s rocky base is raised and cracked, creating an incline around the circumference.

Din lands the Slave I in near record time, almost recklessly. The moment the ship settles into rest, you and Din leap up from your seats before the engines have even fully shut down. Normally, Din would do one last check of the controls and such, but he’s pulsing with so much anticipation he’s already running out of the cockpit. You’re barely able to keep up with him, and it never ceases to amaze you how fast Din can move for being such a mass of beskar and muscle.

When the loading bay door eases open, a slightly cool breeze floats in, bringing with it the smell of faint petrichor and dust. Din immediately bolts down the door, rushing out into the prairie. You follow hastily, the tall grass tickling your legs, and you reach Din’s side. He’s hardly paying attention to you, may not even notice you there, because he’s so focused desperately looking for any sign of life.

“He’s here somewhere, he’s got to be here.” The last, stressed word Din utters sounds all at once furious and dejected. He paces out a few more yards, scanning every direction for any possible sign of someone other than the two of you. You do the same, spinning on your heel, eyes searching. Oddly, you feel that you need to go further west, like something is tugging you there.

“Din. That way.” You point to one of the smaller mountains, the one that has large boulders scattered around it. His whips in your direction, then to where you’re pointing, then back to you. He jogs over to you, the inky black of his T-visor locked intently on your face. His gaze searches you for a few long seconds, almost making you squirm.

“Why?” He asks curiously, head turning back to the unassuming mountain. You roll your eyes good-naturedly and gesture to the vast, empty grasslands all around you and Din.

“Does it really matter? He could be anywhere.” You say, starting to fast walk in the direction that pulls you to it. An unfamiliar yet not foreign feeling starts to bubble in your chest, almost like you’re trying to remember a word, but it sits on the tip of your tongue. The grass swishes around your boots, and you shout over your shoulder, “I just have a feeling!”

And you start to run, wind whipping through your hair. It feels like you have a taut piece of string tied around your torso that urges you to go faster, like you’ve been to this place before, that you know it. Of course, that’s illogical, you’ve never been to Lothal before, let alone the Jedi Temple. But as you approach the top of the steady incline you’d been running up, where the base of the mountain starts just past in, the feeling grows in your chest. You slow to a walk, panting slightly, each step forward making that invisible string feel tighter and tighter.

When your line of vision makes it over the crest of the small hill, the weird feeling inside you wails, alongside the pounding beating of your heart. There, standing in the middle of a small, dusty clearing, is a hooded figure. You freeze, and when Din reaches your side, he does to, pants catching in his throat.

“Thought you’d find us eventually.” The hooded figure says, voice easy, and a metal hand emerges from his cloak to pull back the hood. A headful of wheat brown hair and a winning smile greets you, and Luke Skywalker stands before you in the flesh, just as Boba had said. Din wastes no time, stalking towards him until he’s only several paces away.

“I want him back.” He says, a hot anger rising in his voice, and he’s bristling like a loth-cat ready to pounce. If Luke senses the hostility, he doesn’t react in the slightest, nor does he say anything about it. Instead, the young Jedi just smiles and unfurls his other arm, revealing a very familiar, very excited round-eyed baby. You gasp, and it feels like time just stops.

“Never said you couldn’t.” Luke replies and Grogu leaps from his arm, squealing and gurgling like a madman, making a beeline to his dad. Din’s knees shake slightly, before he collapses to the ground just as the green bean makes it to him and Din swoops him into a hug. Grogu shrieks with joy, tiny hands smacking and grabbing Din wherever.

“Ad’ika.” The choked, teary, crackly croak from Din makes has everything moving again, like it all feels real.

The fallout emotions nearly has your knees buckling out from beneath you, like the sky itself fell on top of you with all it’s weight. So many feelings flurry around you and in you that it’s impossible to stop the tears from springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. But radiant, splendid happiness rises above all else, pulling a laugh from your throat. At this, Grogu glances over at you and coos.

“Green bean, is this a dream?” You can’t stop smiling, the pull almost causing your cheeks to ache, and you rush over to Din and Grogu. You sink to the ground next to them, lost in the glossy black of Grogu’s eyes. He starts up squealing again, squirming until you bring a hand up and caress his little head.

“Hi, baby boy. We missed you so much.” You say, tears finally rolling down your cheeks in fat droplets that catch on your chin. Grogu coos and purrs, leaning into your touch, his big ears twitching. You look over at Din, still grinning widely in spite of the tears.

“Told you.” You laugh, nudging him slightly in the arm with your elbow, reaching up to finally wipe at your face with the back of your hand. Din shakes his head slightly, exhaling a small laugh as he scratches at Grogu’s ears with his fingertips, the way you both know the baby likes it.

“Shouldn’t doubt you.” He replies, a peculiar thickness in his voice, and he looks over at you, the light reflecting off the visor. Somehow, the gaze feels more tender than it’s ever been before, more personal, like the helmet isn’t there. The thought makes your heart flutter in your chest and you find yourself thinking about his eyes again. You smother it, forcing instead a gentle smile. Thankfully, the other man there coughs gently to avert attention. Din and you stand up, both facing the Jedi.

“Thank you.” You speak first, the words breathy, and you say it again, “Thank you.”

Luke shrugs easily, hands clasped together in front of him, resting just below his belt. He glances between you and Din, though he oddly sets his sights mostly on you. Luke’s lips quirks downwards ever so slightly, and his brows furrow together, gaze very obviously analyzing.

“Did you sense us?” He asks, and both Din and you are taken aback. Din shares a look with you before he addresses Luke, “No. We got intel.”

It’s spoken a bit like a leading question (which it is), but Luke doesn’t seem to notice, or he does and just doesn’t care. Instead, he only shakes his head and points back in the direction of the Slave I.

“You both were wise to come to the temple, but I was masking our presences,” Luke tilts his head at Grogu, “But you were able to search us out anyways.”

The blonde points at you, a wiry look in his eyes, and it completely befuddles you.

“What do you mean?” You ask, looking to Din quizzically before you look back at Luke. The Jedi suddenly has this peculiar look on his face, a mix half way between genuine shock and amusement. The latter definitely overshadows the two because now Luke has this huge, lopsided grin sprawling across his face.

“Do you really not know?” He asks in earnest, but there’s so much gaiety seeping into his tone you almost mistake him for mocking you. Your confusion grows and somehow, his grin does to.

“I don’t understand...” You mutter, eyebrows knitting together and your gaze turns wary. Din also shifts slightly, more alert, but before either of you can really react any further, Luke throws back his head and laughs jovially. He shakes his head in apparent bewilderment and when his gaze meets yours again, it’s friendly and warm, but piercing.

“My friend,” Luke starts, bright and chuckling, “You are one with the Force.”

Your jaw drops. Din takes a step back in shock. Luke continues talking.

“Really strange how you’ve never noticed— or been noticed— before.” Luke walks forward until he’s standing directly in front of you, so close he’s almost blocking the entirety of your vision. Kindly warmth radiates off him in waves, not quite like the sunshine Din is, but more like a fire, a kindling flame fueled by his sense of ambition, his drive. Luke Skywalker lives a life that is set in motion, he is empowered by it.

“Oh, that’s interesting.” The expression in the Jedi’s ocean blue eyes suddenly changes to one of realization and knowing. He grins boyishly and before you can question him, Luke snatches both of your hands in his and you feel it.

It’s like a pulsing energy suddenly springs to life around you, the shock of it sucks the air from your lungs. It feels like it should be visible, but your eyes aren’t seeing anything, but it’s tangible and there nonetheless. Where you and Luke hold hands, it’s the strongest, and you realize that that energy is emitting from him, but it’s also radiating off of you.

You release Luke’s hands with a strangled gasp and the feeling drastically dissipates, but your fingertips still tingle. You gape like a fish out of water, thoughts racing and eyes darting between Din and Luke.

“I don’t— I’m— That’s crazy.” You manage to choke out. A shuffle and clink of leather and armor from your side turns your head to Din, whose stepping closer to you.

“That’s how you knew where to go,” Din says softly, “How you’ve always known where to go.”

Every time you’ve ever correctly guided him and Grogu somewhere, even though you’d never been to the place yourself, flashes through your mind. You think back on the times that you chose the correct hideaway in every pinch, how each person you knew to avoid turned out to be an enemy. You’d always just thought you had really good intuition, and maybe a little bit of dumb luck, but you realize that you felt that weird pull each time. You glance over at Luke, wide eyed.

“Really?” The whispered word comes out slightly hoarse and suddenly your throat feels dry. The Jedi nods, his blue eyes twinkling with a rising mirth.

“Feels like a tug, doesn’t it?” He asks cheekily, and all you can manage yourself to do is nod dumbly, too shocked by the information to say anything else. Din places his free hand gently on your shoulder, making you startle. He’s looking at you dead on, suddenly very serious.

“You never knew?” His voice is hard, rigid like it goes when he feels betrayed, and it makes a pit open up in the bottom of your stomach. The last thing you want— ever — is to live in a world where Din thinks you’ve taken his trust, his name, and returned each blessing by having lied to him. To betray a Mandalorian is bad, to betray Din would be even worse. You shake your head wildly, trying to formulate a sentence, but the words die on your tongue.

“No! Never, I’m— I never knew.” You just barely prevent yourself from rambling and maybe it’s how frazzled and desperate you are, and maybe it’s fear, but small tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. Din’s hand is still on your shoulder, and it stays there for the duration of his stare stays on you. Your eyes search him in turn, begging every part of him to believe you.

“Cyare.” After what seems like an eternity, Din finally speaks and it’s so different, so tender, it’s like he’s become a entirely other man. Somehow, this assures you, lights a blush on your face, and you have the sneaking suspicion that every thing has been forgiven. Din’s hand leaves your shoulder and he looks over at Luke.

“... What now?” He asks lowly, and it’s the question you wish that he shouldn’t have to ask. Curse the Empire, the force-seekers, the galaxy at large. You shift, nervous, and the pit in your stomach returns. Luke’s eyes go distant, like he’s lost in a memory.

“Well... it’s undoubtedly risky for two inexperienced Force users to travel without the protection of a Jedi, and extremely dangerous, and probably improper of me to allow, but...” Luke trails off, but the glimmer reappears in his eyes and you’re struck with how ardently his ambition seeps into every aspect of his being. Since when has Luke Skywalker followed the rules? He seems to be thinking that too, with how he winks at you.

“I say it’s now what you make of it. I won’t bother you anymore, unless you ask, and it’ll be the same for other Jedi as well. But only Jedi.” Luke ends on a grave, yet logical note, one that carries a very heavy, but very real implication. For as much influence he may have with swaying other Jedi to not bother you, Din, or Grogu, Luke cannot promise the complacency of force-seekers. Nor can he of Sith.

