#I usually place my arms on thr back of my chair and bury my head on my arms and ask the classmate behind me to wake me up

[rustycottoncandy]

Thank you so much brief breaks between classes for giving me around one or two minutes to close my eyes when I'm tired as fuck

[theladyofdeath]

Engagement Pie {Elriel}

Naked Texts & Pie #5

Warning: nsfw. 18+. Dom/sub.

Written alongside @snelbz . Thank you for reading this awfully dirty mini-series that was just meant to be a drabble. (;

Azriel was about to have a panic attack.

Inside of his mind was not a pretty place to be, not that it lacked ideas of flowers and baked goods, but because it was a complete and utter mess.

All day, while Elain was gone, he had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off, unaware if he was doing everything right but sure hoping he was.

He was hoping it would be perfect.

He glanced at the clock.

He had about half an hour until she got home.

At this point, Azriel and Elain had been dating for a little over a year, and living with each other for nearly six months. Since Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, they knew, without a doubt, that they were meant to be together.

Then again, they had always known, just had never confessed it.

Their families had been less surprised by their sudden relationship and more surprised by the state they returned to the wedding reception in, but neither of them could find it in themselves to care. They were happy, blissfully, wonderful happy and in love.

Azriel opened the oven for the hundredth time, peeking inside to make sure things were still going smoothly. The pie was still there, it hadn’t run away, but it still didn’t have that beautiful golden brown crust that Elain’s always did. Sure, he could text her, ask what exactly he had done wrong, but that would ruin the surprise. He’d done his best to keep everything a secret so far. He wouldn’t ruin it now by texting her a question he could easily ask Google.

After doing so, it looked like he had done everything right, so he let it cook longer, forcing him to wait longer in anxious anticipation.

Azriel paced back and forth, fully aware that he had everything in place. He just needed the damn pie to hurry up and get done.

Elain would be home in twenty minutes, and Azriel needed to be in place when she walked through the door.

At ten until six, Azriel looked in the oven once more. It looked a little bit better, but not as done as he wanted it to be.

He’d wait until the last possible second. It wasn’t ideal, as there were other parts of his plan that required that pie to be done and, preferably, not piping hot, but he’d make do.

So he continued to pace in the kitchen until he heard the garage door rising, signaling Elain’s arrival home.

Hurrying to the oven, he threw the door open and pulled the pie out. The second it was exposed to the natural light of the kitchen, and not the watery bulb of the oven, he knew he fucked up.

It had bypassed golden brown and gone straight to brown, but thanks to the lighting in the oven, he couldn’t tell. He swore under his breath as he laid a towel on top of the washer and set the pie on top of it, letting it cool.

He’d ordered take out from Elain’s favorite restaurant, which had been delivered just a few minutes before, so thankfully even he couldn’t mess up dinner.

Right at six, he could hear Elain’s feet climbing the wooden steps to the front porch and he quickly sat at the kitchen table and popped open a bottle of wine, filling the two glasses.

When Elain entered, her purse on one shoulder, her keys in her hand, she stopped and a slow smile spread across her lips at the display.

“Wine and Rita’s?” she asked, setting her belongings down on the counter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?��

Azriel smiled as he set the wine bottle down in the middle of the table. “Nothing special. You’ve just been working so hard that I wanted you to have a relaxing night with your favorite food.”

Her smile widened as she sat across from him, but then she stilled for a moment. “Do I smell…pie?”

“No,” Azriel said, then quickly changed his mind. “Yes. It was a candle.”

She blinked once, twice and said, “Huh. I didn’t know we had an apple pie candle.”

She let it drop after that, filling Azriel in on her day. It had been uneventful, a change from her usual hectic schedule, and she was grateful for that. The past month or so, she would come home, scarf something quick and easy down for dinner, and collapse in bed, ready to do it all again the next day. Tonight, she actually had some pep in her step.

“Dinner, wine,” Elain mused, running a finger over the back of Azriel’s hand. “Did you have anything else in mind tonight?”

One of her eyebrows was raised slightly and he knew exactly what she was referring to, which yes, he absolutely did, but first, he had something else he needed to do.

“Actually, yes,” he said, standing. He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Her other eyebrow had raised to match, clearly showing her surprise. “Okay.”

He disappeared for a moment, and when he returned, he held a pie in his hands, dark brown crust and all. It also had a massive “X” cut into the direct center. It didn’t look like a venting hole.

Covering the bottom half of her face with both of her hands, Elain tried to stop the giggles from bubbling from her lips, but she couldn’t. “I knew I smelled pie,” she said, still laughing.

“I sort of burnt it,” he admitted, setting it down in front of her.

“I see that,” she chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him. “I’m sure it will still be delicious.”

He was about to say something when she asked, “But what is that?” gesturing to the center of the pie.

“That….” Azriel started to say something, but wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was a nervous mess and not a lot currently made sense. “X marks the spot.”

Elain blinked. “What?”

“X marks the spot.”

She blinked, again. “I don’t follow.”

Azriel sighed. “Pirates… When they bury treasure… X marks the spot.”

Elain’s head fell to the side. “Babe, are you drunk? Are you high? Are you alright? You’re not-.”

Azriel sighed, and reached into the pie. His hand broke the crust, and Elain was so surprised by the gesture that she jumped, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “Az, what are you doing?”

His hand came back up a minute later, covered in apple filling. “You know, I had a whole, romantic thing planned out with the pie. Pie is our thing, and it was going to be cute as hell-.” His words fell off as he opened his hand, revealing a beautiful pear-shaped diamond on a thin, rose gold band.

Elain stared, her mind taking a second to process what she was looking at. He picked up one of the napkins from their dinner and wiped the ring off, as well as his hand, before dropping to one knee from the chair he was sitting in. With his clean hand, he took hers in his. He prayed she couldn’t feel it shaking as badly as he thought it was.

“I know we haven’t been together long, El, but I love you so much. You’re my entire world and my best friend. I can’t—.”

Elain’s lips crashed into his and they went tumbling to the kitchen floor. She pulled back, just enough to see his face and breathed, “Yes.”

Chuckling, Azriel said, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, kissing him again. “My answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

He sat up and Elain crawled off his lap, sitting next to him on the kitchen floor. He took her hand in his again. “Let me at least ask the important part, yeah?”

