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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!”

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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thekillingjoke-haha · 3 years

Text

YOU ARE WERE MINE

Summary: Sacrifices are often made for the ones we love....even if it might hurt.

Parings: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader, Hinted at Male!reader x John Winchester, and Sam Winchester x Unmentioned girls

Warning?: Bi Sam ,Dean still flirting with reader, No jess death for M/n, Reader is a hunter...and never told Sam, Yellow-eyes, mention(hint at) smut

Sam looked up at M/n with a smile he wore a sexy fireman outfit for the bar outing the yellow shirt looked like it was going to rip if the surprisingly taller male flexed a little too much the red suspenders held up loss fitting brown pants and a axe that leaned on the door frame. "Come on Babe dress up a little." He said tightening the suspenders straps.

"You know I don't like Halloween." Sam sighed as his boyfriend came up to him kissing his cheek with a mischievous smirk. "Too bad guess I can't give you your treat." The h/c man growled nipping his ear as he walked out of their shared bedroom. With a fake pout he chased after him. "If I put on a Halloween shirt will it pass?" He said hopefully putting his arms over M/n shoulder causing him to put his hands on his hips. "Hmmm....If I get to pick the shirt." Sam chuckled and nodded. He'll soon regret that.

Luis was loosing his shit laughing at the shit while M/n smiled proudly at what his boyfriend was wearing it was a plain dark gray t-shirt with the words 'Just the tip. I Promise.' And a knife. "This has to be your best work, N/n." Stephan, M/n best friend, said dressed as a cop high fives the awaiting hand.

M/n gave Sammy a small grin and winked causing him to blush slightly. It was time to celebrate with friends Sam's accomplishment he can wait later to celebrate with Sam his own way.

(Time skip past smexy times~might do it later)

M/n woke up in a empty bed to the sound of a fight he quickly got up in only his boxers to see what was wrong. He knew it was human since he had symbols all under wall paper and floor boards. Turning on the lights he sees Sam and a shorter man next to him "Sammy?" He said causing both of them to look over maybe he should have put on pants eyes raked down his form. "Woah. Hi I'm Dean Rapunzel's older brother. You must be his roommate..." The green eyed man bit his lip looking down south of the s/c man before him. "...I just love Scooby-Doo.~" Dean said keeping his gaze on the mystery machine briefs M/n was wearing. Sam quickly got between both of them pushing his brother back. "Dean this N/n my boyfriend" A confused look crossed his face. "Where's Jess you girlfriend?" He asked. "She was my roommate graduated a year ago and M/n moved in."

Dean looked back at M/n the flirtatious smirk back on his face. "You're way out of my brothers league." Sam put a around his boyfriends waist pulling him close. "Why are you here Dean?" There was a pause of silence. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days." The blonde said before it was shot down. "Let me rephrase. Dad's on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days." With that Sam tensed up and looked over to M/n. "I'll be right back." His tone rushed as he peeked him in the cheek and left their shared apartment brother in tow.

Once the sound of their foot steps were heard going down the stairs M/n sighed his hand running through his bed head. "Fucking Winchester’s." He mumbled before going back up stairs going to his old room. M/n went to the closet moving boxes out of the way till he got to the duffel bag he was looking for. A burner phone weighed heavy in his hand as he wandered back to bed. "If he goes I go." He mumbled to himself looking at the mirror on the nightstand. M/n has been off and on with hunting ever since he started dating Sam and he knew who he was the moment his last name left his lips, but he only put on a smile and gave him his first and middle name since L/n were famous in the community.

Sam came back to the apartment and started to pack a bag. "Sam what's going on?" M/n said innocently as he watched more of his boyfriends clothes fill the bag. "Just going to help look for Dad. Probably just went out with a old friend and didn't bother to pick up." Sam zipped up the bag as he threw it over his shoulder. "You know what's Monday right?! You can't just not show up it's your dream on the line, Babe!" M/n stepped forward slowing down the rushed pace. "I know...you're right and I'll be back on Monday." We walked out of the building. "Promise to call me when you get there." The h/c man said hugging the long haired brunette close. "I promise." With a final kiss goodbye M/n waved him off before going inside. Time to jump back into the L/n family business. Pulling out the burner it rung as the first number was dialed. "I don't give a damn of you are the IRS or girl scouts selling fucking cookies it's one am you idjit!" The familiar voice rung out. "Good talking to you to Uncle Bobby." M/n chuckled and the older man's breath caught in his throat. "Well I'll be damned do my ears deceive me or is that little F/n all grown up?"

"Glad you didn't trash this number."

"What are you calling for boy its still 1am?" Bobby asked.