“I won’t let anything happen to them. Not while my heart still beats with warm blood.” Din says with unflappable conviction, and you know he means it. Din has fought to near death for another before, his compassionate soul commands it, so there’s no doubt that he’ll do it again. It makes your heart swell with how eager he is to keep you and Grogu safe, how willing he is.

“Of course.” Luke dips his head respectfully, hands reaching up to throw his hood back over his head. He sets to leave, you realize, so before he turns away fully, you grab his hand. Briefly, the tingling returns but you ignore it.

“Thank you, Luke Skywalker.” You mean each word and hope you give them all the reverence they deserve. Luke’s stunning blue eyes, deep and mysterious like the ocean, shine with the mirth that you’re beginning to believe is unique to him. He dips his head again, squeezing your knuckles gently.

“You are very welcome.” He says and lets go, pivoting on his heel to walk the grassy plain, his cloak swaying in the breeze. He maneuvers around boulders and rocky deposits before he disappears behind the dip of a hill. You know you may never see him again, pondering that over the faint roar of a speeder powering up, that you may be on your own with your newfound knowledge. Maybe you should have gone with him, to train, to be useful. Grogu is reunited with Din, that was the original purpose of this mission. It didn’t necessarily mean you needed to be with Din.

“Do you... want to go with him?” The way Din’s quiet voice sounds like a yell when he voices your exact thoughts is startling. You almost can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you do anyways, heart aching and eyes misty. Briefly, you meet Grogu’s gaze, but that is far too much for you to handle. You focus on Din’s visor.

“Should I?” You ask, thinking of all the practical, logical reasons you should, ignoring the emotional reasons why you shouldn’t. Din sets down Grogu, who happily begins to play with the dirt, and plants himself firmly in front of you, the tips of his boots nearly touching yours. His presence commands your fully attention and you give it willingly, even though Din feels like he has the heat of the sun behind him. You haven’t broken contact with that blasted T-visor, not even when the tears start to roll all over again.

“Cyare.” He whispers that same word again, even more tender, and this time he cups your cheek. His hand feels like strength and power, like all of his success and skill. Din smooths his thumb over the crest of your cheekbone, smearing the wet line of tears as he does. He caresses you for a moment longer, and you revel in the touch. You’ve yearned for this for as long as you’ve known him.

“I want to show you something.” Din says and his hand leaves your face feeling cold and bare against the breeze. Your eyes flit away from the glass of his visor when you see his other hand raise as well, both dipping to hook fingers under his...

“Din!” You yelp, staring in horror as he breaks his Creed, and oh my Maker, Din, what are you doing?

His helmet is off. You want to look away, should look away, but Din’s eyes are so captivating, and full of love, that you’re glued to them. Beautiful, nut brown— Din has brown eyes!— you don’t realize you’re crying until Din and his wonderful eyes are blurry, like he’s behind a waterfall. The hand returns to your face, cradling your cheek it it’s warm palm.

“Cyare, it’s okay.” Din says and Stars, his voice isn’t muffled by the static of the vocoder, no longer accompanied by the inorganic crackling. It’s rich and fuller, but it’s still melodious and low and gentle, Din’s voice. You choke back another sob, reaching up to cup Din’s cheek in turn, hand shaking like you believe it’s all a cruel illusion, that your hand will touch cold beskar instead.

But it doesn’t, and your palm meets warm, soft tan flesh that’s slightly prickly from facial hair he hasn’t shaved. Din registers the touch and smiles, and your heart soars at the feeling of the tendons moving beneath your fingers and the absolutely breathtaking sight before you.

“You have beautiful eyes. And smile. And hair.” You blubber, taking the chance to really look at the mess of dark brown locks Din has on the top of his head, some strands plastered to his glistening forehead. His smile brightens, doesn’t grow exactly, and it is perfect. You giggle wetly, sniffling as a smile of your own blooms on your face.

“Glad you like it... I’ve been wanting to show you for a long time.” He confesses, his thumb rubbing against the soft of your cheek, exploring each bump, dip, and plain. You feel a small flush start to rise on your face, no doubt tinting your cheeks with a soft heat. You swallow.

“Really?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, and you search Din’s eyes, an oddly foreign feeling considering you’re used to the industrial dark tint of T-visor glass. He nods and hums in affirmation, and you feel the rumble beneath your hand. That’s when you realize he’d been inching closer, his face at least. He’s so close now, you can nearly see yourself in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Din asks, mostly absentmindedly but also a bit sheepishly, and his breath is hot on your chin.

Maker.

“Yes.” You manage to say before your brain completely fizzles out and you lose yourself in the sensation of Din’s gentle lips against yours. He is so incredibly warm and soft, if not a bit pokey from his stubble, but perfect all the same. He kisses you like you’re a butterfly’s wing, delicate to the touch, something he needs to be careful with. Din doesn’t implore you to open your mouth, doesn’t deepen it, only kisses with moving, languid lips.

It dissolves so naturally too, a gentle pulling away at the bottom lip when you and Din finally part for a breath of air. You feel just as starry-eyed as he looks, face glazed over with a peacefulness you’re able to reach out and feel for yourself. You prod at the air of content the encases Din, and it swirls around you in response.

“That was amazing.” You say, your hand finally falling from his face to seek his hand. It finds it and his fingers encapsulate yours in a shell of gentle-veiled strength. Din chuckles in his throat and the laugh, uninhibited by his helmet, reverberates in your soul.

“It was my first one.” He replies and it minorly surprises you, but then you remember exactly why it’s his first and the shock disappears. Deciding not to dwell on the laws of his Creed, you focus instead on the unity he feels with you to trust and love you enough to hold you close enough to kiss.

“Well,” You wink at him, “It was very good.”

The small, honey-like smile returns again, stealing your breath away with it’s simple beauty. It fits his face so perfectly, compliments each one of his features. You squeeze his hand, then he does the same, and it’s equal parts sacred and silly.

“Can we kiss again?” You both ask at the same time.

#anon ask #anon #request #star wars din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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furiosophie · 3 years

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maybe a little more oh the things we left behind epilogue fluff??? ;u; i know the entire epilogue was fluff but i am insatiable

yes very good thinking anon and sorry for the long wait my brain is just a heap of goo right now but here we go - some ottwlb fluff set between the Mandalorian war and the very last scene of the fic, a small compilation of how Din found the rest of their family:

oh the things we found

small TW for mentions of blood and trauma

Din doesn't in any way plan on becoming a magnet for Force-sensitive children, he really doesn't, but it happens regardless, something about his unique combination of Force-null beskar, Force-conduit darksaber, and Force-bond husband drawing them in like moths to a flame.

He finds Rey first, on a recon mission out to Jakku, casing a distress signal from a lost covert. She can't be any older than Ben, who is seven now and an absolute terror, but in comparison to him, she doesn't listen to Din one bit, her whole life just a series of defying the authority figures around her. She dangles from a rope above him, in the hollowed-out remains of an Imperial Star Destroyer, sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not coming with you!" she declares while Din tries to position himself in a way that will allow him to catch her if she slips. "I'm waiting for my family. They're coming to get me!"

He doesn't have the heart to tell her no one in their right mind would ever willingly come back to a place like Jakku. He places all his rations, most of his credits, and, just for good measure, some bacta spray on the ground below her like he's making some offering to an ancient feral god and leaves with an ache in his chest.

"She won't come with me," he complains to Luke later, pacing up and down in the living area of the Mudhorn while Luke brews tea. They don't technically live in the Mudhorn anymore, have their own quarters in the ruins of Yavin's temple, but they always end up here regardless, whenever one of them comes back from a mission, whenever they need it to be just the two of them, away from everyone's worries.

Luke hands him a steaming cup and places a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't worry," he says, in that cryptic tone of his, the one he uses to tease Din when he's being daft about something that's impossible for him to know. "She will." And that's that.

Din goes back. Once, twice, three times, until the sparse crowd of locals looks at him with pity in their eyes. She does come with him eventually, after his eighths visit, when he draws the darksaber on a dune beast and turns around to find her looking at him with the type of recognition in her eyes that he's only ever seen in the way Luke looks at Ben and Grogu.

"She's like you," he accuses when Luke greets them at the bottom of the Mudhorn's ramp, Rey perched high on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his helmet so tight it's hard for him to see. Luke just smiles and reaches out so Rey can tentatively take his hand. The change is instant - as soon as their palms touch her whole body relaxes as if something in her is finally at peace and Din has to reach up to keep her from sliding off his shoulders. And well. That's that.

Finn is next, standing tall in front of a group of terrified kids, in a backroom of the imperial laboratory they just raided, his eyes ablaze and lips turned up into a snarl. "I'll fight you," he snaps even as Din can see his hands shaking around the mop he fished out of the supply closet as a makeshift weapon. "I'm not scared, I'll fight you!" And really all Din can do in response is pull his helmet off and fall to his knees with his hands raised above his head.

It seems to work because he gets all of them into the Mudhorn eventually, Finn curled up on the copilot's seat, staring out in wonder at the endless expanse of space while the rest of the kids are rolled up into every available blanket in the captain's quarter. It's a bit of a rough start - where Rey felt turmoil because of the things swirling inside her without guidance, all Finn has ever known is supervision and people telling him to be something he's not, his connection to the Force tempered down in all the wrong places, too silent and too loud all at the same time, and in the first weeks, Din spends a lot of time hugging him close to the beskar plating of his chest, taking strolls under the quietness of Yavin's trees like he used to do with Ben. Finn quiets eventually, just as Rey did, the two of them getting on like a house on fire.

Shara is the one who brings Paige and Rose Tico, two sisters left stranded and alone by the still raging unrest of the remnants of war, and there is barely a discussion before she decides to take them in herself, the two of them glued to Poe the second they step off Shara's ship.

He finds Armitage last, standing over the dead body of an Imperial officer, blood on his hands and all across his face, just a sliver of yellow in the green of his eyes. Din has bruises on his arms for a week from how hard the kid strains against him as he tries to drag him out of the Star Destroyer before it self-destructs, but he figures, all things considered, they'll be able to handle that too.

He turns out to be a menace, of course, too smart for his own good, and way too stubborn to let Ben get away with his teasing, which always seems to end up Luke and Din having to physically drag them away from each other. Din tries to do for him what he did for everyone else, to hold him close and comfort him, but he only ever succeeds in the quiet of the night when he finds him at the very top of the temple wrapped up tightly in Luke's arms, both of them holding onto each other for dear life, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, darkness hanging around them like rain clouds.