She was grinning like a fool, but she nodded, waiting for him to go on.

Resting the ring against the tip of her finger, Azriel asked, “Elain, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Yes. Yes! Of course, I will.”

He slid the ring onto her finger with shaky fingers before her mouth was crashing into his, once again.

Azriel wanted to ask that question for so long, and now that he had, not at all the way he had planned, it didn’t even seem like it had happened.

Yet, as she flung her arms around his neck, everything seemed completely and perfectly right.

Elain leaned back and peered at the ring. It was magnificent, lovely, perfect.

She slowly looked at Azriel. “You….hid it in the pie?”

He cringed, but laughed softly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Her eyes went wide and she glanced at the ring again. “You didn’t bake it with the ring in there, did you?”

“No, of course not,” he chuckled, pulling her back into his lap.

She went willingly, straddling his hips and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Okay, good. The pie would have been inedible then.”

“I think it’s inedible now,” he scoffed, his hands gripping her hips, while his lips found her neck.

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” she said, her voice going high and breathy.

“There’s something else I’d rather eat instead,” he replied, tilting her face down to meet his as his lips crashed into hers.

Elain hummed against his mouth as she fell into the kiss. After the millions of kisses that they had shared and the constant lovemaking that had come along with being helplessly, madly in love, Azriel never grew tired of being intimate with Elain.

In fact, he couldn’t get enough of it. Every time he was with Elain, he just wanted it more and more. He couldn’t grow tired of it, ever - it was impossible.

His hands swept up her back and tangled into her hair, and she cupped Azriel’s face in her hands.

He could feel the cool metal of her ring against his cheek.

Azriel rose, taking Elain with him, and laid her down on top of the table. Her head fell right next to the pie. She couldn’t help but glance over at it.

She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Something funny?” He asked, ducking away, trailing his nose down her neck as his lips found her collarbone.

“No.” It came out as more of a breathy moan than the sigh she was meaning it to be.

“Really?” His hands gripped her wrists, unwrapping them from around him, and he pinned them above her head with one hand. “That little laugh would suggest otherwise.”

His free hand began undoing the buttons on her shirt one by one, and Elain was practically vibrating beneath him by the time he was pushing her shirt to either side of her body.

Her bra was made of nothing but lace, and he could see her pebbled nipple through the fabric. He toyed with the idea of taking it off, but his lips closed over it, the rough lace scratching against the sensitive skin. She whimpered softly, her back arching off the table to better accommodate his mouth, and when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, the whimper became a moan.

Gazing up at her, he said, “Is anything funny now?”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip as she slowly shook her head. “No.” Azriel raised a brow. “No, what?”

Elain couldn’t help her spreading grin as pure excitement radiated throughout her body. “No, sir.”

Azriel smirked in return as he gave her his first order. “Stay still.”

“And if I move?” she asked, quietly. Since their first time, Elain learned that she liked to test her boundaries.

Azriel liked it, too - when she was naughty.

“Then I’ll stop,” he said, and slowly let go of her wrists before putting his fingers in the band of her black skirt and yanking it off. “And you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

She shook her head, watching everything he did, biting her lip. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table to hold herself in place. As he dragged her panties down, as slowly as he could, she wanted to reach out and touch him. She was nearly naked, while he was still completely clothed, but she figured that was exactly how he wanted her.

It typically was.

He was quite the tease, but Elain secretly enjoyed that fact.

Azriel took a step back from where she lay and crossed his arms as his eyes swept across her body, taking in every beautiful inch.

In response, Elain spread her legs wide for him.

Azriel took in a deep breath and nearly growled.

He loved the sight of her, longed for it, thrived on it. It made him weak in the knees, still, and he was certain it always would.

“I am amazed,” Azriel breathed, “by your beauty.”

His comment only made her spread her legs wider.

He smirked. “What do you want, sweet girl?” He trailed a finger up the inside of her thigh, getting so close to where she needed him, but not quite.

“You,” she sighed, but it sounded more like a gasp.

“I know that,” he drawled. “Be more specific.”

“Your mouth on me, please,” she replied, gripping the edge of the table harder.

Azriel smirked again as he gently brushed his thumb over her entrance and then circled her clit once. “You’re saying you want me to eat your pie?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her face.

“Yes, sir, please.” The words were breathy and quiet and he was fairly sure she was already trembling.

Azriel fell to his knees as Elain’s head fell back in pure ecstasy. It was the anticipation, the want, the need…

The second his tongue swept between her slick folds, Elain was already on edge.

Azriel had that effect on her.

Those hands that gripped the edge of the table tightened, and Elain’s eyes fluttered shut.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He had the first time, and he sure as hell did now as he took his clit between his lips and sucked, gently.

“Az,” she breathed, fully aware that when she said his name, it sent him wild.

He took her ass into his hands and pulled her closer to him.

She could never last long when his mouth was on her. The things he could do with his tongue made her see stars and she knew this time wasn’t going to be the exception. Azriel knew it, too.

He flicked his tongue over her clit and pushed a finger inside of her. “Are you close already, Lainey?”

She nodded, feeling his breath on her sex.

A second finger joined the first, and he curled them upward. “I couldn’t hear you. I said, are you close?”

“Yes, sir, I’m so close,” she panted.

Her arms were straining and he swore he heard the wood groan beneath her hands as she struggled to keep them where they were. It was surprising she’d held on for this long. He knew how badly she longed to have her hands in his hair or even kneading her own breast, still covered in that pretty, lace bra.

“Don’t come yet,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to the top of her sex.

He was torturous.

Purely evil, and yet, Elain thrived on it. Her entire body shook as pleasure swept through her. She was so close. So very close to the edge, ready to fall into the oblivion that was being loved by Azriel.

Her body jerked, and Azriel held onto her tighter.

Elain tried to obey, and tried to stay perfectly still, even though her entire body fought against it.

Azriel’s tongue continued to dance along her sex, continued to suck on her most sensitive of parts.

“I need you,” Elain begged.

Azriel didn’t respond, he only tugged her close, sucked her harder, praised her longer.

“Az, please.” It was more or a groan than anything else and he responded by sucking her clit between his lips and pulling hard. At the teeniest press of his teeth, she began to shake, and then he began to pump his fingers in and out.

Elain shattered, crying out and letting go of the table. Her hand dove into his hair and she lifted her hips, doing whatever she could to keep his face where it was.