" I need to pick up my truck. I'm going hunting."

~~~~Time Skip~~~~

Sam sat in the motel room trying to call M/n, but he didn't pick up. If only he knew that right at that moment he was beheading a vampire while laughing like a sadistic prick. After cleaning the blood off and burning the barn that held the nest M/n tried calling back when it picked up he heard Sam's distressed voice. "M/n now is not a good time. I'm so cold hold me" A voice spoke over Sam's. "Who the hell was that?!" I heard a loud hissing noise. "Sam!" That's when a shotgun went off, glass shattered, and the lime went dead. M/n stood up and paced un his room it would be late before he got home he'll have to hall ass to get there before Sam.

Going out to the truck he opened the bed lifting the metal cover and false bottom loading the weapons. He had no time to drop it back off. The road was silent till a voice interrupted it. "Hello, handsome. What's the rush?" Almost swerving into a ditch M/n looked over and saw a man with graying blonde hair. Reaching for a weapon the man's eyes flashed yellow gazing at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He snapped causing the h/c make to look straight and push hard into his seat. "You're the little Winchester’s boy toy. Well in two hours he'll be home and dead by the time you arrive." M/n's breath caught in his throat. "Liar. I'm not stupid every hunter has heard what happened to Mary it doesn't take a genius to see they weren't the only one's. You need him alive and well, so why are you hear?" He growled low in his throat as the demon chuckled. "Got me there. You see Sammy boy needs to get back in the life and you being, I don't know, alive is getting in the way." The pressure grew stronger on the restrained man's chest till he almost could feel his lungs squeeze. "But I'm a business man. You work for me you live and maybe see Sam again or die in a blaze and the last thing he sees is your burning corpse. Can't be a protective boyfriend if your dead."

"What will happen to me if I agree?" That's when a sick smile pulled on his lips. "You become a demon. No a demon doesn't possess you! You yourself become one you memories and personality intact. So deal?" He held his hand out to the s/c man as he sighed taking his eyes from the road. "Deal." The demons yellows eyes shined bright as he yanked the young man forward pressing their lips together sealing it. "You are mine." He growled possessively as M/n pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number. It went to voice mail. "Hey Rapunzel. I want you to know...I love you. Hold on to that, never let that go. You mean the world to me...so once you figure out how to open you voice mail this is waiting for you."

Sam woke up from his nightmare of his burning apartment building. It been almost three years since then and he never gotten over it. It took a year to get to his messages and what M/ n left behind gave him more questions then answers. He couldn't even get into the apartment before the flames erupted. Sam had doubts about M/n in the fire, but after the police report was released only one casualty of M/n Middle/n. Dean tried to tell my it would at some point get better, but the guilt still felt heavy in his chest. Nightmares of M/n in the fire not in pain, but seeming to absorb the flames made him question what really happened. The brothers had a lead on yellow eyes that their dad led them to. It all seemed to convenient that after the fight he knew to much about the demon that pledged his nightmares. The warehouse was falling apart it was in shambles as Dean parked baby next to it. "Are you sure this is the place?" Sam asked his brother. "Dad said this was it. Load up." Dean got out the car popping the trunk. This didn't feel right.

Tied up, beaten, and tortured. The Winchesters look up at their own fathers face with those horrid yellow eyes. "You boys never questioned a thing didn't even hesitate to come inside!" He chuckled darkly as the surrounding demons grinned. "This would have been the part where I laugh at you kill you dragging your sorry souls to hell to be my toys for the next millennium, but I have something better!" Signature Winchester grin lifted his lips as he called out seeming to no one. "Oh, honey bear! Come say hi." The sound of a strong gust of wind came from behind them as the clack of well made dress shoes hit the shifty floor boards. A man wearing black dress pants, shoes, and a open f/c(not black) silk button up. His back was to the brothers as John lifted his head up to kiss the man's cheek. Turning around white eyes looked at them, but that face was unmistakably M/n's a scar on his brow but it was him. Sam was chocked up M/n was in front of him looking well and oh God he's with enemy that took their dad's body as a meat suit.

"Do you like him, Sammy? Hells best torturer!" John said running his hands over M/n as the man kept his gaze locked on the tallest Winchester analyzing him as he seethed with anger at the demon touched his boyfriend. "Oh the things he's done would make Lucifer blush." Yellow-eyes trailed his hand down the scarred chest biting his lip making Sam struggle more. Snapping his fingers the other demons took Dean, but Sam was left there. "You're not useful to me dead Sammy boi." The demon circled him. "What's the best kind of torture, love?" M/n seemed to move for the first time getting right in front of Sam dropping to his knees being face to face with him. Cupping the beaten cheek of the hunter in his s/c hand his white clouded orbs turned the lively e/c giving a sympathetic look before it switched off. "Physiological." Sam didn't notice the room shifted into their old apartment tears pooled in those e/c eyes. "Where were Sammy?" A hiccup in between silent cries ended the sentence as a scene played out of M/n on the phone trying to talk to Sam before it cut off. "I needed you!" A scene of M/n chained to a wall seeing figures of his past hurt him till he gave in. "You were mine. And you threw it all away, threw me away like garbage!" The images went to Sam being with girls, but he could see familiar h/c hair in the background.

Tears rolled down Sam's face as white eyes filled his vision the eyes he loved fading away. What felt like hours happened in only a few seconds and within those seconds Sam was broken. He buried his face into the palm still cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!' Sam would do anything for his M/n back even if it meant killing the monster his father has become. A gentle kiss stopped the trail of tears. "You are mine."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Quote= I love you. Hold on to that, never let that go. -The Vampire Diaries