Armitage takes a shine to Bo-Katan though, amidst all of his defiance, a fact that seems to confuse her as much as it does Din, and he knows that that will probably spell disaster in the future given how fast and feral Armitage takes to swinging a lightsaber, but to his relieve the Armorer steps up to pull him to her workshop by the back of his neck and balances the murder in his eyes with ever-evolving engineering challenges.

And so it takes a bit, quite a while in fact, but they find their balance eventually, their weird ever-growing family, all of them slotting into each other in a way that sometimes makes Din wonder if this was their doing too, Luke's and his, if in bending the universe around them, and in becoming one in the Force they somehow became a beacon for all those who are lost.

He wonders about it on the nights when, even after Han settles down on Yavin more or less permanently to be closer to Ben, and even after Paz bashfully asks to officially adopt Rey who's been glued to his shoulders for months, and even after Armitage makes it very clear that he doesn't plan to ever be adopted by anyone, Luke comes back from an excursion to find Din pilled into their bed with a bunch of wayward Foundlings.

"Sorry," Din mumbles sleepily as Luke steps over a snoring Paz who's taken up guard in the hallway, "It just happened."

"Is there room for one more?"

"Unlikely," Din sighs as he always does, but Luke finds a spot anyways, shuffling the kids around until they are just awake enough to demand a story from him.

"It's late," Luke smiles as Din pulls him closer to lean their foreheads together in greeting, Grogu climbing up from where he was tucked beneath Ben's chin to settle in between his dads. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Just one!" Rey pleads from her spot at Din's side, Finn's head popping up behind her in a show of support and Luke raises a warning eyebrow as Poe and Rose scoot closer from where they were sprawled over Din's legs. "You always say we need to be curious about the world around us!"

"It will help us sleep," Armitage argues from his spot at the end of the bed, the one he takes to pretend he doesn't care about any of this, and starts scooting close too, shoving at Ben to make space.

"They make a good point," Din interjects gently and pulls Armitage out of the way and between them before Ben can get up enough to headbutt him with Din's helmet, which is a constant on his head on those nights where they all feel pulled towards each other.

"Traitor," Luke laughs, letting Armitage nestle in closer to him, but he'll tell them about his travels anyways until they are all knocked out and snoring peacefully and Din can press a quick kiss to Luke's lips without having to listen to a cascade of "ew" and "gross".

And so, in the end, he always drifts asleep knowing he doesn't fully understand it, not really, how they all manage to fit so perfectly into each other's lives, how he managed to find this, this place that is domestic in a way nothing in his life has ever been, but he figures he doesn't have to understand it, not when he also knows with absolute certainty that they are all exactly where they are supposed to be.

#dinluke #oh the things we left behind #thank you for that lovely question anon #I had this in my head for a long time I'm glad it's out there now #they all deserve some cuddles and happiness #also yes I made most of them the same age to fit my timeline poe and hux are the only ones who are slightly older #imagine all of them as children in the same place pure chaos #I have some more of their shenanigans somewhere down in my notes #maybe I'll get around to writing them out one day #but now I take a nap #soph andswers asks #soph writes

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mobagehelllocal · 3 years

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“lucky ending” extra notes i & iii

Hi, I said I would do it but then I released ver i so long ago that I felt I shouldn't do this unless I had another version out at least so yay! finally! ... I'll add ver ii here when I get around to writing it... *shifty eyes* So as usual, this is just my thought process and ideas while writing lol.

*please do not read if you haven’t read “lucky ending” ver i (dorm leaders) & ver iii (rook & lilia).

It was inspired by an anon ask and the button tradition from Japanese schools.

The anon ask went like this: First at all, I like do much your writing and I hope you are doing well. Second, I was wondering what would happen if the MC (Fem!s/o I guess) decided to not go back to her world, like she decide stay with her villain? Can you do make headcanons of this for the dorm leaders? Thank you very much. – from Anonymous

The button tradition, as narrated by the first years, is done when one person confesses and the other responds by giving them the button closest to their heart. In most Japanese uniforms it’s the second uniform, but in Twisted Wonderland--I looked at the ceremonial robes and the closest button should be the fifth. Maybe. I could be wrong.

The songs I listened to while writing this!

The original dorm leaders (and Rook) was written while listening to “Lucky Ending”, the ending theme of Fruits Basket. The English lyrics (translated by otenkiame!) are:

“Change is important. I want to do it well,/ but I wanna cry. It's still bad. I wanna cry”

“The word "goodbye" has disappeared completely from this world/ All that remains is me fooling around next to you/A day you don't laugh won't come anymore”

“I've understood it since being here/ These feelings of wanting to protect you aren't a misunderstanding/ If we can call what connects us bonds,/ everything changes/ everybody changes/ Even if in a different world, it'll never be different/ everything changes/ everybody changes/ Don't change, ever/ Stay here, stay here”

I think it’s obvious why I chose to use this as the title of the series. It’s a story about change but it’s also a story about the things you don’t want to change... And I think it’s not wrong to want to hold onto things.

I also listened to the same playlist that I listened to while writing “wendy?” “hello peter pan”:

“Can’t help falling in love” cover by Annapantsu, “If you’re not the one” by David Beddingfield, “Who Knew” by P!nk and “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift.

For Lilia in particular, I was listening to three Beauty and the Beast songs on loop. “Evermore” by Josh Groban, “Days in the Sun” by the live action cast and, of course--”How does a moment last forever” by Celine Dion.

“How does a moment last forever?/ How can a story never die?/ It is love we must hold onto/ Never easy, but we try/ Sometimes our happiness is captured/ Somehow, our time and place stand still/ Love lives on inside our hearts and always will”

Also for Lilia, Tolerate It by Taylor Swift.

“You're so much older and wiser and I/ I wait by the door like I'm just a kid”

“I made you my temple, my mural, my sky/Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life”

Malleus was definitely the first piece finished. Closely followed by Vil’s. I believe there was a gap inbetween them before I did the others? I wrote bits and pieces of Leona, Idia, Kalim and Azul’s. I think I finished Leona, Idia, Kalim then Riddle because I distinctly remember saving Azul for last.

One of the most important things for me, is that each story stands distinct of each other. So I gave myself a really hard time trying to figure out how each one uniquely belonged to each of the characters.

For the Prologue... I think because it’s set at the graduation of certain characters, I used that to my advantage and implied the stronger bonds between the Yuu!Reader and the entirety of the cast. Because a lot of time has passed and I feel like--regardless of what other people believe, bonds will be made and relationships will have strengthened enough for it to happen.

Riddle is honestly another really difficult character for me to write. I generally do love him and I enjoy his story, but something about him is difficult and I’m not sure why.

I think a part of me is also really miffed because from Heartslabyul-Savanaclaw, you could feel that Riddle really cared for Yuu on some level but then he just straight up disappears come Octavinelle chapter. I feel like there was potential to develop their relationship even more.

He WENT UP AND TIED YOUR RIBBON I REMEMBER I WENT DOKI DOKI OVER THAT.

I feel like because I’ve established that it’s a Yuu!Reader, it’s impossible for this story to not include both Ace and Deuce. So of course they featured in really big roles for this one, being responsible for telling Riddle the story.

I have to thank my friend, Mes, for bouncing ideas with me. They were the one who suggested what I could do with Riddle’s story by having ADeuce play such a big part!

I also tried my hardest to include Trey and Cater, and I’m pretty happy with their cameo. In a way, they definitely helped Riddle figure out his own feelings for you.

My favourite lines are: “I think you earned that much. I don’t believe anyone’s ever been in your situation before so—there’s no right or wrong about what you’re doing. It’s all about what you want to do.”

I wish someone would tell this to Yuu in general though. They’re the only one who has ever been in their situation (to our knowledge at least) and like... they’re definitely allowed to be even more selfish.

Leona is someone who I used to dislike a lot. I never hid that. It’s primarily because of how disappointed I am in the story of Savanaclaw probably. But like, I was always concerned about writing him properly because I thought that it was only right that I did right by him, because there would be people reading these stories who loved him. And I felt like I had to do right by that love.

I think... it’s wrong to believe that characters... villains... cannot fall in love or “won’t fall in love.” I think it’s wrong also to think that “people don’t change for love.”

In fact, people do change. You definitely shouldn’t change yourself to be loved, but... people change all the time to be their “better” selves. So whose to say that a good person, who you love, will not make you want to improve yourself? Isn’t that what we want when we meet people? To fall in love with someone who will ultimately make you better and never worse.

Or so that’s how I try to write the Twisted characters when they fall in love... With an understanding that “morally” the person they are falling for is “kind” and “good” and how a part of them might just want to be better just for that person. (Especially Leona and Azul). They don’t necessarily have to be nice to everyone, but if they can be better for one person... We stan healthy character growth.

But yeah, Leona is driven by understanding that he’s a very selfish person. But that he’s also very unfortunate and he doesn’t want tie you with someone who, he thinks, is actually worthless. He probably, deeply, thinks you deserve more.

Though his selfishness eventually wins out and well... Won’t you forgive him for it? :) For tying you down to this worthless second prince?

I think his own self-awareness does make him try harder. Not for everyone or everything... but for you. Just for you. I think that would be Leona’s love language--spending time with you, trying for you.

He’d appreciate if you didn’t call him out on it though, that would be very embarrassing.

Looking back, I’m surprised that it was the only version where none of the other boys from his dorm showed up lol. Which means Ruggie is the sole character who has yet to appear in the “lucky ending” series, huh.

My favourite lines from his story that still leaves me breathless and patting my past self in the back: ““I’m home—” you said—even if a part of you felt that home should have been two green eyes, a cocky smirk, and a warm patch of sunlight on the grassy ground.”

Like honestly, what was I on? Who was she?

Azul is, like Leona, someone who is so keenly aware of the things he’s lacking. In fact, he’s someone who thinks he’s lacking when he’s probably perfect in some aspects. He might act proud but a part of him--I think--thinks its not enough. It’s never enough. He can certainly do better still.

In that light, it’s why he thinks he’s undeserving of a partner. Especially one who is “kind” and “understanding.” While ultimately, Azul deserves people in his life who are that and “accepting” of him--I think he still thinks he doesn’t.

And thats why he lets go of the Yuu!Reader. It’s why he doesn’t “chase” after her like Leona did.

It’s because he’s selfish, because he wants her--that he forces himself to let go.

Azul needs someone who’ll tell him that he is worth something and that he’s definitely worth the effort. So please praise him a lot until he’s crying in happiness. I’m sure it’s the one thing he’s always wanted to hear from people around him.

Also my Poly!Octavinelle Agenda has never died and I am pleased Past!Ai got away with so much Poly!Octa hints in this story lol. But honestly, regardless of wht Octavinelle says... god, you can tell they genuinely care about each other.