Azriel worked her through her orgasm and when she stilled, he stood, wiping off his face and looking down at her. She was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, but that full bottom lip was caught between her teeth again as she watched him. She knew what was coming.

“You weren’t supposed to come yet,” he breathed, dragging a finger from top of her sex up her stomach and between her breasts. He reached her face and worked her lip from between her teeth. “You disobeyed me.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, even though she really, really wasn’t. The last thing she was was sorry.

“You’ll have to be punished now,” Azriel said, softly.

“Punished how?” Elain asked.

Azriel watched her for a moment before he said, “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, rolling onto her stomach, her ass in the air. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and raised his hand before smacking her across her ass.

Elain gasped at the contact and had to bite her lip to keep from exploding into a fit of delighted giggles.

The sharp intake of breath was her only response, she fought to keep in the quiet cry or moan that he wanted to draw from her. She was feeling bratty tonight.

Glancing down at the ring sparkling on her finger, she knew exactly why. She got to experience this sensual rush for the rest of her life. She was Azriel’s.

And he was hers. Forever.

His hand cracked against her skin again and she had to close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from moaning.

He did it again and again, but then he suddenly stopped.

“You’re getting even more wet for me,” he breathed, dragging a finger along her center. She was unable to stop her whimper. He added, “That’s not the point of a punishment.”

He knew exactly what his spankings did to her. He loved it, and if he kept on with it, she’d be dripping all over their kitchen table.

Without warning, he picked her up, carrying her into the living room and tossing her on the couch. She bounced gently, a pleased smile on her face.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he ordered, pulling his own shirt over his head.

Slipping the button down off her shoulders, Elain reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She watched as Azriel removed his belt and dropped it to the floor.

She tried not to let herself feel any disappointment as he discarded the belt. He’d used that once or twice before and the unyielding, stiff leather had drawn more than a few orgasms from her as he spanked her with it.

He popped the button on his jeans and said, “Touch yourself.”

Propping her feet up on the couch, she spread her legs for him and slid her hand over her pussy. He was right. She was soaked and so, so turned on. She circled her clit with one finger. She moaned softly, “But I want to touch you.”

“That’s too bad,” he replied, his eyes settling on her sex. “You’re being punished.”

She slid her finger between her folds, teasing herself. Adding a second finger, she just barely dipped them into her entrance, but no more than her finger tips. She was so sensitive, still riding the high of her orgasm and fought off a moan as she watched Azriel watch her.

Dragging the zipper down on his jeans, her eyes tracked the motion and she stilled, waiting for him to take them off.

“I don’t remember telling you to stop,” he said, regaining her attention.

Her fingers began slow motions, yet again, but she didn’t take her eyes off of where his own hands worked at removing his denim. She breathed, “And how long will this punishment last?”

Azriel’s eyes sparked as his chest rose and fell, slowly. “It’ll end when I want it to.”

Elain nodded as her fingers slid up inside of her and she let out a soft, low moan.

Azriel licked his lips as he tracked her every movement. “Keep up the good work and I may just let you choose your own punishment.”

“I’d rather have a reward.” Her voice was soft, low, but it was shaking slightly. The anticipation got her off just as much as her own fingers did.

He paused with his jeans hanging low on his hips. She could see the waistband of his black boxer-briefs underneath. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I want to touch you,” she said again, slipping both fingers inside herself again, deeper this time. Curling her fingers up, she reached for her g-spot, eyes falling shut when she skimmed over it. Her head fell back against the cushions and she groaned.

His approach was silent, but she felt his hand on her face and when she opened her eyes, he was standing in front of her. His cock was in his hands and he stroked it once. “You want to touch me?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” She continued to pump her fingers in and out and licked her lips as her eyes bounced between his eyes and his thick, proud length. It was just a few inches from her face.

“How do you want to touch me, Elain,” he asked, dragging a thumb over her bottom lip.

It was that tone, that deep, sensual tone of his that drove her mad.

“I want to take your cock into my hands,” she breathed, the words hitched. “Into my mouth.”

Azriel hummed, as if he was debating it. He nodded to the fingers that were pumping in and out of herself. “You can touch me when you’re finished touching yourself.”

Elain nodded, her hand moving faster as she pumped those two fingers in and out, then another, easily sliding in alongside the others.

Azriel stroked himself, slowly, again and again as he watched.

Elain’s other hand trailed between her legs and she began to circle her clit, pulling a loud moan out of herself. As her two hands worked, she drew closer to the edge, and Azriel’s breathing grew shallower.

Her words were high pitched and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she asked, “Can I come? Please, I’m so close.”

He ran his thumb over her lip again and waited until she was looking up at him. And then he smirked. “No, baby, you can’t.”

Elain wasn’t proud of the whine that she let out, but she slowed her fingers. She didn’t withdraw them, because she knew he wouldn’t like that, but stopped circling her clit. If she didn’t, she was going to come and as fun as another punishment really would be, she wanted her reward.

“Good girl,” he crooned, tilting her chin up to look at him. She’d been staring at his cock. There was a milky bead of precum on the tip and she wanted to lean forward and lick it off.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he ran his thumb over the thick head, spreading the wetness over the length. She tried not to whine again.

“You want me in your mouth?” He asked, shifting his hips forward slightly.

“Please,” Elain breathed, nodding eagerly.

“Do you think you’ve been punished enough?”

She frantically nodded, and Azriel wondered if she even knew she was bucking her hips, searching and needing release. He loved when she got like this, so needy and begging for whatever he’d give her.

Instead of giving her what she wanted though, he crouched, taking the hand that had been circling her clit in his. Raising it to his lips, he licked the tips of her fingers. He moaned quietly. “I will never get tired of the taste of you.”

Elain whimpered softly, her other hand still pumping in and out of herself.

“Do I taste as sweet to you as you do to me?” He asked, leading that hand back to her swollen clit and stood.

She began the slow circling again and nodded, and he knew if she was incapable of speaking, she was going wild with lust.

In the quietest of voices, Azriel said, “Prove it.”

Elain wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of his cock and lathering him with her tongue. Azriel let out a long, slow breath at the contact and when her finger slowed against her clit, he shook his head. “Don’t stop.”