Tagged: @spnquotebingo

First male reader it was fun.

#spnquotebingo #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male!reader #winchester #male!reader #supernatural x male reader #dean winchester #john winchester #yellow eyes #spn #demons #demon!reader #hunter!reader

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interlagosed · 3 years

Note

I’m re-reading Revoluçion for the third time & am just at the bit where Lando goes home after his first night with Carlos & tells all to George & Alex & how much I love their reaction and it got me thinking I would love to see similar with Carlos POV going to the bar that day & being all excited about his first night with Lando & how much he already adores him & them all teasing him/being pleased for him, pretty please 🥰

I've been sitting on this one for a while bc it's just so sweet and I have thought about this before so, here we are!

After Lando had left - Lando, Lando, his name felt so good to say, it felt so right on his tongue - Carlos got dressed like a decent man and went straight to La Justicia. Carlos was leaving for a mission the following day, and there were still some last-minute logistics to iron out. Nando would give him the itinerary and a run-down of priorities. And then it would be four days of-

Carlos froze at the threshold of the bar he loved. The interior of La Justicia suddenly resembled a panel; a dissertation panel, jarringly. All the tables had been moved so that they were lined up together. Chairs lined one side of the panel - and they were all facing the entrance, where Carlos stood, shocked. At the center of the panel, of course, was Nando. He was flanked by Felipe and (as though he had the right) Charles. Luis stood behind the bar, shaking his head. He was the one to break the silence.

"I wanted to warn you, Carletes, but they took away my phone. I was talking to Seb!"

"Por Dios," Carlos groaned, "what fresh hell is this?"

The worst part? They were all smiling. Knowingly. Knowing what?

"Carletes," Nando said, leaning forward with a smirk. "You never came back to La Justicia last night."

"I am not doing this with my father's friends," Carlos snapped. Charles opened his mouth, and Carlos said, "I am definitely not having this conversation with you."

Charles closed his mouth and sulked slightly. Then, Luis said, "Come talk to me."

Amidst the outraged noises of Felipe and Nando, Carlos jumped over the table - he nearly knocked Charles over, which felt right - and walked straight to Luis. He leaned against the bar and smiled at his friend. Luis smiled back and reached to pour Carlos a drink.

"Ah, no. I'm- I don't think I'm going to drink for a while."

Luis quirked an eyebrow. "If I remember correctly, your new friend didn't drink either. What was his name?"

Carlos grinned, and his face heated up as he said, "Lando."

With Nando, Felipe, and Charles' eyes on his back, and Luis listening closely, Carlos told them all about Lando. To their credit, no one interrupted him.

"I think...I think he's special. He's really special," Carlos ended, rather lamely. "I know I shouldn't-"

"Why not?" Luis said quietly. "You have been the only one stopping yourself from a relationship all these years."

Carlos sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It doesn't feel right," he stammered. "Or responsible. I- what if I had to end things? What if- what if they don't agree with or understand the cause?"

"Bridges aren't meant to be crossed before you get there," Carlos heard Fernando say. Carlos closed his eyes, trying to center himself. "This was my fear when I recruited you, Carlos. That you would forget to be your age - to be a person - and give your body to the cause. I never asked you to do that."

"And no one can," Luis said, putting a hand on Carlos' shoulder. Carlos opened his eyes again. "Carletes. You like this boy so much already, yes?"

"I-" Carlos swallowed. "It is frightening how much. How much."

"Jesus Christ," Felipe suddenly exclaimed. "We do not need to philosophize this much, eh? Go date the boy! Go fuck-"

"Felipe!"

"I do not care, he is a grown man, yes? Do what it is you are supposed to be doing at your age! We need you happy for the cause to succeed! A shell of a man cannot change a people. What will they change for? In response to misery? No one has ever in the history of humanity changed course for a husk. Are you a husk, Carletes?" Felipe finished challengingly, now standing.

Carlos smiled a little. "If I was, I don't want to be one anymore. Not- not now. Not for Lando."

"Then have a good time," Luis pleaded. "Show him a good time. Bring him here, yes? Where your friends are? You can all talk shop when he is not around. But don't close yourself off to this boy. And when the time comes-" Carlos froze up again, but Luis cupped Carlos' face with both his hands, "when the time comes, Carletes, you will figure it out. But don't be prisoner to what-ifs. I have told you where that path leads, have I not?"

Carlos exhaled shakily. Full of emotion, he leaned forward to kiss Luis' head. "You are a good man," Carlos said, his voice warbling. Luis smiled at him and patted his cheek. Then Carlos turned and said, to Felipe, Nando, and Charles, "Thank you. Really. Thank you. I think- I think you will really like Lando."

"I will be honest," Charles said quietly, and with disappointment, "I thought we were just going to discuss Carlos' expenses."

Carlos threw a coaster at his head.

#hibi writes #¡Revolución!

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 20)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 7235 Warnings: fluff, smut, angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I’m patiently waiting for some screaming! Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 19 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Making your way downstairs was a little awkward and you barely made eye contact with Bucky. Winnie was waiting outside by the idling car, laughing at the person who had their back to you. They were fairly tall in a pewter suit and had short brown hair that was closely shaved in the back. Winnie nudged her chin and the person turned around, a smile spreading across their unfamiliar and yet completely recognizable face.

They shared the same deep blue eyes and dimple on their chin as Bucky and you knew this had to be Rebecca. Their hair was longer in the front, falling just beside their eyes, sparkling with gold and plum shadow.