I recently rewatched Octavinelle’s chapter and... by god, the amount of things I missed out on first watch. Jade’s concern when he realized Azul wanted to get rid of that photo... The fact Floyd was so willing to drop the fight to return to Azul too... Anyways, Poly!Octa Agenda for life.

Favourite lines: “Azul’s pathetic whimpers turned into guttural sobs. His fingers spread to cover his eyes—and his glasses slid off his face, down to his lap and then to the ground—at his actions. His whole body shook as he cried his heart out.”

It’s not as poetic as a lot of my other favourites, but for some reason these lines always get me when I reread them. There’s something so visceral about it.

Azul’s piece is probably the least visually stimulating out of all these stories? His was so emotionally driven compared to the others and I worried a lot about that.

I think I remember I was crying so badly as I was writing this.

Kalim is really hard for me because I feel like I struggle a lot with finding conflict in his character? He’s such a genuinely nice person, I find it hard to believe that the Yuu!Reader would feel alienated from him or something. So I brought in “environment” to get in the way.

My use of celestial imagery for Kalim is because of the Scarabia trailer! I really loved how it put Kalim as the sun and Jamil as the moon. I definitely will take advantage of that when I get around to writing for Jamil.

So because I wanted to use the sun, I chose to use the idea of comets for Kalim? I think I remember something about how meteors are drawn to the gravitation pull of the sun and can “escape” it or “be destroyed” by it. Haha, hot.

Jamil is someone who ultimately cares about Kalim too and I had fun writing his banter with the Yuu!Reader. I think I wanted to decribe the shadows licking his face reminscent to the marks from his Overblot but... I felt like doing that would give Jamil too much focus so I ultimately decided against it.

It would’ve been hot though.

Oh yes, one thing I wanted to talk about is Kalim’s rushed proposal. I remember people talking about it in the tags, comments... even in asks at that time. The reason he does it is because he’s someone who didn’t realize his feelings until you spelled out your own. It was a sort of: “Oh. Right. That is the word I’d use to describe my feelings.”

My favourite lines from his story is: “How does one bid goodbye to the sun?” and “No one ever willingly bids goodbye to the sun.They spend the rest of their lives trying to find the right way back to it.”

My god, who was this genius.

Vil is probably the most visually stunning out of all these stories. I feel like my stories go from super vivid imagery and setting to just complete emotional disasters lol. (Vil being the former and Azul’s being the latter... not that it’s bad, it actually suits the characters).

Oh man, I remember thinking that Vil is such a hard character to write because we don’t know what his motivation for perfection is. All we knows is that he wants to be the best but, why?

It’s like, for example, Idia. His motivations could be otaku-related. He doesn’t want to go to class because he’d rather go play or something. That sounds in character--but Vil was so hard because he wanted perfection.

But we already see him as such a perfect character, so what else did he need to be even more perfect? In that light, Chapter 5 did a really good job on presenting Vil’s motivations.

But honestly, I think I can comfortably say that the Vil I’ve written so far is pretty accurate? To his character. I’m really grateful I read his chat lines because his comment about intelligence really got me thinking about his possible motivations. It made it really easy to understand that Vil wasn’t like majority of the real world’s influencers.

One other thing that I was really happy about with his story is the use of the flower language. It’s something I hope I can use more because it’s so beautiful.

Oh! And the roses the Yuu!Reader talks about are double delight roses. They are specifically bred to have two colors--yellow in the center and pink on the outside. I thought it fitting that the Yuu!Reader breed special roses for Vil.

They can be called... err... Vil Roses?

My favourite lines from his story is: ““My happiness will not be dictated by others—no, Vil Schoenheit is a person who will grasp happiness with his own hands.” [...] “I’m giving you this button because I’ve already found happiness by your side.””

This line was actually inspired by Zelda C.W.’s MYth series. Specifically Hera’s story, Will.

Idia ...for him, I somehow had a very hard time imagining him trying to tell the reader to stay. Like that didn’t compute for me? I felt like his version was better approached in a more comedic light somehow.

I also felt that it would be cuter if the Yuu!Reader had already chosen to stay and Idia would need to hastily retrack his confession... Unfortunately, Yuu!Reader won’t let him.

Honestly looking back on it, I wonder how much of Chapter 6 is going to make me scream and want to rewrite Idia’s part?

My favourite lines from his story is: “He was never particularly good at lying—nor was he good at keeping secrets from you. You were a person he considered a dear friend—and he was always the type of person who ended up spilling everything to you. He liked being able to talk about the things he enjoyed—he liked that he had found someone who wanted to hear him out.”

A lot of my interpretation for Idia is closely linked to personal experience as an anime, manga and gaming fan. It was just a couple of years ago where people would actually be bullied for liking these things--but nowadays its become a norm. It’s... stunning actually but it makes me happy to know that maybe nobody will be judged for loving anime.

That being said, Idia’s longing to find someone he can talk to is something I really relate too--back then, it was so difficult to find someone to talk to about my interests... So I interpreted Idia as much the same. That what he enjoys about the Yuu!Reader is their ability to simply sit and listen to him talk.

Malleus... man, recently I’ve been starting to fall in love with him all over again. He was my first oshi ever... Anyways, moving on. You think I’ve talked enough about immortal x mortal but nope, we are not done. I love this theme in general, romantic or platonic.

I will never shut up about it you can’t make me.

Sebek having a good enough friendship with Yuu!Reader is such a delicious concept. Like mutual respect and Sebek understanding that Yuu!Reader gives Malleus a different type of companionship that Sebek, Silver or Lilia couldn’t...

And also, ultimately, Sebek and Yuu!Reader do love Malleus. In different ways, but I like the thought of Sebek respecting that and respecting the Yuu!Reader.

Me realizing just now that Silver joins Ruggie in the: “has never appeared in a lucky ending fic club.”... Sorry Silver, I swear soon. Once we get more content on you.

Celestial themes for Malleus are primarily, again, because he only ever seemed to meet you at night. And I thought it would be wonderful, if you were a bright spark to him.

Favourite lines are definitely: “Oh, bright light… I would prefer to live the rest of your life by your side… rather than spend centuries contemplating what it could have felt… to hold you in my arms.”

I am, always, going to be such a big sucker for the idea of immortals constantly remembering and loving mortals. Always holding them close in their memories, because in that way--their lovers have become immortal with them.

I also like to imagine that he eventually figures out a way to connect your worlds together so you can still talk to your friends and family from that world. He is one of the most powerful magicians around, I’m sure its possible.

Rook was honestly the most difficult piece for me to write because he’s so hard(?) for me to understand. He’s a mess of contradictions honestly and I... guess I’m excited to see what he’ll do come Chapter 6.

I actually rewrote his story so much. I got about 500 words with a different idea/plot in mind before deleting that completely and restarting from scratch.

I feel like Rook is someone who talks big and talks about love without actually knowing what it truly might feel like. He’s someone who doesn’t understand it and ends up mistaking it for his fascination.

Aside from me enjoying inserting other characters from the same dorm as much as possible, I felt that Vil was the perfect person to snap some sense into Rook.

Epel’s appearance there is basically to reflect how much I really hope the first year kids get really close to one another.

Rook is also someone who I think, doesn’t try to explain himself too much. He’s someone who I think talks a lot, but if people don’t understand him then he doesn’t need to be understood? That’s my impression. Lol, when “lucky ending” became a character study.

I also really loved the idea that Rook was fine with people running from him--to him that makes it all the more thrilling. But then you start running away from him and that just ends up making dread pool in his stomach.

My favourite lines from his story: “‘When something ends, it must be sad. So, tell me then, how an ending could be so beautiful?’ [...] .‘But there was one ending that was beautiful, non?’ [...] ‘That’s right. ‘They lived happily ever after’—are those not the words that define a beautiful ending?’”

I used the dusk metaphor for Rook. My idea is that he starts seeing dusk as an ending and how he can’t fathom how any “ending” is beautiful. When a story ends, it’s not beautiful to him, humu. But when that ending is the happily ever after then... That makes all the difference.

Lilia was actually easier than Rook’s but also fairly difficult. I had written the middle of Lilia’s piece while stumped on Rook’s actually. Lilia’s was probably easier because I love the idea of immortals and mortals.

I don’t really like the idea of mortals becoming immortals. Like, yes, it’s certainly sweet and spending eternity with a one true love is definitely the best possible ending but... I think there’s so much weight in an immortal choosing to love a mortal while knowing that they will ultimately lose them.

The biggest theme for Lilia is definitely time.

Thinking about it now... There’s been a lot of things in real life that’s just... Made me think about how we have less time than we actually think we have. And I think I ended up channeling that through Lilia... Though I feel like it is ultimately things Lilia would think about though.

The most important imagery would probably be the stars.

I honestly wanted to avoid it because I used celestial imagery for both Kalim and Malleus but the words just flowed out in a way that I felt that I couldn’t replace. So I went with it.

Lilia is no stranger to loneliness. One of the reasons he feels less alone is because he has family now and he doesn’t want to rob you of that. Family is so important to him because they are people who are meant to be with you--they are people who will make you less lonely--or so thats how I think? he thinks.

My favourite lines from his story: “He would relish in the way—You made the world pause. You made a moment extend into an eternity. You made an immortal crave just a little more time.”

I’m so immensely proud of this one? I don’t really have much else to say. There’s something so raw about it that I love. Also the part where it continues on to say that “Because there is never enough time.”

Me realizing my extra notes is just half me simping over these characters, half sharing headcanons, have actually giving good advice? perspective?, half song lyrics, half character study/analysis?

“lucky ending” is about change. Whether we want them to happen or not it’s... the human condition to change. For better or worse, we change--day by day. I think we all operate under a small panic about how everyday things are changing...

But “lucky ending” is also about the things that don’t change. Won’t change. Will never change. The things worth holding onto, the thing worth fighting for... or so I’d like to think.

#aimuses #ainotes #ai lucky series #twst #twisted wonderland #its 6 AM HEEHOOO

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lochnessies · 3 years

Text

ok here’s a dissection of a post an anon sent me the link to and bc i have the worst time management possible and i completely forgot i had it lol so sorry anon here you go ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

I am constantly thinking about how Edelgard just doesn’t seem designed to appeal to cishet men.

i hate to be the one to break this news to you op but just because a character doesn’t show skin like charlotte fire emblem doesn’t mean she isn’t designed to pander to men. she’s very much designed to pander to the (majority straight male) player base with her ‘uwu i only trust you professor omg did u see that rat? pls don’t look at my painting of you uwu’.

then there’s the whole edelgard c support in japanese where byleth makes reference to having come to her room for ‘yobi’ which is

there’s also the scene where byleth can make an unsolicited comment about edelgard’s breast size. which is… uhh… gross.

edelgard also has cipher cards that go from slightly fanserviceie to full on suggestive

and also her breast armor that my sister relentlessly mocked lol

and here’s a chart from the 3h subreddit about gender/sexually in regards to edelgard and edeleth. it’s extremely straight male. op might have just overlooked this since they probably don’t go on reddit and stay on tumblr (which unlike reddit is mostly female and has a high lgbt demographic).