Elain moaned, and the vibrations against him had Azriel’s fingers weaving their way into her hair as Elain took Azriel further into her mouth.

She continued the slow circling of her clit, but slipped the rest of her fingers from wet pussy. She reached for his cock, to wrap around what wouldn’t fit in her mouth, but he caught her hand. Her fingers were glistening, still costed in her essence, and he brought them to his mouth. “We can’t waste that,” he murmured, before sucking them between his lips one by one.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned softly as he released her hand and slipped his free hand into her hair as well, absolutely controlling her and the pace with which she worshiped him.

Or so he thought.

Opening her throat, Elain took him as deeply as she could, gazing up at him as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Azriel was unable to stop the groan as he fucked her mouth and throat with no abandon, until she began to gag softly.

He withdrew himself, dropping his jeans the rest of the way, and sat down on the couch next to her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her roughly. “That’s new,” he crooned, his lips dragging down her neck.

Her laughter was sensual as she continued to stroke him. “I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t think you’d be surprising me, too,” she admitted, bringing her hand up to admire the diamond sparkling on her finger.

Azriel wrapped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips, where he kissed the back of her hand, just below her ring.

“I’m just glad you’re not asking me to wait for this again until our wedding night,” he murmured.

Elain grinned. “I don’t think I would survive the wait. I’d have to marry you tomorrow.”

Azriel’s eyes sparkled as he took her hips and pulled her on top of him. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

Elain moaned quietly as Azriel teased her at her opening. “I don’t know. I kinda wanna make you wait.”

“That, and you want a big wedding,” he said, leaning up and trailing kisses along her throat.

“Not a big wedding,” she replied, trying to lower her hips. His grip was firm though, and she only managed another inch, teasing herself just as much as he’d been teasing her.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she tried to rock her hips, wanting more of him inside of her. He still held firm.

His smirk was devilish when she looked up into his face. “I never said you were done being punished.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. She squirmed and his grip on her hips tightened, his smile growing. “Az, please.”

“Hmm?” He leaned up again, capturing her lips with his and his thumb found her clit. Her body gave a jerk and her thighs burned with how hard she was trying to lower herself onto him.

Pulling away, she pressed her forehead against his. “Please… I’ll be a good girl for you. I won’t come until you tell me to. I just need to feel you inside of me.”

He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth and released his hold on her hips.

She sank down onto him, not gently in the slightest, and moaned as he filled her in one rough stroke. She bucked her hips, not rising but needing the friction as her lips crashed against his.

It was thrilling. There was always a rush that consumed Elain’s body the moment he filled her. A spark of excitement that never grew old, never faded.

Azriel knew it, too. There was a look that crossed her face that only showed itself the moment he entered her.

It was beautiful.

Consumingly gorgeous.

Elain’s head fell back as she rocked her hips - her hips that Azriel’s fingers were digging into, yet again, but he didn’t guide her.

She did that perfectly well on her own.

With his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Azriel’s eyes scanned Elain’s body, from her tilted back head, to her breasts at eye level, then to where they were connected.

“Better?” Azriel asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyelids fluttering shut.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and brought her lips to his. The kiss was not gentle, but he knew that wasn’t how she wanted it. Sure, they had sweet, soft sex sometimes, something they both adored on occasion, but nothing drove Elain wild as much as rough sex did. He had never dreamed she’d be as submissive as she was but gods, he was so glad of it. She was the other half he’d been waiting for and the fact that she was his for the rest of his life…

He growled quietly as he pressed his other hand to the small of her back and rocked his own hips up into her. She gasped against his lips and braced her hands on his shoulders as they found a rhythm that had her groaning his name.

There were very few things that pleased Azriel more than hearing his name on Elain’s mouth while they fucked. It broke him, unleashed something unearthly.

His hips thrust harder up into her, and each time he did so, his name grew louder and louder on her lips.

Azriel felt that magnificent, familiar feeling rising within him but he didn’t move his eyes from Elain. Her face was still close to his, her breath hot against his mouth. He cursed before kissing her, yet again, bringing her lip between his teeth and gently tugging.

Before she could anticipate it, he flipped them so they were laying on the couch, his body covering hers, and lifted one of her legs so it rested on his shoulder. It opened her up, allowing him to thrust harder, deeper, and she began clawing at his back. She cried out, and he groaned as she screamed his name.

His fingers gripped her chin and her lust-filled gaze found his. That hand slid between them and found her clit. The next thing he said wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

“Come for me.”

Elain did. She shattered, her body shaking with the force of the orgasm that slammed into her.

Azriel couldn’t hold on much longer, the feeling of her coating him, spasming around him, having him meeting his own end.

He came, one hand digging into the couch cushions, the other gripping her ass. His fingers would surely leave a mark.

Elain didn’t mind.

He fell onto her body, breathing heavily, sweat coating his skin. As Elain caught her breath, her arms wrapped around him.

His face was buried in her neck, and she felt his lips moving and heard him murmuring before she could understand what he was saying. But then she heard him, clearly, and she wondered how it had taken them years to realize it together.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His words weren’t just a quiet praise and reminder, but also a promise, as strong as the one that she now wore on her finger.

He pulled back, his eyes finding hers, even as his chest was still heaving as he caught his breath. Reaching up, she ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I love you, too.”

His gaze was soft as she leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. They stayed like that for a few minutes, slowly kissing each other, not in any hurry to start anything up again, but just enjoying the taste and feel of each other.

When Elain’s stomach growled, however, Azriel pulled back and looked at her with a raised brow.

“Work up an appetite?”

She laughed, quietly. “Maybe so.”

“Well, Rita’s is gone,” Azriel muttered, “but, there’s pie.”

Elains laughter grew louder, and even Azriel couldn’t help but smile down at her.

“It’s a little burnt, but I’m sure it tastes alright,” he went on. "Maybe."

“Pie sounds good,” Elain said, eyes bright. “Even if we can only eat the filling.”

Azriel scoffed. “That’s the best part.”

“True,” she agreed, and rolled off the couch from beneath him. “I’m going upstairs to clean up. Meet me in bed.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked over her shoulder. Azriel's eyes scanned every inch of her body as she said, “You bring the pie.”

Azriel was off the couch before she could finish her sentence, doing just that.

[ray-ray-writings]

Family Fatality-Awesamdude

Gn!reader x Sam x Son!Tommyinnit …. It be angsty and sad with a happy ending. Also, does not follow what actually happened in the lore!