“Bex!” Bucky exclaimed, smiling just as widely to see his sibling, wrapping them in a big hug.

“You cut your hair!” Rebecca looked at it approvingly. “Tryin’ to copy me I see,” they joked.

You smiled watching them together, forgetting any awkward feelings between yourself and Bucky; they were now solely reserved for introductions with Rebecca whose effortlessly cool vibe had you on edge for some reason.

Bucky pulled away from the hug, placing his hand behind you, almost touching the bare skin of your back before he realized that might be too intimate.

“Bex this is Y/N,” he introduced with a proud smile you couldn’t see.

“So nice to meet you,” you said, not expecting the hug they gave you.

Winnie stepped in the moment Rebecca stepped back to give you a hug of her own. She turned to check in with George who stayed in the car listening to a classic rock radio station.

“Okay let’s not be late,” she chirped, pointing at the watch not present on her wrist. “James, you sit in the front. We’ll all squeeze in the back.”

Rebecca got in first, sliding across the black leather seats to take the smaller spot in the middle. It wasn’t crowded with the three of you sitting together but Winnie made a good call not letting Bucky’s bulkier frame encroach on you or Rebecca had he been seated back there.

You saw swirls of ink on Rebecca’s wrist as they shifted to pull out their phone, which prompted them to roll up their sleeves, showing off part of the tattoos that cover their arm.

“It’s not done yet,” they said, revealing a bare spot on their forearm beside a large watercolor macaw tattoo.

Bucky’s head turned back ever so slightly, his eyes trying to see as much as he could without being so obvious as he watched you and Rebecca interact. He knows why he’s so nervous, his family hasn’t met anyone in his life since Olivia.

He scoffed internally when he thought about it. He was a kid, a kid with a broken heart that should have gotten over it a long time ago. But had things been different maybe Bucky would have never met you. He smiled to himself, thankful for his choices– no matter how childish, because they led him here.

Softly colored roses in peach and pale pinks were draped along the wooden archway, the gossamer fabric wrapped around the posts fluttered delicately with the wind. A golden sunset on the water served as the backdrop for an even more beautiful ceremony, celebrating the love of two people that never expected to find it.

Bucky looked over to catch a glimpse of the fading sun sparkling in your eyes. The soft sigh he exhaled was masked by the sound of cheers that rang out amongst the crowd as the newlyweds kissed.

The crowd dispersed onto the adjacent patio where lanterns hung from large sturdy trees, white pillar candles flickering inside. Soft pink fabric was draped over the tables, some small with golden framed chairs surrounding them, others free standing high tops that were scattered around beside the neatly trimmed lawn. Each had a handful of tealight candles gently glowing on top.

You followed Bucky and his family to the table where the hors d'oeuvres were served, taking the plate he handed you and picking up a few things. The display at the end of the table made you burst out with laughter. Among the fresh fruit and crudité were oversized plastic ants, each with a piece of fruit on their backs arranged in a line as if they were walking away with them.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s a thing with Hope’s family… I never really asked,” he chuckled, picking up a few strawberries from the platter behind the fake ants.

George pulled a chair from another table so you could all sit together. Placing his plate down he asked Winnie if she wanted a glass wine and she nodded, confident in knowing George knew what her favorite was.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Bucky asked. He knew what you drank when everyone went out together but he didn’t want to assume, waiting for you to respond before he and Rebecca accompanied their father to the bar.

Winnie didn’t hesitate to talk once they’d left, specifically about how happy she was Bucky was able to bring you. “He caused such a fuss, begging Scott and Hope to give him a last minute plus one.”

At that moment you wished you had a drink to bring to your lips, covering up the way her revelation had left you slack jawed. According to Bucky you were invited because he responded for two, making it seem as if you were doing him a huge favor by coming but the more Winnie spoke you realized your invitation was never to fill a seat; he was begging and pleading to bring a guest, to bring you.

“I can tell you’re special Y/N. I’ve never seen James this way with anyone in a long, long time.”

You couldn’t speak if you tried, smiling back at Winnie as your mind raced to free your heart from the protective cage it was locked away in. For once they were on the same page, heart and mind, desperate to run together right to Bucky.

When he returned to the table you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, maintaining a soft smile as your heart fluttered like a hummingbird inside your chest, desperate to break free and scream out your feelings from the top of your lungs.

You thanked him for the drink he brought back, letting your fingers linger on his hand for a beat longer than they should have, keeping your gaze locked with his before slowly turning towards Rebecca to answer the question they asked. Bucky’s cheeks were a blooming pink that practically matched the decor, his skin prickling with the memory of your touch.

Time passed quickly over conversation along with extended family members coming over to say hello. You didn’t miss the way Bucky smiled widely as he introduced you, simply as Y/N but wishing his lips had spoken the words written on your heart and called you his.

The grand doors of the ballroom opened when it was time for the reception. Bucky offered his arm which you took as he led you inside. Large chandeliers hung from the intricately detailed ceiling. Tall vases served as the centerpiece on the tables, each filled with a large arrangement of similar colored roses from the archway.

Pulling out the chair for you to be seated, Bucky happened to catch the approving smile on his father’s face, looking away to avoid an embarrassing flush to his cheeks if he held the knowing look any longer. He turned his gaze towards you and the beautiful smile that lit up your whole face as you and Rebecca were continuing your conversation from before.