Like the joke is that Bleagles is the Gay House, but everything about her feels deliberately non-hetero.

i don’t like where this is going…

She’s dressed in sharp outfits covering her upper body, with proportions that don’t seem exaggerated.

so women who cover up must be lgbt because straight women are naturally more revealing? oh y i k e s

Her poise and the way she effortlessly flourishes her axe exhibits an air of coolness. While titties out =/= character of no substance, Edelgard being dressed more modestly suggests that she wasn’t designed with male-centred fanservice in mind.

“titties don’t equal no substance but here’s my post on how she has more substance because she doesn’t show titties” ok

And she still looks absolutely stunning in her more modest attire (like seriously, I haven’t felt the need to return to cosplay in years but I want to do her academy look so bad).

yes she does. amazing design 10/10. i have a feeling this is the only part i’m going to agree with

Edelgard is intense. She does not mince her words and she is constantly evaluating you. Though she tries, she has a difficult time understanding her peers initially. Early on, she talks about how she would sacrifice herself and others in the name of some greater good. She is terrible at communicating with her peers. She has to be seen as infallible. Her heart has been hardened for years and she assumes she has to stay that way. She also assumes everyone mourns the same way she does - which is why she (kind of insensitively) insists you move on when Jeralt dies. Because to her, grief has to be channeled towards action, or else you’ll get lost in it. This attitude is demonstrated time and time again as she presses on. It can make her come off as cold and unfeeling - but look closer, and she’s anything but.

don’t really have anything to say at this part. it is pretty on the nose though i would slightly disagree with that last sentence a bit. i wouldn’t say she’s as i feeling as hubert is but all of her talks of the war boil down to how she feels and never her victims.

Her story is ultimately about her realizing that to achieve her goals, she needs to let people in and allow herself to want things like cakes and tea parties and lazy days in peace.

????? what ????? her goals include imperialism, ethnic and religious targeting. her story is about having a set of beliefs and mowing down anybody who stands in her way. that has nothing to do with tea, friends, and lazy days. also am i supposed to be sad that she has to get up everyday and work? i do that and i didn’t start a war and only throw a pity party for myself

The game leaves the player guessing as to how involved the Flame Emperor was in each Part I event, makes you feel hurt by her betrayal, and leaves you with a choice: do you follow the orders of the woman who tried to make you a god without your consent, or a young girl with questionable morals about to throw the world into upheaval?

this isn’t an ideal situation but i think i’m going to stick with the woman who tried to make me a god since i’m not selfish and i know it’s not only my desires and life at stake here. plus the green hair slaps ngl

Choosing her of your own volition (not for completionist reasons) requires the basic ability to sympathize with a woman’s pain. It also requires the player to read beyond her unwavering will and dubious methods to get a sense of how deep that pain goes and how the theme of humanity relates to her differently in each route.

i’m not going to touch this since @nilsh13 made a post on it that i’ll link here. i agree with everything he said so to repeat it would be redundant.

The player must be able to see a young woman’s desperate resolve to change the world so it stops exploiting people and ruining lives. They must be able to accept the fact that women can make the same morally wrong and ambivalent decisions that complicated male characters get to make all the time and still be the one to root for.

literally the same reason i love rhea lol her goddess experiments are dubious at best but her reasons are the same you mentioned. i would say that i like this quality in edelgard too if her ending, while bloody, actually ended in a good outcome for fodlan.

This is not unique to LGBT+ people, but this population is likely to understand why Edelgard feels so strongly about why she has to change the system.

i understand wanting to change a system, i really do. like edelgard, i’m an opinionated bisexual woman (who’s also physically disabled) so yeah i get it. and change can be good but it can also be terrible. even if the church was the boogeyman edelgard treats it as she still replaces it with her own shit regime. so it’s the same circus just with a new conductor.

I don’t think “Edelgard gets undue criticism because she’s a woman” captures the full picture. An important aspect of her treatment by certain parts of the fandom is that she’s a radical woman.

or maybe she does some pretty fucked up shit and it goes unacknowledged in her own route. and yeah she’s radical but in all the worst ways.

Her hatred of the Church and the Crest system resonates way harder with people who have been hurt by institutions that are deeply engrained in our society.

and what about people who have been hurt by systems where their ‘merit’ didn’t measure up and they were left behind? what about people from nations that experienced imperialism?

Siding with her means siding against the Church - which, while different from real world religious institutions, still invokes language about “sin” and “punishment.

yeah the ‘sins’ and ‘punishments’ are used in relation to attempted murders which i think everybody can agree is a bad thing that needs to be condemned.

Choosing Edelgard will likely hit different if homophobic and transphobic Christians used that rhetoric against you.

it has literally nothing to do with ‘sins’ and ‘punishments’ in regards to being gay or trans. that’s you projecting. especially since the church has 2 canon gay characters and two coded ones.

like i can understand why having a church condemn you can be uncomfortable but i’m begging you to please look at the context of what’s happening.

I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that the reason F/F Edeleth is the more popular iteration of that ship because most people who would choose to S-support Edelgard are LGBT+ themselves. This is not a revelation. To anyone in the community, it’s fairly obvious.

i was talking to nilish and he said

so yeah… while there is definitely sapphic femleth shippers out there, there’s still a whole lot of weird fetishizing going on from straight men about edelgard.

Crimson Flower was my first route. I went into the game knowing absolutely nothing. I played it during the last week of 2020 and hoo boy was it cathartic.

i can tell. this wasn’t supposed to be a dig but it came out that way and i’m not taking it out.

I felt like I was living out a gay revolution power fantasy, where I could truly change systems of oppression while fighting alongside a group of troubled students I’d shaped the lives of.

so a gay revolution power fantasy (cringe) goes hand in hand with imperialism and installing a dictatorship? also the war had nothing to do with sexuality.

Through your unwavering support, Edelgard learns that she needs to be human, that she must listen to her friends, and that she’s allowed to enjoy the world she’s creating.

edelgard gets to learn how to be human all while hunting those who don’t. and she doesn’t listen fo her friends. she doesn’t even trust them. she’s willing to talk to byleth but keep the people who’s been by her side for five years in the dark about everything. and yeah she gets to enjoy her new words since she’s on top. hate to be a commoner under her rule after she burned down my village in her war.

I love this character so much.

clearly. and i honestly don’t care if somebody likes her. i do as well even if my sometimes scathing words can make it seem otherwise.

It has been six months since I first played and I am still analyzing her,

me too. please help me escape i’m losing my mind

because there’s so much depth. Yet so many people fail to see that depth and dismiss her as evil,

i mean, she does some fucked up shit that goes beyond any of the less than desirable actions of the other main characters and does an extremely poor job in trying to make herself seem innocent. i personally don’t think she’s pure evil but i completely understand where the people who say she is are coming from.

because they never had the will to understand complicated women in the first place.

that’s big talk from somebody who implies that a gay pope is comparable to homophobic and transphobic irl religions and that leads an oppressive regime all because she uses the vague terms of sin and punishments that you have to gay power fantasy your way out of

#i finished this at 1am so sorry if i’m incoherent #mine

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boy-mom · 3 years

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Can you write something about How to induce lactation without being pregnant?

Hi there anon! It just so happens that I already did write a post on this very subject. I'll go ahead and just copy it to here so you can have the full info :)

Inducing Lactation: FAQ

Okay, I get asked these questions almost on the daily, so I’m going to go ahead and write this big ol’ post with all the answers and so on. I’ll even post the link to where this info is coming from so y’all can check for yourself too!

Is lactation possible if you’re never been pregnant, or you aren’t pregnant and trying to lactate?

Yes, it is totally possible! With the right strategy, support, and techniques, it is totally achievable. My advice for anyone trying to induce lactation is to understand the process, educate yourself on what to expect, get proper support through a lactation consultant, consult your doctor, and so on! It’s important to avoid false expectations, have an open mind going into the process, and allow the yourself to give it your very best! Refer to the Newman-Goldfarb protocol for specific steps.

What kind of milk supply can be expected? The amount of milk someone is able to create will depend on a wide range of factors including: The person’s health history Their motivation to induce lactation The condition of their breasts Whether they has ever breastfed in the past, amount of support from the partner, family, etc. The amount of time they have to prepare their breasts/body The routine and protocol the person follows to make milk, such as taking herbs/medications, and frequent breast stimulation There is a particular protocol called the Newman-Goldfarb Protocol that has a very good success rate (60-100%) for inducing lactation for most people. It includes a combination of steps and can be started at any point prior to the arrival of “the baby”. The idea with any of the protocols to induce lactation is to mimic the pregnancy and what happens after in terms of a drop in progesterone and estrogen, and a rise in prolactin after delivery. Prolactin is the “milk maker” and oxytocin works to “release the milk.”

What supplements, foods, and medications may help with promoting a milk supply? A baby suckling at the breast and/or frequent breast stimulation is the best way to induce the hormones needed to produce milk. And combine this with other herbal and prescription medications, and you have a protocol for inducing lactation. There are several different protocols that have been developed by various experts in the field like the one mentioned before. There are also other ways mothers can help support milk induction, including using a breast pump to stimulate the breasts, herbal supplementation, prescription medication, and certain foods. Using Birth control to prepare breasts for milk making If someone has plenty of time to prepare, starting a birth control pill for 6-9 months can help prepare breasts for breastfeeding. The pill mimics the estrogen and progesterone that a pregnant mother would have in order to support breastfeeding. It helps create the glandular tissue and milk ducts. You can really start a protocol at any time to help inducing lactation. How to make more milk Once you are able to produce milk, the act of removing milk will trigger the body to create more milk. The most effective prescription medication initiating that milk-making process initially is Domperidone because it can be used for an extended period of time without significant side effects to the breastfeeding individual or a baby. If you have heart-related conditions, it’s advised to not take it. Domperidone is approved in many countries including Canada, Switzerland, United Kingdom, South Africa, Mexico, New Zealand, and others, to increase milk supply, but it is still in the process of being approved by the FDA in the U.S. Herbal Supplementation Herbal supplements that may be helpful in inducing lactation include alfalfa, blessed thistle, fennel, fenugreek, goat’s rue, saw palmetto, and Shatavari. Each of these has its unique characteristics and timing may also be important in terms of when each should be taken, and under specific circumstances. It is advised to work with an herbalist to understand what’s right for your particular need. As with all supplementation, it’s best to work with a healthcare team to ensure it is the best solution for you. Lactogenic Foods As far as specific lactogenic foods to increase milk production, there aren’t a lot of studies, but there is information from those who do lactate that has been passed down from generation to generation. Specific foods may be helpful to increase milk production, but eating a diet rich in healthy fats, dark green vegetables, fruits, whole grains, and nuts and seeds is truly the best way to ensure optimal nourishment for inducing lactation. One of the very few foods that has been studied is moringa or the Malunggay tree. It is a “superfood” grown in Asian countries and can be bought in a powdered form or the leaves can be cooked like spinach leaves.