Small note: I think this is the last fic I’m going to write in first person. I think a lot of people enjoy the use of second person more and it’s also a bit easier for me to write in second person. The only reason that this fic is written in first is because it’s a part two and I want to keep it consistent. If you have thoughts about this, feel free to message me!!

Part One: Family Matters.

Check out my masterlist here

Y/N believed it was a bad idea from the beginning. Call it parental instincts. But unfortunately no one believed them… until it was too late. 

Y/N’s POV

I knew it was a bad idea. 

I should have listened to my gut. 

Tommy should have listened.

Sam should have listened. 

We should have known better. 

When Tommy told Sam and me that he wanted to visit Dream in prison, I instantly said no. That boy had been through so much trauma and manipulation because of that green wearing bastard, I didn’t want Dream to ever be able to see Tommy again. 

Sam was more into it. It was less of wanting Tommy to be able to see Dream and more he wanted an opportunity to show Tommy the prison. But he was for it. Sure he knew what Dream did to Tommy and hated the blond for it, but he also understood Tommy’s desire to see him. 

We told Tommy we would talk it over and let him know our decision.

I really didn’t want him to go. 

Sam talked me into it. 

That night after we put Tommy and Stella to sleep and crawled into our own bed, Sam began to explain his side further. He told me about how it might be nice for Tommy to get some closure. To be able to see Dream completely trapped in prison with no way out. It may help stop the nightmares.

That’s what convinced me in the end. 

As much as Tommy would try to tell us he was fine, his dreams told us otherwise. More often than not, we’d wake in the morning to find Tommy had crawled in bed between us or that he would be sitting in the rocking chair in Stella’s room. He never told us exactly what would happen, but we could tell. 

I just wanted them to stop. I wanted my boy to be able to feel safe in this house. And if that was the only way to have it happen… I had to let it happen. 

Tommy was thrilled with our verdict. Threw his arms around us in a huge hug and kissed our cheeks. I did my best to put on a happy front, but it was difficult. Sam could tell. Tommy could tell. Heck, I’m sure that even baby Stella could tell. 

I was wrapped in another hug by Tommy and was pulled close to his chest while he buried his face in my hair. 

“I’ll be alright baba… I promise.” 

Liar. 

My stomach was in knots the day he went to the prison. I woke up with enough time to see them off. I gave both of them extremely tight hugs, forcing them to promise me they would be safe before sending them off, telling them to be back in time for dinner. 

I watched the two walk toward the horizon and stood there watching long after they disappeared from view. The thing that snapped me from my swell of anxiety and nerves was the sound of Stella crying. 

I immediately jumped into action, closing the door and rushing toward her room. I carefully got her out of her crib and began our usual morning routine. “They’re going to be fine baby,” I cooed as I changed her, “They’re going to be just fine.” 

I knew she couldn’t understand me. I knew I was saying that more to try and convince myself of that. Thinking if I said it out loud it would make it true… it wasn’t true. 

The whole day I could help but worry. I tried to focus on Stella, on taking care of her, playing with her, making sure she was okay, but I found my thoughts drifting back to Tommy and Sam and the visit. I couldn’t help but wonder how it was going, if the two were safe. 

The pit in my stomach deepened when our usual dinner time rolled around and there was no sign of the boys. I tried to contact one of them via communicator, but no response. I wasn’t surprised. The prison was so heavy laced with obsidian it was nearly impossible to get a signal in there. I watched with a heavy heart and a knotted stomach as the sun sunk lower and lower into the sky and still, no boys. Stella’s bedtime came and I was forced to put her down alone, Sam and Tommy still nowhere to be found. 

I tried to remain calm. I sat on the couch and stared at the TV as a movie played. After a while, I realized my knee was bouncing like crazy and that I was halfway through the film but I had no idea what the hell was happening. I reached over and quickly shut off the TV. The black screen reflected the scene behind me, letting me see what was behind me.

I immediately jumped at the sight of my husband standing in the doorway behind me. My hand flew to my chest as my head whipped around to look at him. “Sam!” I exclaimed a bit breathless, using my free hand to push myself up from the couch to completely turn to him. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Sam didn’t say anything. He only stared at me. That confused me. He usually rushes right for me, shouting hello, and wraps me in a hug and kisses me sweetly… Why is he just staring at me blankly? “Sam?” I questioned, taking a few steps forward toward him. He still didn’t move. Sam just stared. As I grew closer, I could see that his eyes were rimmed red and the usual light that filled his eyes was completely gone. It was really freaking me out. “What’s wrong?”

It was then I noticed that he had entered alone. Tommy hadn’t come in with him. That sent a fury of butterflies to stir in my stomach. “Sam? Where’s Tommy?” 

That was the question that broke the dam. 

I watched as Sam’s bottom lip began to quiver and a hushed sobbed echoed throughout the room. “I’m sorry,” Sam whimpered out, another sob escaping him. “I’m so sorry.” 

Sam’s legs seemed to give out from under him, causing me to rush forward as my husband fell to his knees. I sunk down to my knees and quickly cupped his face, gently tilting his head to look at me. 

Sobs were still falling from his lips as his eyes met mine. I rose my eyebrows at him, not wanting to rush him but still wanting to know what the hell was going on. I didn’t have to wait long for his gut wrenching words. 

“You were right.” 

It instantly clicked. I was right. That’s why Tommy wasn’t here. I was right. I was right to not want him to go. To not want him to see Dream. Something happened. Something bad happened. I was right. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. I was too far. I failed him. I failed to protect him. I failed our son. He’s dead and it’s all my fault.” 

Time seemed to stop at Sam’s words. Sam kept babbling words out through his sobs, but I became unable to hear him any longer. A loud ringing filled my ears and I watched as my own vision blurred. 

He’s….

He’s dead….

Tommy…

Tommy is dead. 

Dream… Dream killed him. 

A gut wrenching sob ripped itself from your throat as you fully registered what your husband was telling you. Sam’s arms instantly reach out and wrap around you tightly, bringing you into his chest. Your hands fall from his cheeks onto his chest as you clutch his shirt, burying your face in him as you sob. 

You’re not sure how long you’re there, kneeling on the floor sobbing. Slowly, and I mean slowly, but surely, your sobs die down until the only noise filling the room are soft sniffles. 