Bucky sighed, feeling his heart swell even more as he realized he didn’t have to ask what his family thought about you, each of them unable to hold back their own smiles. They like you as much as he does, they want you to be with him as much as he does and if they knew how much of an idiot he’s been, denying his feelings for so long they would definitely cause a scene. But Bucky knows it won’t be long before he finally tells you.

So many scenarios went through his mind; inviting you to dinner next weekend and planning a whole speech, bursting through your door tomorrow night spilling out all the words in his heart in a mess of emotions, kiss you tonight, tomorrow, any day, every day! It doesn’t matter how, he just wants you to know.

His thoughts were interrupted by Scott and Hope making their entrance and sharing their first dance in front of everyone. Bucky reined in his thoughts that imagined the two of you in their place, a concept he never gave much attention to before believing it wasn’t for him, but with you by his side…

“Oh how sweet!” your voice beamed, pulling Bucky back to reality.

Cassie had run out onto the dance floor, swaying side to side with Hope and her father holding their hands. Scott lifted her into his arms, slinging her on his hip as Hope moved close enough for both of them to plant a kiss on both of her cheeks at the same time.

The photographer captured the moment along with so many more memories as the night went on especially when Scott’s best man Luis gave a very entertaining (and somewhat never ending) toast. You and Rebecca ran into him at the bar, unable to get much of a word in as Luis enthusiastically rambled on about how happy he is to be at Scott’s wedding.

“When I first met Scotty he was in a bed place, and I’m not talking about cell block D. His wife had just filed for divorce. And I was like, ‘Damn homie, she dumped you while you were in lock up?’ And he was like ‘Yeah I know. I thought I was gonna be with her forever but now I’m all alone!’ And I was like, ‘Damn homie, you gotta chin up. ‘Cause you’ll find a new partner.’ And he did! And it all started when I was at a wine tasting with my cousin Ernesto…”

You were focused on Luis’ very detailed story unaware of Bucky’s eyes on you from across the room. He was startled by Scott, squeezing his shoulders from behind and Bucky turned around to give his cousin a congratulatory hug.

“You haven’t told her yet, huh?” Scott said, his lips pulling into a crooked smile. Bucky’s brows knit together confused. “I see the way you look at her.”

Bucky sighed, looking at Scott without replying. There was nothing to say; he was caught staring at you from the far side of the room because he was too much of a coward to tell you how he felt.

“Hey I know you might be scared. After divorcing Maggie I was terrified, thought I’d never be able to put myself out there again and then I found Hope.”

Bucky sees the smile crinkling your eyes, hears your laughter that’s sweeter than music. “You’re right Scott, I have been scared… but I’m not anymore.” A content smile spreads across his face.

There’s a calm sense of relief that washes over Bucky as he knows with certainty that there is nothing he’s ever wanted more in his life. The universe is with him, ending the fast paced song that matched the beat of his heart to something slow and romantic.

Bucky strides across the hallway like he’s floating on a cloud until he reaches you. The words flow like smooth honey as he asked, “Would you like to dance?”

His hand is soft against yours, your whole body giddy with delight as he guides you to the dance floor. Time moves in slow motion, the world around you fading away as Bucky takes your hand in his, moving his other to the small of your back.

It was intimate, close and exactly how you wanted it to be. You let out a soft sigh as you relaxed into his embrace, letting your free arm glide up the fabric of his suit, curving it over his shoulder and looking deeply into his eyes. His pupils were blown with desire as Bucky stared back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching with an ever so slight smile.

Words were not spoken as you swayed together with the music but you both felt a change; like breathing foreign air, something felt different. You and Bucky danced in a world of your own, the past a distant memory that held your fears behind, finally allowing your heart to soar freely.

A smile pulled at your lips, one that felt brighter than the sun as you truly let go of everything that was holding you back. You moved closer, letting yourself drown in Bucky’s intoxicating scent, like cinnamon toasting over a warm fire as you nuzzled your nose into his neck.

He squeezed you tighter, his heart doing backflips in his chest, unable to fathom that this was actually happening. His nose grazes along the shell of your ear and you hear the soft inhalation of breath coming from his parted lips. A wave of tingles ran down your spine, shocking yourself into remembering you and Bucky were not alone but very much in the middle of a public setting surrounded by his family.

You pulled back to his surprise but the smile that would never cease to leave your face calmed his nerves.

“Follow me,” you purred, not letting go of Bucky’s hand as you led him outside.

A few people were scattered outside on the patio, some gathered around the high top tables that still remained, enjoying their drinks over conversation. You smiled over your shoulder back at Bucky, pulling him further away until you reached the area where the ceremony took place. The chairs had been cleared but the archway remained, the fabric wrapped around it still blowing in the wind.

You stopped at the edge of the railing, looking out onto the water as moonlight danced on the gentle waves. Goosebumps prickled all over your skin but you couldn’t be sure if it was from the breeze or Bucky standing close beside you.

The beating of your heart grew faster and you wondered if he could hear the drumming through your chest. A lump was caught in your throat as you felt Bucky’s hand cover yours on the railing. You turned your head to face him, slowly lifting your eyes from his perfect lips, the sight of them made you lick your own, meeting his eyes, the darkness reflecting a moonlit sparkle.

The memory of your New Years kiss made you shiver, letting a shaky breath out as you turned your body to face him, letting your hands wrap around his neck, his hands resting on your waist, closing the distance between you.