How can you tell how much milk is being transferred when lactation starts? Small quantities of milk may be produced at first, but within a month, if you are consistently removing milk, and inducing more, it may increase. You can use frequent breast massage and expression to see how much you may be producing. What are some helpful mindset techniques to help with inducing lactation? Keep an open mind so you are not disappointed; if you’re able to produce milk, great, if not, know you tried and still gave it your best. Remember why you want to induce lactation. Just like in many areas of our life, we have to have a strong enough “why” in order for us to stick with something. Positive affirmations can help you feel empowered and equipped to mentally and physically handle the experience. Enjoy the process along the way, enjoy the relaxation as your hormones start increasing in your body, especially the oxytocin. Keep a positive mind, YOU can do this!

What kind of time and effort is involved with inducing lactation? Once you accept the commitment, your mindset will play a huge role in motivating you to continue the journey to induce lactation. It’s important to understand the time and energy involved in inducing lactation, There may be financial resources involved too, like purchasing a breast pump, herbs, and medications. And of course, there is the time involved in pumping- whether it be hand expression or with a manual pump. Here’s the link to where all this info can be found!

https://lactationmamas.com/how-do-you-induce-lactation-if-youre-not-pregnant/

#breast feeding #breast pump #breastfeeding #natural induction #inducing lactation #inducing milk #milk induction #breastmilk #domperidone

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pyro-doll · 3 years

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Before I head to bed, let me just send u a little wholesome game really quick♡ I've been following you for a while now but I've just been too shy.. But here I am! Let's start off with a wholesome tag game ; Tag your lovely mutuals, tell us what you love about them and associate them with a color!!♡♡ you can tell us why you associate them with that color too if you want!! I'm a sucker for wholesomeness so I hope u have fun! ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ ♡♡♡ ☁︎. that one randomly positive anon lurking in blogs :P

Awe that's so sweet of you hon! Don't ever feel to shy to come talk with me I adore it. I also love the wholesome vibes so let's get into it.

PS mutuals! I am, so sorry if I left you out oh my god I'm trying to do this from memory bc it would be rather difficult to scroll through all of my followers. 🎀💫

@bumbleklee - Bea is just such a fun presence omg and just a delight to talk to make me go EEEE. I associate her with purple because she's caring but also very out going! Lots of love Bea.

@cxlrose - Cal my beloved, you were so open to start talking to me and I love how just happy and supportive you are?!! Cal is a soft golden orange, bright and sweet! (popsicle vibes?!) Absolute sweet heart even if they may have a folder of cursed images hiding somewhere.

@nnovawrites - Lilac! Nova is very kind and cool and just <3 such a lovely welcoming vibe, that is also very distinct and unique. (Also blog theme top tier.) Lilac to me is a very silky smooth color that can be found in sunsets or flowers and that just feels right.

@alberivh - Veille is definitely some type of blue. Perhaps a dark but pigmented color. One that is intense but also very welcoming and also to represent sad and tears because oh my god angst writer extrordinaire?! I remember following like wow this person. Good angst I love angst and then seeing you followed be too and kinda imploding

@chichikoi - Koi has soft lime, bordering mint green vibes. Very much vibing and has some go with the flow vibes. I'm getting simultaneously chill and also super bubbly and WOO! which is green vibes! 💕

@witch-hazels-musings - Dusty pink, mauve type color! Omg hazel is so kind and supportive and AH whenever we talk you just bring everyone up. You are so kind and caring and just, warm and pink definitely fits you well.

@windblumeodes - I feel like a dark dark purple maybe a little unsaturated just like the sky right when the sun starts peaking out and it's warming up and it goes from dark to tinted purple at the horizon. Again I have no explanation it just feels right.

#haha hi mutuals i knkw i dont talk to some of you a lot but i still love you a WHOLE LOT! MWAH!#binnie moots!#binnie mail!#binnie anons!#☁️🎀💫

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cynergy-laughter · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! One Master To Rule Them All! Headcanon #5 (Requested!)

Thank you anon for sending this into me! I encourage more asks, cause this was a pretty good one!

So MC is an artist, but not painter, drawing, or digital artist... they make and paint figurines! Let’s see what our bois have to say about this revelation! ^^

And as a bonus, what would our boys do if MC made a figurine, statuette of them?! (These might be long so I apologize in advance.)

Lucifer: He smirks as he finds this new thing out about you, it isn’t what he’s interested in, but he knows who would adore your talent. I think we all know who. He would find you displaying all of your figurines you made around your room, and you let him look around your room at all your work. There are specific ones you don’t want him to touch because they were freshly painted and drying. It wasn’t until he spies on one specific one, it was one of him in his demon form, wings spread out, he even got the peacock feathers of his midnight black coat right... so detailed, where did you even get the time to notice the details of his buttons? It was frightening, but at the same time... you got his good side. “Oh? That one is finished, do you like it? You can have it if you want. I just need to get a stand for you.” When you left the Devildom, he looked at your figurine of him and he shed a tear. He also made sure that your room and your figurines were not touched.

Mammon: He knocked on your door, trying to see if he could hang out with you. You say that you’re busy, but he can play a game if he wanted. That’s when Mammon sees the walls, and the figurines that lined the shelves of your room. It was honestly kind of creepy, there were many different characters, even some demons, students at RAD. “Dude, this is crazy, you ever thought about selling these?” “Oh... no, I don’t think they’re that good, I was always told they were creepy...” “No, a true fanatic would be paying top dollar, if I they were any better, they would be alive and moving...” Mammon’s hands wiggled, wanting to grab one of them, until he saw one that was on the drying shelf; it was him, in his demon form, his 8 pack was defined, his tattoos were symmetrical, his wings looked so brittle, yet powerful. It was clear you took pride in your craft. He reached out to touch it, only for you to take his hand. “You can have it when it’s done drying.” After he does get it, he fakes like he sold it off. Much to his brothers’ disapproval, and your melancholy nonchalance. But he has it, right on the dashboard of his car in his room, and everytime he looks at it, his heart fills with warmth.

Leviathan: At first, Levi doesn’t leave his room for anything, but when he comes to your room once, he is absolutely fanboying, he sees a lot of the figurines and recognizes some of them as different anime and video game characters. You become his new favorite person. He always visits your room to see what new figurines you’ve come up with, or have done. He even asks you to repaint a few figurines that he noticed had their paint dulled. But he is speechless when you gift him a figurine of him in his demon form, the horns were well detailed, his spots on his neck, his tail curled up, and he was holding a Ruri-Chan figurine protectively! Levi can’t figure out for the life of him whether he is in love, in awe, or in shock. But he snapped and wants you to start opening commissions cause he has a few requests, and he will be paying for your work.

Satan: Satan is interested after he asks you what your hobbies are, which is after you make a pact with him. You smile and say you have something to give to him, and ask him to see you in your room. Later, he is awestruck at your figurine collection, he sees your workbench with your arsenal of brushes, array of paints, and the materials that go into making figurines, the biggest focal point is the huge looking glass that glows with LED lighting. You came around from one of the shelves and ask Satan to hold out his hands and close his eyes. He reluctantly does so, and feels a stand in his hands. A trophy? He opens his eyes and he sees a figurine of him in his demon form, horns curled right, his green bow tied and wrapped around his chest, boa hanging off his shoulders and even his tail curling around his right leg. Down to a tee. With a blush, Satan said he would treasure it always, and that he would love to observe how you work at a later date.

Asmodeus: Has been hearing that you do art of his brothers and feels left out. He goes over to you and demands you paint him. You are a bit confused and tell him you don’t paint like that, but Asmo insists, in fact, he is willing to model for you. You smile and agree, you only ask that he be in his demon form. Later that night, he lays on his side and poses, and you began to work. You move around him while Asmodeus sits, it took a few days of night sessions until you finish the body of the figurine. You then say to give you about 2 days and you’ll be finished, Asmo was confused cause he still thought you were a painter like Picasso, or Lipschitz from Chicago. (Extra points of you get the reference.) After the second day, you get a knocking at your door to which you see an annoyed Asmo, demanding to see his painting. You said you just finished the painting and it was currently drying. Finally Asmo storms in, and is met with many different figurines. His mouth was ajar, and gasps when he sees his figurine on the drying shelf in the same pose. Asmo saw the details of his gold scorpion, the black roses on his shirt, and the pink tops of his horns. Asmo hugged you, began to apologize and express his gratitude in making him look so good!

Beelzebub: Beel has a lot to look at when he began hanging out with you, in fact his bursting through the kitchen and your wall made you lose a lot of your figurines, which you were very upset about. Beel got enough money to buy you a replacement workdesk and looking glass because he felt terrible about destroying your room and ruining your past time. Beel saw you the whole time you were in his room, working at the desk, he thought you were angry at him, which made him lose his appetite. One day, after you made your pact with Beel, you gave him his figurine of him, in his demon form, holding a cheeseburger and about to take a bite, the attention to detail about his bug-like wings, his horns, details on his jacket, his belts, and especially his boots. Beel tried to eat the cheeseburger on his figurine, but you reiterate that it isn’t real, and that it probably wouldn’t fill him up because it was so small. Beel began laughing as he gave you a hug, asking if that was what you were working on the whole time after he bought you the replacement desk and looking glass, to which you smile and confirm it. And then thank Beel for everything.

Belphegor: Had began to hang out with you, after the drama happened, and saw first hand that you enjoyed your hobby. He doesn’t really pry much into your hobby, because it was still fresh after the drama, when he thought you hated him. You secretly began to make his figurine while he’s asleep. You took notes about what his demon form consisted, the curly horns, the unique cow-esque hoodie, spots on his clavicle, as well as his pants and boots and his long fluffy cow tail, and tried to incorporate it with his slumbering position. Soon, after you finished about 2 painting days and one drying day, when you surprised Belphie with it. You say that you wanted to get to know him better, and hoped they could become closer with this peace offering/gift. Belphie blushes and teared up, making you set the figurine down gently and hug him tightly. Belphie never wants to let you go, because that had to be the sweetest thing anyone had made him.