“I was right,” you manage to croak out, pulling yourself away from your creeper hybrid husband to look up at him. 

“You were right,” Sam echos, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek and tilting his head down to rest his forehead on yours. 

You let out a watery laugh as you close your eyes tightly and relish in the gentle contact. 

“God. I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life… I wish I wasn’t right.” 

The next few days passed slowly. The sky seemed to be constantly dark and everything seemed gloomy. Even Stella was more somber, as if she could tell something was wrong. And she probably could. She had gone from spending almost every second with her older brother to not seeing him for days on end in the blink of an eye. 

Sam still had to work. He had to force himself to go back to that damned prison with that bastard and listen to his taunting laughter through the cameras as he mocks the Warden’s pain. It takes everything in Sam to hold back and not barge into the cell and kill Dream himself. He knew that wouldn’t bring back Tommy and wouldn’t make him feel better, but even still. 

The house seemed so quiet. Even with Stella babbling and cooing, the rooms had never felt more quiet and empty. I found myself searching for Tommy’s voice, his laughter, his whole presence everyday only to be disappointed when my search came up empty. I tried to play some of his favorite music discs, but tears would fill my eyes as I realized I would never hear him sing along to them and the silence that would have usually been filled by him babbling about the disc was too deafening for me to want to listen to them again. 

The worst part, I found, was when Sam would get home. I was always happy to have my husband back. Always more than willing to hug and kiss him in a greeting. A welcome home. But everyday, I’d try to turn to greet Tommy two. I would be waiting for two blonds to appear in my home, even though I knew only one would be home. My heart would break over and over as I searched for the boy that I knew wouldn’t be there. 

I let out a sigh as I finished up the last dish I had prepared for dinner. Sam should be home from work any minute now. I set the table, thr-- two places and the food in the middle, Stella in her high chair. Now all there was to do was wait for Sam. 

As I finished up, I heard the front door open. “Honey! I’m home!” Sam’s voice called out. A soft smile placed itself on my lips as I turned around and made my way to the front door. 

“Hey honey welcome--” The sentence died on my lips as my eyes met what was at my front door. My husband had not come home alone. Instead of the one blond that I had seen come home day after day, had been joined by another blond. 

A familiar blond. 

The blond I had spent the last several days missing and mourning. 

Tommy. 

“Tommy?” My voice croaked as my eyes met his icy blue ones. 

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as he gave me a soft smile, “Hi baba.” 

A sob let my lips as I raced forward and wrapped my arms around the middle of the boy I call my son. His arms immediately wrapped around me as he pulled me tightly to him. His face turned down and buried in my hair as I nuzzled into his chest. My fingers clutched at his shirt that rested on his back, trying to prove to myself that he was here. That Tommy was back and actually here. Here in the flesh. 

“How--How did you? Why are you? What the?” I babbled out, tilting my head up to try and look at him. 

“We can talk about it later… For now I’d just like my parents to hold me.” 

Another sob escaped my lips as I moved my head back to its original position. Sam’s strong arms wrapped around the two of us, pulling us close to him. Our little family was back together again. How? I don’t know. But I didn’t care. Tommy was back. 

The sound of Tommy’s stomach rumbling broke up from the sweet moment. I let out a small laugh as I carefully pulled away from the hug. I let my hand come up and cup the boy’s cheek. “How about you go sit at the table? I’ll get another plate.” 

He gave me a quick nod, leaning down and kissing my cheek before making his way to the table.

 “STELLA!! I MISSED YOU!”

I laughed again and turned to my husband, giving him a smile. “He’s back?” I whispered the question, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“He’s back.” Sam confirmed, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him. He then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, one I instantly returned. The kiss said it all. Tommy was back. Our family was back. We were whole once again. And I’m going to make sure that it stays that way. 

That sucked. I’m sorry. But if you did enjoy, be sure to leave a like and maybe a reblog and comment telling me what you liked about it. Until next time!

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [3]: Bearers Of

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the bad news again and again.” — Lemony Snicket

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Sure, I know her.” The waitress pops her gum, handing the grainy photograph back to Lir. “Comes in every Friday like clockwork, doesn’t tip, takes a new man home with her when she goes. She in some sort of trouble?”

Dante smiles charmingly. “You could say that. She wouldn’t have happened to pay by card, would she?”

“You’ll have to ask Joan. The bartender? She handles the tabs.” After a moment, the waitress bats her lashes, reaching out to place a hand on Dante’s arm, and Lir resists the desire to throttle one or both of them. “I can keep you company while your partner talks to her.”

“Who am I to say no to a pretty lady?”

He cuts his eyes to Lir. With a snort, she turns sharply on her heel, trying to keep her irritation from showing on her face, adding lady’s man to the list of ways she’d describe him. It’s far from the worst, but the bright giggles that follow her to the bar have her wondering if pig would be better. A woman emerges from the back as she claims a stool, pretty with her dark eyes and darker hair, and if she weren’t on duty, Lir might have considered leaving her number. Which probably only makes her slightly better than Dante, a fact that has her reaching into her pocket for her badge to buy herself a bit of time to settle.

“What can I get ya, sugar?” the woman asks.

“Are you Joan?” With a raised brow, the woman nods, and Lir holds out her badge. “I’m Detective Thorne with the Red Grave Police Department. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for me?”

Joan studies her badge. “Detective, huh? Sounds like your questions are gonna be heavy enough to warrant a drink. What’s your poison?”

Against her better judgement, Lir replies, “Vodka sour, with Chopin if you’ve got it.”

With a smile that seems a little more than flirtatious, Joan gets to work. Lir watches her deft, slender hands scoop ice into a strainer before adding the vodka and sour mix and shaking, and that coy expression is still on Joan’s face when she sets it in front of her. “On the house for the city’s finest.”

“Thank you.” Lir takes a long drink, closing her eyes as her tongue comes alive under the bittersweet flavor. Then she slides the photograph of Jane Doe across the bar. “Your friend said that you might know her?”

Joan studies it, bracing her arms on the bar and giving Lir a very good glimpse of her cleavage. “Mm-hm. That’s Sophie. Pays with her Amex, likes a frozen margarita with sugar instead of salt on the rim. She the body they pulled from the alley yesterday?” Lir shrugs, and she sighs. “Shame. She was a sweetheart.”