It wasn’t New Years, it wasn’t even the Fourth of July but you felt fireworks erupting in your stomach as you kissed, his soft lips massaging yours with a passionate fervor that grew by the second. You needed more, parting your lips for his skillful tongue to slip past them, deepening the kiss and loving the way he moaned as your hand scratched through his hair.

Distant laughter reminded you once again that you were still not alone but in the moment you really wanted to be. When the need for air became too great you pulled away.

“I missed that,” you admitted through a smile, catching your breath.

Bucky caressed your cheek gently with his fingers, his whole face lighting up in delight. “Would you believe me if I said the same?”

“Maybe,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck again.

“Would you believe me if I told you how I can’t get you off my mind? That ever since you came into my life I’ve been fighting the feelings I’ve had for you?” You nodded softly at his admission believing every word, knowing that what you’ve been feeling wasn’t just in your imagination, that things between you and Bucky had changed and finally the truth was out.

“I’m tired of fighting them,” he said, “I– ” You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, sweetly stealing a soft kiss as you hummed against him.

Your smiles could not be contained, staring deeply into each other’s eyes under the silver glow of the moonlight. You would have stayed that way for longer had you not heard the echo of a voice coming from inside. Bucky peeked over your shoulder to see other people heading back in for the cake cutting.

With your fingers laced together you went back inside, taking your seats and ignoring the smirk Rebecca and Winnie had on their faces after noticing your lipstick was no longer existent, not on your lips at least. Luckily their eyes were focused on the newlyweds and not on Bucky’s hand which casually found its way to your thigh, his thumb gently running back and forth over the smooth material of your dress.

Scott dabbed a bit of frosting on the tip of Hope’s nose as she smushed a larger piece on his face, laughing and happily kissing his messy mouth to a round of cheers. The night continued with more dancing and Bucky’s family leaving just after the garter and bouquet toss.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Winnie said, having added you as a friend on Facebook. “George barbecues a lot over the summer so I hope to see you and James more often.” She wrapped you in a strong embrace, followed by Rebecca who had given you their Instagram, hoping to keep in touch as well.

George said goodbye with a friendly hug, reiterating your invitation. “James may be the musician but I’m the maestro of the barbecue.”

Bucky let out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his embarrassment making you chuckle even more at his dad’s joke. Opening their arms to each other they hugged, and Bucky said goodbye to everyone.

“Get home safe!” Bucky called out as they walked down the hall.

You and Bucky stayed for a little while longer before saying goodnight to Hope, Scott and a few others, waiting outside of the main entrance for your Uber to arrive. Your lower lip trembled from the cold but less than a moment later you felt the weight of Bucky’s jacket around your shoulders. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek that added to the warmth you felt.

The Uber arrived shortly and once you were settled inside you leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, rubbing your own through his jacket as your hand caressed his for the duration of the ride back to the hotel.

Bucky helped you out of the car, his jacket slipping off your shoulders as you stood up. You didn’t need it anymore, feeling warmth spread through your body from his touch. The walk to the elevator was short and quiet, both of you holding back awkward smiles and smitten feelings.

When the doors opened to your floor you felt your heart pounding louder with every step that brought you closer to the hotel room. Bucky swiped the card into the door, holding it open for you as it unlocked. The beating amplified when you heard the door shut and Bucky turning the locks. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide anymore, not with both of your feelings out there.

He laid his jacket over the chair as you set your clutch to the side. His steps were hesitant, full of tension as he got closer to you, finally finding the courage to take your hands in his. Up close you could see the blush that brightened his cheeks, smiling at the way he licked his lips, sucking his bottom one into his mouth and nervously chewing on it.

You brought your hand up to cup his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble scratch at your palm. Lifting his gaze to yours you locked eyes with Bucky, seeing the retreat of blue as they grew darker the longer you stared at each other. Exhaling a shaky breath you moved your hand to the nape of his neck bringing him closer as you pressed your lips against his.

With that touch the dam of restraint broke and Bucky was kissing you back, his hands cupping the side of your face, your jaw, anywhere and everywhere as he deepened the kiss. Your hands were roaming his body, grazing across the strong muscles of his back and down his sides again as you held on to his waist.

Gulps of breath were quick as the need to make out was greater than oxygen, but when you did stop to fill your lungs with air you smiled against each other, foreheads and noses touching before he would capture your lips again, sucking softly on your bottom lip. You hummed against him, parting your lips for his tongue to slip inside and caress yours.

You gasped when the back of your knees unexpectedly hit the edge of the mattress, quickly losing your balance and pulling Bucky down with you. He braced himself with one arm above you, smiling at the way your face lit up beautifully with laughter. Bucky waited for you to center your gaze on him again before he brought his lips back to yours. His kiss was soft and slow, passionate and needy, wanting to prolong every second with you and hoping this wasn’t a dream. If it was he never wanted to wake up, preferring to spend the rest of his existence here with you in this perfect world.

His mouth explored your body, running his tongue down your skin until you gasped when he discovered that sensitive spot where your collarbone and neck met. Bucky smirked as you writhed against him, letting a sultry moan fall from your lips as he sucked your skin gently.