#obey me #one master to rule them all #obey me headcanons #headcanon #obey me main character #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #artist mc #figurine #you cant rush art #sorry if they are long #i love these bois #anon request #anon response

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years

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I was wondering what's your thoughts on the latest Loki episode?

Hi, anon! I’ll place my response under a cut because there's spoilers, and also because I have a lot of thoughts/questions about Loki (2021) as a show:

Tbh, I’m struggling with this show’s pacing, in general? Like, the plot has moved SO FAST, right from episode 1.

And I know that it takes a lot of finesse to handle pacing well—I won’t pretend I’m any better in my own works. Because if you go too slow, then you risk losing people’s attention. But it just feels like the overarching plot with the Time Keepers and Loki working for them, and then turning against them, could have stretched across 10 episodes or more, easily. And in doing so, it could have created stronger foundations for how Something’s Not Right with the TVA but yet it’s managed to exist for SO LONG?? etc.

Like, in the course of a single episode, we finally saw the Time Keepers, heard them speak, and then also discovered they weren’t real because oops, The Real Time Keeper didn’t have a Vision-Level Budget for their robotics despite being able to use Infinity Stones for paperweights and having a robotics wet-dream for a realm.

Questionable world-building details aside, I feel like—plot-wise—I just moved through The Matrix, The Truman Show, and The Wizard of Oz, combined, in 40 minutes?

There's just so much going on at one time, and so many characters are coming to really important, mind-boggling self-revelations so very quickly and with so little warning/impetus for those revelations. Sometimes, those revelations just don’t feel earned as a result.

***

In terms of world-building, I think I got confused. I’m not entirely sure why it was Mobius who went on a massive spiel about Loki’s powerful connection to Slyvie as being narcissism? Like, idk what I think of it yet personally tbh, but Mobius is the same exact man who in episode 2 made it a point to show Loki that He Is Actually Not Himself in other universes? He was literally like “no two variants are alike” and then ran through a montage of drastically different Lokis? One of which was this huge yellow ogre that even Loki did a double-take at?

So like…is the show trying to argue that Variants are in fact the same person at the core despite cosmetic differences, or is the Loki/Sylvie relationship trying to argue that Variants in fact are their own wholly unique person who actually can’t be compared against a multiverse counterpart? Is this a self-love sort of a thing, or is it a critique on a prejudice/damaging stereotype that the TVA has regarding Variants and the larger multiverse itself?

Clearly, the TVA understands that even slight changes to circumstances can massively alter the life path, personality, memories, and appearance of an individual along with their environment. So like…idk if I want to get into the semantics of narcissism, but something just seems a bit off here. I feel like Sylvie has more in common with, like, the also-green-and-gold Rogue from X-Men than she does her own Loki counterpart, so like…idk.

There’s still two episodes left, so I’d like to watch it all the way through to see how it’s handling these questions. It’s building toward a message of some kind for Loki and Slyvie? I’m just not really sure…which message yet?

***

I actually liked Mobius?? So, um, I really want him to come back?? Please???

***

I think my last thought still ties into the pacing, but it just seems odd that it took from 2009 to 2017 and multiple apocalypses/near-death events within that space for Loki to even accept a hug from his adopted brother he’s known for millennia…but in the course of like a day and a half, he’s become incredibly touchy feely and open with Sylvie and ready to pour his heart out. Like, I get that this show is all about getting Loki to reflect on his damaging flaws and insecurities so that he can grow from that for once....But idk, regardless of the relationship they’re going for with Sylvie, it just seems a bit OOC for him be this aware and comfortable acting on that so quickly. I would expect Loki to be a bit more hesitant about revealing his deep emotions in this very small span of time. He can hardly even admit them to himself most days because he’s typically viewed intimacy as a threat and usually has some kind of self-hatred going on.

Maybe if we had those 10 episodes or more, these character developments (that it’s okay to make genuine connections for the sake of connection, and the peeling away of Loki’s layers of defense) would feel more natural??

***

Anyway! These are just my initial thoughts, lol. I’m trying to reserve judgments about certain things because we have only part of the story at this point—I don’t know what all they might button up or how they’ll do it yet. I actually want this show to succeed because Loki is a really fascinating character. I’m just strapping in for the ride at this point because idk quite where we’re going LOL.

#Loki #Sylvie #Mobius #Marvel #my head's spinning lol

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crystaljins · 5 years

Text

But why not me?

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Synopsis: You are friendly with the Prince of a neighbouring planet and Jimin has some things to say about it.

Arrangedmarriage!au-ish

Notes: So an anon requested Jimin + prince and I thought... what about Spaceprince!Jimin? Again another 1000 follower request and hopefully this one is fun!!! It’s something a little different, at least.

Warnings: Jealousy. Immature characters. Verbal fighting.

The gardens of Lutania are some of the prettiest you’ve seen in this quadrant of the galaxy. The planet boasts unique bioluminescent flowers as part of their unique flora and great care by their scientists were taken to implant that DNA into imported species from other planets to give them the ability to fluoresce. The gardens are an accumulation of these lovingly cultivated species. They sit on the fringe of the palace grounds where the public can visit at will without interfering with the operations of their government, encapsulated in a neat bubble-like enclosure where the temperature, humidity and oxygen levels are carefully controlled. It is the closest to the outdoors that you can reach on this planet without your suit since you have not yet adapted to their atmosphere and you have no plans to stay long enough to do so.

“Are the gardens to your liking, my lady?” Beside you, the Prince of this planet has his hands neatly folded behind his back. A deep black cloak hangs off broad shoulders- it shimmers as it flutters behind him, catching the lighting of the luminescent flowers. You smile thinly. You have corrected Namjoon multiple times that you are Captain of the Royal Guard of your own government and are to be addressed as such, but you are beginning to suspect that it may merely be a translation thing. He, of course, is not actually speaking your native tongue- it is the communication device lodged neatly in your ear that translates his words at the same rate he speaks them. Perhaps the formal title has no other alternative in your language. So, this time you choose to hold your tongue rather than correct him. It is kind of… nice, if you are being honest, to have such a delicate and lovely title as “lady” attributed to you. Especially after the hurtful conversation you had had with your Prince earlier that morning. Today, you do not wish to be Captain. You do not wish to be an intimidating, highly respected civil servant who people whisper nasty things about in the hallways of the palace back home. You just want to enjoy the pretty gardens and not think about handsome Princes who only cause you heartache.

“It’s beautiful.” You say warmly. “I can see why your people take such pride in it.”

Namjoon smiles and bends at the waist to examine a flower that hangs into your path. It resembles a rose but fluoresces a deep blue. The petals only glow at the base where they attach to the stem, however- the edges are dark and curl outwards and the effect is a rather nice gradient of light on each individual petal. He runs his fingers gently along the edges and a sweet smell fills the air.

“I had been meaning to take you to see these gardens at your earliest convenience. I… have greatly enjoyed your presence on this mission.” Namjoon offers hesitantly, and that brings you to pause. At this stage in your career, you’ve dealt with quite a lot of princes and bureaucrats trying to butter you up, thinking that perhaps you can sway the results of diplomatic meetings when you accompany Prince Jimin. But it does not seem that Namjoon is doing such a thing- no, he seems so warm and friendly. More genuine than the prince of your own planet, although perhaps that is just your own frustration speaking. Prince Jimin had not held himself back during his harsh words that morning, after all. You don’t know where he’s scampered off to after saying such things to you, but you much prefer Namjoon’s presence anyway. Namjoon does not hold the power to break your heart and cannot hurt you the way that Jimin did that morning. He’s the far safer option- Jimin can go off gallivanting as far from you as possible. Currently you couldn’t care less if he plummeted off the edge of a cliff.

“Well, thank you for making my time enjoyable as well.” You say, firmly pushing the thoughts of your prince out of your mind. Now is not the time for distractions even if his words from earlier will not cease replaying in your head. “It is rare that I am afforded such a beautiful sight on expeditions like these. Usually we are confined to the indoor areas where the meetings are to take place.”

“Well, if you don’t mind remaining indoors again tonight, I wouldn’t mind your presence beside me at dinner tonight.” Namjoon admits, almost sheepishly. This also catches you off guard- you are not sure why the Prince has taken such a sudden interest in you. Out of curiosity, you want to accept, but you know that you cannot.

“Unfortunately, I must-“ You begin, ready to launch into an explanation.

“It is her duty and role to sit beside me.” A third voice cuts off your explanation and both you and Namjoon turn in surprise to find the Prince of your planet staring you down with an unnecessary intensity. You blink a few times before turning to Namjoon.

“What he means is, as much as I would like to, unfortunately I have obligations to fulfill in coming here, and part of that is remaining by my prince’s side.” You offer in a way that is hopefully more tactful and polite than the blunt and intrusive statement that Jimin has just offered. The nerve of him! Like he has a right to speak to you the way he did this morning and then come barging in here like this. Prince or no prince, he has no right to be behaving in such a manner, especially when in conversation with another prince of a planet just as prosperous and peaceful as his own.

Namjoon offers a cursory glance at Jimin who has his arms folded across his chest. He offers Namjoon a slight arch of his brow, a challenging look that irks you. You cannot imagine how Namjoon must feel to be on its receiving end.

Prince Namjoon is seemingly the more mature and kinder being, for he merely extends an arm towards Jimin and offers a bow. It is a symbol of peace and acquiescence amongst his species and you are stunned and embarrassed that he is forced to offer such a gesture to your rude and obnoxious Prince. Jimin looks guilty, at the very least, and he offers a deep bow in return.

“I am sorry to have interrupted your duties.” Namjoon says to you, and he does seem to be genuinely apologetic. “Perhaps, in the future, you could come visit again when you do not hold any duties and we could-“ He suggests, but Jimin cuts him off by stepping forward.

“I’m sure the two of you can organise that at a later date when (Y/N) is not on duty, but unfortunately she has some important matters to discuss with me. As much as I do not wish to interrupt, I’m afraid her company is required.” Jimin says. You are relieved that the translation device which Namjoon is wearing does not convey sarcasm or you would surely have an intergalactic dispute on your hands. You are almost tempted to deny the existence of such things to discuss since you have no desire to speak to Jimin but you know you cannot afford to portray dissonance amongst your team.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I did not realise that she was required.” Namjoon says apologetically, confirmation that Jimin’s vitriol is not being conveyed through the translation device. He bows and offers you a sweet smile. “(Y/N) we will have to meet another time. There is so much I wish to discuss with you! You will have to tell me about some more of those strange planetary customs the next time we meet.” He tells you fondly, referring to an earlier conversation the two of you had had.