“I heard the opposite.”

“I’m sure you did. She tips for the service she gets, and Lacey’s usually too busy flirting to pay attention to her tables. Never did me wrong, though, and most of the girls here will tell you the same.”

“I have to say,” Lir watches her sharply, “you seem awfully calm for someone who just found out there was a murder next door.”

Joan looks back at her steadily for a long time, not saying anything. When she finally does speak, her voice is quiet, “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I’m pissed as hell about what happened to her. I read the papers, y’know? So I know that she was . . . If I could find the bastard, I’d wring his neck myself. But I’ve got to trust you to do it, and me crying won’t get you any answers. I’ll do it after you’ve left.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Just like that, the tension is gone, the warm smile sliding back onto Joan’s pretty face. “No hard feelings. You can make it up to me later, if you want.”

“Maybe. Anything else you can tell me?”

The way she catches her plump lower lip between her teeth has Lir vividly imagining what it would be like to do that herself, and she breathes deeply to push the thought away. “Nothing unusual happened last night, not that I noticed. Sophie came in, sat at her table, ordered her drink. She was with some friends, but they split up to dance for a while, and I didn’t see her again until she paid her tab. We get pretty busy on Fridays,” she adds apologetically. “It’s easy to lose track of people.”

Lir takes another sip of her drink. “Did she leave with anyone?”

“If she did, I didn’t get a look at him. But it wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing against her, people can do what they want, but she knew the effect she had on others.” Lir thinks of the face on the slab, beauty made sorrowful by death. “Give me a moment, and I’ll get her last name for you.”

“That would be great, thanks.” As Joan moves to the register on the back counter, Dante slides onto the stool next to her, and Lir eyes him irritably. “Get anything from your witness?”

“Nah, she was too busy cryin’ to talk,” he replies. “Drinkin’ on the job?”

Before she can reply, Joan is back, and she hands a folded piece of paper to Lir. To her pleasure and amusement, not once does she look at Dante. “Here you go. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Detective.”

Downing the rest of her drink, Lir gives a little salute and heads out of the club, Dante at her side. She ignores him for the moment to unfold the note, a small grin breaking tugging at her lips as she reads over it; there’s a name on the top half, which she tears off to give to him, but on the bottom is a phone number and Call Me written in an elegant, looping script. “Sophie Marons,” Dante recites. “Wonder if there’s a connection to Simon Marons.”

“The lawyer?” Dante exhales slowly, and she curses. “Shit. Draw straws to see who makes the call?”

“Nope,” he drawls. “Your lead, your visit. Let’s go.”

Lir frowns at him, an expression that’s becoming more and more common the longer she works with her frustrating new partner. Her mother used to warn her that her face would get stuck eventually, and she’s starting to wonder if that’s true; at least he’s not sending her off alone, which she wouldn’t really blame him for but would still be angry over. And he turns the volume on the radio down once they're in the car when he notices her pulling out her bottle of aspirin and popping one into her mouth. It looks like he wants to say something and thinks the better of it. Good. The less she has to talk to him, the better. The drive to Marson & Co. passes with only the harsh strumming of rock and the quiet purring of the engine, and their silence persists into the lobby, where Lir speaks briefly to a receptionist, and in the elevator ride up to the seventh floor.

Dante whistles when they step off into an office that sprawls over the entire floor. Glass windows that stretch from floor to ceiling on three of the walls give a stunning view of the city, allowing plenty of sunlight in, and it glows over the interior decorations: a large oak desk, numerous shelves full of books, a sitting area, a bar set next to the elevator. It’s the office of a man who wound up rich and, as the figure behind the desk stands, Lir takes a look at him and decides it was probably inherited. Simon Marsons is as immaculate as the space he occupies, his suit pressed and his salted hair pressed back from a hairline that’s only starting to thin, a lavender handkerchief folded into his coat pocket and diamond cufflinks glittering at his wrists. Lir walks towards him, her boots thudding dully on the polished tile floor; up close, she can see the vibrant green of his eyes and that his teeth, when he smiles, are too even and straight to be anything but bought.

“My apologies, but I’m afraid I’m not open for visitors today,” he says, his voice pleasant yet oily somehow. “If you leave your name with Mary, I’ll try to—”

“Simon Marsons?” Lir cuts him off curtly. “I’m Detective Thorne. This is my partner, Detective Redgrave. Are you related to Sophie Marsons?”

His tanned face goes ashy. “Sophie? She’s my daughter. Has something happened to her?”

“You might want to sit,” Dante advises him, not unkindly.

Marson’s legs go out from under him, and Lir watches with embers of sympathy as he collapses into his grand chair. “Please,” he says, his voice shaking. “Where is she? Was she hurt? I knew I should have called when she didn’t show up for work yesterday, but I assumed she was sleeping off a hangover . . . Which hospital do I need to go to?”

Lir takes a deep breath. “Is your office always open on Sunday?”

“What? Yes, yes, I have a number of clients, and Saturday and Sunday are when I go over all of my notes. Please, Detective, Sophie . . .”

That ember sparks to a dull blaze. Speaking quietly, Lir says, “I’m sorry. We found her yesterday morning.”

A low keening erupts from Marson’s throat. It’s not unlike the cry of a wounded animal, caught in a trap from which it cannot escape and too weak to continue struggling, and Lir thinks of the fox her father had snared one year after it killed their chickens and her mouth fills with the heavy taste of iron. Dante steps around her, his own face displaying a hint of discomfort. It’s oddly reassuring to realize that he probably hates these visits as much as she does, the transformation from detective to confidante and terrible messenger that is a cruel necessity of their job. “When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Marson?”

The man mumbles something incoherent, and the two of them share a look. “Sir?” Lir presses.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice choked. “You’ll have to . . . Mary will know. I’m sorry. Excuse me, I can’t . . .”

Lir exhales slowly. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to leave my card. Please call us if you think of anything.”

He buries his face in his hands, and she slides her card onto the desk before heading back to the elevator. Once inside, she leans against the wall, and even Dante looks tired, the hollows under his eyes dark and deep. “Never gets easier, does it?” he mutters.

She shakes her head. Outside, she turns to him, her mouth dry and her limbs heavy. “I’m goin’ home. I need sleep. You?”