The sound alone made him hard and your hips lifting against his didn’t help. Bucky pulled away breathless, knowing he had to stop despite wanting this to never end.

“I can’t, we…” He swallowed dryly, bringing one hand to cup the soft skin of your cheek. “I don’t have protection.”

Not bringing condoms on a weekend that practically guaranteed sex did not sound like the man you first knew who was banging his way through every woman in Manhattan, but Bucky hasn’t been that man in a long time. Somehow over the course of your friendship he’s grown, changed into the person that admitted to what even he thought was impossible, having feelings and wanting more than just sex.

Bucky crawled back off of you, digging his knees into the mattress as he blew out harsh breaths to try and handle his situation accordingly. A smile spread slowly across your face as you pushed yourself up from the bed, quickly moving out of the way as Bucky swung his legs over the side as you remembered what Wanda thankfully snuck into your bag.

Feeling awkward and embarrassed, Bucky didn’t pay much attention to what you were doing, not lifting his head until he saw you standing in front of him with something in your hand.

“I have them,” you said firmly, opening your palm to reveal the package of condoms, the foil reflecting off the light. Your chest heaved with anticipation until Bucky’s eyes met yours.

The shock on his face was clear, never expecting any of this to happen. His back stiffened cautiously as he asked with trepidation, “Are you sure? We don’t have to– ”

“I know. I want to.”

Simple words, simple truths.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth pulled into a smile as you stepped in between his legs, leaning in to tease your lips against his but not give in to what he wanted. Instead you pushed on his chest to make him lay flat on the mattress, lifting the fabric of your dress you got on the bed to straddle him.

Bucky swallowed a dry gulp, his hands skimming first up your thighs and then your waist as you leaned forward to hover over him again. This time he doesn’t let you tease him. He took your lips feverishly, letting your tongues dance in a passionate tango. Your hips begin to move, grinding against his arousal and he whimpers against your mouth.

He gets the urge to tear off your clothes and fuck you hard into the mattress and if you were anyone else he would have, but Bucky doesn’t want this to be about sex. He wants to do something he hasn’t done in a very long time, connect with someone physically and emotionally at once.

Soft hands cup your cheeks, holding your face above him as Bucky stares deeply past your eyes and into your heart. A tender smile pulls at his mouth, one that makes you slow down and smile back at him, letting out soft exhalations that try to match the beat of his.

He sets the tempo, lifting his head to press his lips gently against yours, his hand running up and down your back. Cradled in his arms, Bucky shifted so that you were both lying side by side, his lips never leaving yours, swallowing every moan that fell from your heavenly mouth.

Your hands roamed his body; caressing the back of his head as you deepened the kiss with your tongue, feeling solid muscle beneath his shirt as you rubbed down his chest. His hands brushed against your thigh, over the globes of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. You can’t help the moan that escapes as a dull ache radiates from your core.

Instinctively, your hips move against him craving more friction as your hands make quick work of his belt. His hand skimmed up your side, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your stiff nipple.

The breath stilled in your throat like the measure of time around you, slowing down enough so you could see every touch, feel the brush of his lips; each one the scratch of a pen on a music sheet, creating a song one note at a time.

Open mouth kisses trailed down your skin leaving you breathless as his hands pulled down the fluttering sleeves of your dress. Unclasping the buttons of his shirt, you peeled it off his body as he reached around to tug down your zipper, letting the fabric fall off you. You were drawn to each other’s bodies, warm mouths on warm skin that grew hotter by the moment.

A steady cadence of moans falls from your lips as Bucky worships you with his mouth. It’s better than anything you imagined on those nights when headphones blocked out the primal sounds of pleasure coming from next door. The pitch of your cries reaches new heights as he sends you over the edge, hands grabbing at his hair from between your thighs to brace yourself.

Blue eyes tainted dark with lust peek open to watch your writhe in ecstasy as you come undone. Bucky stays with you through it, his hands laced with yours as your body comes down from blissful heaven. He kisses his way up your body pulling soft moans and gasps from you along the way until he found your lips again; aching, hungry, desperate for his tongue.

You ease him to his back, kissing down Bucky’s neck until you reach the band of his briefs. Your eyes widen at the outline of his arousal, he lifts his hips to help you slide them off and your legs clench together at the sight of his thick cock springing up and slapping his stomach. He quivered with anticipation as you take him in your hands, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he watches himself disappear into your warm mouth.

Euphoric pleasure washes over Bucky as you hum around him, his moans becoming a sweet melody to your ear. Before it’s too much he pulls you off of him, grabbing your face in a plea for your lips against his. He skims his hands along the bed searching for the condom, having to get up to find it as you settle onto your back. The wrapper is torn open, the condom sliding down on his length.

Bucky takes a moment to look at you, to really look at you in a way he’s never taken the time before when he’s been with someone. Your smile lights up his heart and he presses his lips against yours softly. You wonder if he’s waiting for a sign, staring up at his smile stretched out so far he can hardly contain it. With a roll of your hips you rock against him and after losing himself in your eyes Bucky almost forgets what’s supposed to come next– almost.

Wetness gathers on his length and he pushes in gently, his gasps harmonizing with yours as he fills you completely. His lips are on your again because Bucky can’t help it, hooked like a drug on the immediate relief that comes with the investment of his heart.