Jimin is stiff-shouldered until Namjoon is out of earshot and then he quickly whirls around to glare at you.

“I can’t believe you!” He cries. “I’ve been scouring this bloody palace, worried that something had happened you were in here? On a date with a prince of another planet?” He demands. You feel yourself bristle in anger.

“You don’t have any right to speak to me like that! He requested my presence, and as you so astutely pointed out this morning, I am Captain of your royal guard, and as such it is my duty to approach everything with diplomacy on this mission.” You snarl in response. “You seemed quite intent on duty earlier when you were being rude to Namjoon!”

“Namjoon?” Jimin cries. “You’re on first-name basis with the Prince now? And planning dates and extra vacations here! Why not just marry him?”

“Maybe I will!” You cry. “What right have you to be upset if I do?”

Jimin’s anger deflates and he shoves a hand through his hair in distress. His hair, normally neatly combed back off his forehead, is in disarray as it often gets when he is upset. He’s changed out of the normal uniform you all wear on expeditions such as these- he’s exchanged the military garb, a tight fitted dark green jacket that fits squarely over his shoulders and heavy-duty pants, for the flowy, darker attire of this planet. You like how he looks in his strict military garb, but you prefer the way he looks with the fabric that seems to wash over him like a waterfall and the loose fitted, airy shirts. He looks carefree in the attire, and less like he carries the weight of an entire planet on his shoulders.

“I…” He says, clearly trying to come up with the words. “I…”

He falls silent, clearly at a loss for words. Every other time you’ve fought, you’ve always made allowances for him. You’ve known Jimin since your days back in the academy- he had been put through the same brutal military training as you, as is the custom for all able-bodied young people on your planet, and the two of you had become quite close during that time. Close enough for you to develop feelings for the handsome prince, but you were a dime a dozen in that sense- there was not a single person in the academy who had not fallen for Jimin’s charming looks and big heart. He had this innate power to pull people to him. And so, he never noticed your feelings nor did he ever show any signs of reciprocation. And you’ve always been so blinded your feelings that you’ve let him step all over you- like the time he wanted to sneak out to meet with a young lady who lived in the city, a nobody that his parents definitely wouldn’t have approved of and despite your insistence that he had duties he must meet, he had begged and pleaded until you’d given in. Or when you’d been promoted to Captain of the Guard over him thanks to your dedication and commitment to the position and he hadn’t spoken to you for a week out of jealousy and disappointment. He’s not a bad or thoughtless person. Jimin is just used to getting what he wants thanks to his charisma and handsome face and he’s as used to taking from you as you are to giving in to him. You’ve always made excuses for him and the selfish things he does but this time it is too much. Your heart is tender and you cannot keep allowing him to hurt you the way that he does.

This particular fight has been brewing for months. It began when conversations began amongst your government over who would be an appropriate candidate to marry their prince. It is customary for the King and Queen to step down when their heir is of an appropriate age to lead, so that their guidance and wisdom is available as the new King adjusts to the role. And that day is fast approaching for Jimin- soon he will enter his second quarter, the age where on is considered mature enough to lead. Already he has been taking on more important roles, such as visiting foreign emissaries and making trips such as this one to Lutania to negotiate trade routes and peace treaties. And so, it is only natural that discussions of who would be Queen alongside Jimin would come into play. Some of the government workers angled for their own offspring to be Jimin’s partner, desiring the prestige and respect that would come for their children. Others were suggesting that perhaps someone from another planet, which would lend military strength to your planet and also gain you more respect in the Intergalactic Alliance.

It had been the King and Queen who had first brought up your name. As head of the military, a match between you and Jimin would win him the respect of his armed forces and demonstrate the strength and unity of your planet. It also meant that they had a direct line in communications with the Intergalactic Alliance, who preferred to liaise with the head of military of your planet rather than its rulers. Intergalactic prestige can only mean good things for your planet, which has no unique exports or riches to offer.

Oddly enough, Jimin had not been the one to oppose the idea. He had been scarily willing to sign his life away, which considering he had once admitted you were as attractive to him as the tiled flooring of the Meeting Room in the palace, was surprising. You had even overheard him discussing with his friend Taehyung about how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- a list, pointing out that you aren’t unattractive, you’re well-loved by your people and you’re easy enough to get along with. Imagine that! Having such a convenient list of why he should marry you. You wish it were that easy for you.

And so, it had been you to politely decline the suggestion when you were summoned to the throne room to discuss the matter. Jimin had stood beside you with his head bowed like his parents were about to announce their decision to execute him because despite the convenient list, it is still not a pleasant thing to be forced into marriage. Perhaps you should have been overjoyed when they suggested you marry him. After all, your feelings for him are no secret to anyone with function optic spheres and they were offering you everything you could have ever wanted!

But this isn’t what you wanted. To give up the position you had worked your whole life for, to step into a high responsibility role, just to have a sham of a marriage where the husband you loved did not feel the same way? The thought of being married to a man who thought of you as a convenient way to tick some boxes sickened you. Jimin, however, used to getting what he wants and accustomed to having everyone adore him the second he stepped into a room, had not taken the news well. Finally, after numerous fights where he had tried to find what exactly made him so lacking that you would refuse becoming Queen to avoid marrying him, it had culminated in the fight the two of you had had that morning.

You’re not even sure what set him off- one moment you had been mentioning that Namjoon was positively considering the trade deals Jimin was proposing after a long but impromptu conversation with you the night before, and the next moment the two of you were screaming at each other. You can’t even recall most of what you said to each other, but it had ended up with you storming off. You had run into Namjoon then who had seen your distress and suggested a peaceful walk in the gardens to calm you down.

“I’m so tired of this, Jimin.” You say softly. “Aren’t you sick of fighting? Are you really that upset that I won’t marry you?”

“Yes.” The words are whispered so softly that you almost miss them. You blink a few times as you second-guess whether it was your imagination or not.

“What?” You ask aloud. Jimin sets his jaw and straightens. His fists are clenched so tightly that they shake, and his knuckles go white. He meets your gaze head on with dark eyes. Your people are known for fierce, dark eyes that seem to hold galaxies in them and the look that Jimin gives you certainly reflects that. His eyes catch the light of the luminescent flowers around you and you’ve never seen a more beautiful gaze.

“I’m upset. I’m upset that you can talk with Namjoon and smile and laugh with him like he’s the most charming person in the world and then look at me like I’m the dirt beneath your shoes. Am I really that repulsive?” He demands. His expression is tortured. “At first I thought that maybe you just didn’t want to be queen… I could live with that. It is because I am the prince that you refused. It hurts that you do not want me but I can live with that. But then, we come here, and Namjoon is a prince. Of the same standing as me. To speak and laugh with him is the same as speaking and laughing with me and yet you won’t do it. You treat me like I am diseased. So it must be me- something must be wrong with me that you do not want me. Why don’t you want me?”

You stare at Jimin in incredulous silence. You had not suspected such distress to lurk behind his anger over the past few weeks. You had assumed that Jimin’s ego had been bruised and that is why he has been treating you with such disdain, but suddenly you see that it’s not the case. You’ve hurt him- really, truly hurt him. And you’d been withholding your true feelings to protect yourself, but to have hurt the man you love so deeply… You swallow and inhale deeply.

“I don’t want a marriage of convenience.” You say softly. Jimin stares at you in confusion. “I… I did not want an empty marriage where our names are joined on paper because it looks good to the public. That… that is just too cruel. To love a man who sees me as a means to an ends.”

Jimin is silent at your admission. Perhaps he does not know how to respond. But it is far more likely that he simply does not understand.

“It wouldn’t be an empty marriage.” Jimin admits quietly. Now you are the one struck speechless. When you do not respond, he continues on desperately. “I chose you. I asked my parents whether it could be you. At first it was just because I didn’t want to marry a stranger and I know you better than anyone else. But then… then it became something else. You would smile at me or you would support me on our missions and all I could think was that there was no one better suited to the role of queen. There was no one else I wanted to be by my side when I did those things. And my friends disagreed. Everyone suggested that I marry someone who could grant us more power or better trade routes, or one of the court ladies who are groomed for the role. So I pretended that you had all these features that made you the perfect candidate to be my queen, but the truth is, they were just excuses. It’s because I wanted you. No, because I want you.” He steps forward, and when you do not step away, he clasps both his hands around yours. He raises them gently to his forehead and shuts his eyes. It takes your breath- it is an intimate and loving gesture, between your people, the kind of act of affection only shown between husbands and wives. “It wouldn’t be a paper marriage because I… well, because I love you.”

He raises his eyes and you see something in his gaze. Something warm and tender and suddenly the weeks of fighting make sense. It was because Jimin was hurt. He thought he was being rejected repeatedly and then you were so friendly with Namjoon… It does not excuse his behaviour, but you understand it.

“I thought you were merely upset because I had hurt your ego. You once said I had the sexual appeal of a tiled floor.” You point out. Jimin laughs, and steps in a little closer. His expression is warm and open when you do not push him away.

“That was when we were young and still in the academy! How many years ago was that? People and feelings change, my edese.” He tells you and your eyes widen at the adoring title. The look in his eyes matches the affection of the pet name. He tilts his head, as he awaits your reaction. You clear your throat awkwardly and look away. If it is a time of confessions, perhaps he is waiting for you to explain yourself.

“I have no interest in Namjoon.” You finally say. “Our mission required diplomacy and I treated him as such. And… you are not…. You are not repulsive. Far from it.”

Joy sparks in Jimin’s eyes and he laughs.

“I suppose that is as close as I will get to a confession of love from you.” He finally says. “Very well then. Perhaps… perhaps when we return from this endeavour… Perhaps we can reopen discussions on my marriage?” He suggests tentatively. It takes a lot of courage, which is amusing considering the fact that you are the literal head of the military of your entire planet, but you offer him a tiny nod, stepping forward to recapture the hands that had released yours.

“If… if you want me. As your love and not as a convenience.” You finally say, meeting his gaze and allowing the feelings you had been repressing for many, many years to surface. Jimin’s lids flutter beneath the intensity of your gaze. “Then that sounds like an excellent idea.”

Jimin smiles and steps forward as if to embrace you, but you hold a hand up to stop his advance.

“After we settle the trade routes here.” You say with a wide smile.

You can hear him complaining behind you as you turn away towards the exit of the gardens. He cannot get everything he wants in life, though.

Just most things.

#btsboulangerie #park jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin fluff #writing #1000followersdrabble

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