“Can’t argue that. Want a ride?”

The idea of him knowing where she lives makes her skin prickle uncomfortably, which is strange, given that they work together. Still, she points to the road. “I’ll catch a cab. See you in a bit.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lir leaves him there, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she hails a taxi and slides inside, nearly slurring with exhaustion as she gives the driver her address. She dozes on the ride, woken by the cabbie tapping the glass partition between them, and she fumbles to pay and tip before heading into her building. It’s quiet inside, warm in a stuffy sort of way, which makes her more drowsy. Another short trip in an elevator, and she’s at her door, which she unlocks with trembling fingers and kicks shut. Too tired to bother showering, Lir strips as she walks to her bedroom in the back, where she manages to pull the curtains closed and set an alarm on her phone before collapsing into bed. Behind her closed eyes, visions of Sophie Marson’s body linger, chasing her into her dreams.

In them, she is once again in the morgue. The lights overhead flicker as she stares at the slab in the middle, upon which rests a form covered by a white sheet, and her breath frosts in the air around her and chills her lips. As she stands frozen, the thing under the sheet moves, pallid fingers poking from beneath to curl over its edge and push it slowly down, and a low whine locks in her throat, the remnants of a scream she cannot voice. Creeping, unhurried, the corpse of Sophie Marson sits up, her pale hair spilling limply over her shoulders; when milky eyes focus on her, Lir twitches. But she’s paralyzed, her legs unresponsive no matter how desperately she pleads with them to work.

A low rasp falls from the corpse’s mouth, which forms soundless words. With every attempt it makes to speak, air whistles from it, barely audible over the thrum of the air conditioning, until, at last, it stands on trembling legs, bracing itself on the slabs as it clambers towards her. As it draws closer, the whispers take form: “You saw . . . you saw . . . you saw . . .”

No, Lir tries to shout, no, no, I didn’t see a damn thing. There was nothing to see! Just you, dead on the ground, and if something else was there I had to ignore it because things like that don’t exist!

Grasping fingers reach for her. The murmurs take on a fevered rhythm, rising in pitch and volume until they devolve into a shrill ringing, those dead eyes bulging as its hands land on her face—

Lir snaps up with a strangled scream, reaching to grab and shove and fight. Yet there’s nothing there; just her room with unpacked boxes cluttered around, and she hunches over and presses her palms to her cheeks, fighting to get her panicked breathing under control. The ringing cuts off, then starts again. Cursing, she fumbles for her phone, finding it buried under the covers, and jabs to answer it, fear making her bark into it. “What?”

Dante’s voice comes through the receiver. “Sorry to wake you, sleepin’ beauty, but Marson’s at the station to make a statement and Morrison is liable to rip you a new one if you aren’t there soon.”

“Fine, just . . . Wait, there?”

“Yeah. I’m outside.” Startled, she darts to the window and peers out, seeing Dante parked on the street below, leaning on his car, looking back up at her. He waves as he says, “Better get your ass in gear, Thorne.”

Furious with him, she hangs up and stalks to her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she grabs a fresh change of clothes, tugging them on as she follows the trail of dirty ones she’d left earlier to her boots, which she slams her feet into. Keys, wallet, badge, gun, Lir grabs all of them from the table next to the door, then she leaves, choosing the quicker option of the stairs at the end of the building hall. Dante straightens as she emerges, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, and she glares at him as she yanks open the door and slides into his car, vindicated by his, “Hey!” when she slams it fiercely. It’s his turn to scowl, climbing behind the wheel, and he cranks the volume up to near painful levels before putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb. 

Tired of his dickish behavior, she turns the knob back down and snaps, “How the fuck did you find my apartment?”

He scoffs. “We’ve got personnel files.”

“For emergencies!” Lir shouts. “You don’t just go into them whenever you feel like it!”

“If you’d just told me—”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” she seethes.

Dante slams on the brakes, yanking the car into a parking spot and turning to glower at her. “You’ve had a fuckin’ chip on your shoulder since we met. Like it or not, we’re partners, and that means I need to know where the hell you live in case somethin’ comes up, like it did tonight.”

“I could have gotten there on my own!”

“Yeah, sure, and Morrison would’ve reamed your ass out for takin’ so long. Shit, I had to call you four times before you answered your goddamn phone. You think he’d have stood for that?” Lir merely shakes her head, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “What the hell is your problem? Jesus fuckin’ wept, you’d think I’m the biggest prick you’ve ever met—”

“Because you are,” she says curtly. “You’ve been ridin’ me since yesterday, havin’ me run your errands—”

“Oh, so you’re above goin’ to the morgue—”

“—acting like I don’t know my head from my ass—”

“—or dealin’ with reporters—”

“What is with you?” she cries, exasperated. “I get it, you idolize Sam Spade, but do you need his fucking sexism along with the outfit?”

Dante closes his mouth, staring at her intently for a moment, and she realizes that, in their arguing, they had each leaned in, as if to intimidate the other. Then he grins, slowly, and this one reaches his eyes, melting the glaciers there. “You like Humphrey Boggart?”

Thrown by the question, Lir can only blink at him. “Uh . . . I guess? I watched his films a lot as a kid, so . . . What does that have to do with anything?”

“Got a favorite?”

“What?” He’s still watching her. With a groan, Lir slumps back into her seat. “I dunno. Marked Woman, probably.”

Dante nods solemnly. “Bette Davis was a babe.” He continues speaking as he eases them back into traffic. “Look, Thorne—”

She huffs. “Can you just call me Lir like a normal person, for the love of God?”

“Lir,” he amends without batting an eye. “Me ridin’ you? Sorry to break it to you, but Red Grave is a beast of its own. Maybe you were good in Fortuna. Hell, your record says you were. Here? You’ll get eaten alive if you aren’t careful.”

“What a load of shit,” she mumbles.

Dante sighs. “You know somethin’ else? It’s been buggin’ me since yesterday, and the only reason I haven’t suggested Morrison take you off the case is because I’m worried you’d get yourself killed if I couldn’t keep an eye on you. You’re too eager to prove yourself.” Lir bristles, but his next statement, spoken flatly with no hint of emotion at all, has a faint prickle of fear creeping up her spine. “You look an awful lot like our victim. If this guy’s gonna go serial . . . Well, you’d fit his profile nicely.”