The rhythm is set by the slow thrust of his hips, you claw at his back as he deepens his sensual pace, the friction bringing you closer and closer. It’s not long before you shudder around him, the first of many times that have you crying out his name; wondering but ultimately not caring if these walls were as thin as the ones in your apartment.

Your cries reach a new octave as he orchestrates your pleasure, thrusting to meet your hips as you ride him. Together you create a symphony that crescendos as you ride the waves of bliss together, the melody forever imprinting on his soul. Breathless, your lips find each other’s, molding together perfectly as you slowly come down; bodies covered in a sheen of sweat that makes you glow.

You whimper as you untangle from each other, immediately missing his warmth. Bucky tied off the condom, getting up to toss it in the small bin beside the desk. The wiggle of his butt made a smile form on your face that grew as he got back into bed, the weight of his arm curling around you and pulling you close against him. Bucky’s fingertips stroked your skin as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. His lips pressing a kiss to your forehead as you rubbed his chest, humming softly as your spent body relaxed into his.

“Tired?” he asked through a rasped whisper. You hummed in response and Bucky adjusted the blankets over you. “Go to sleep, I’ve got you.” The breath of his murmurs fall gently against your head.

Reaching to the side he clicked off the table lamp. In the darkness his lips found yours a final time, stealing a sweet kiss before you adjusted yourself against him again. Your palm rested above his heart and Bucky wondered if you could feel the way it was still beating with elation. He covered your hand with his, hearing you let out a soft hum as you smiled against him.

The bed is warm, made warmer with your bodies tangled together. Bucky listens in silence to the gentle sounds you make as you drift asleep. He syncs his breath with yours, turning his head ever so slightly to place a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead. The rhythm of his heart relaxes to a beat he’s never felt before, one that fills his body and soul with a warm and fuzzy feeling that makes him feel like he would float away if you weren’t resting on him.

A smile secured itself on Bucky’s face as he fell asleep realizing that this feeling might actually be love.

You woke up feeling like last night was a dream, but the weight of Bucky behind you brought you quickly back to reality, one you never imagined would be yours.

His arm was wrapped around your waist keeping your bodies close, a shocking difference of the Bucky you knew that kicked his late night lovers out as quickly as possible. Then again Bucky isn’t that person anymore.

He was still asleep, feeling the breath from his nose against the back of your neck and as much as you needed to get up you stayed in bed for as long as possible, cherishing every moment spent in his arms.

You sensed when he woke up not long after. Bucky inhaled deeply, letting out a soft hum.

“Hey neighbor,” you whispered softly, rubbing his arm that was draped across your waist.

He tightened his hold, squeezing you even closer, smiling at the faint scent of perfume that lingered on your neck. You squirmed as he nuzzled the tip of his cold nose into it, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your skin.

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he rasped.

You tilted your head back, trying to get a glimpse of him but it was easier to turn around completely. Bucky still held you as you twisted to face him, staring up at his beautiful half-sleepy smile and soft gaze that shined like the sun as he looked at you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his fingers lightly tracing your face. You nodded, a smile pulling so strong as your eyes beamed with happiness. “Good.”

He kissed you sweetly, soft pecks for your sake that were mindful of the morning breath he felt. He should get up to brush his teeth but Bucky didn’t want to, instead he rested his head against your shoulder, curling himself around you and smiling when he felt your arms wrap around him.

Bucky never knew how badly he missed a feeling he never had, feeling comforted in someone’s arms. He never knew how amazing it was to wake up with someone, to cuddle with them, hold them and be held. He’s slept with countless people but no amount of sex has ever equaled what he felt in this moment.

He could scold himself for missing out on this for so long but he doesn’t, because now he has the opportunity to share all these firsts with you and he hopes you’ll be his last.

The scratch of your nails running lazily through his hair made Bucky practically purr against you, the simple act awakening all of his senses, igniting his body in a way that could only be quenched by the heat of your skin against his.

He smirks at the memory of your taste, lifting his gaze to find the coy smile curving your lips. It seems he’s not the only one craving more exploration of each other’s bodies. Bucky reaches forward to bring his lips to yours, morning breath be damned. Neither of you cared anyway, quickly giving in to the flames of desire that spread like wildfire through your bodies.

It’s different now, when the morning sun reveals more truth in Bucky eyes, in the way he looks deep into your own as you climb the heights of passion together. Fingers entwined, breathless moans falling from his mouth, foreheads pressed together as he claims your lips, holding your body tightly as you fall apart around him as if this would all disappear if he let go. Every look, every touch; that was the difference. Bucky was giving every part of himself to you, opening up in a way he had never done before with anyone.

His hips stuttered as he climaxed, crying out with a groan that softened as your hands cupped his cheeks, stealing what little breath he had left as you brought your lips to his. He smiled against you, catching his breath in between soft kisses.

Bucky was quick to discard the condom and reclaim his spot beside you, opening his arms for you to cuddle close against him, keeping you warm as the aftershocks of pleasure shudder through your body. His hand rubbed circles on your back and the press of his lips on your forehead made you exhale through a content smile.

You stayed in his arms for as long as you could before desperately needing to use the bathroom, with Bucky laughing as you untangled your legs from his and the covers, sprinting naked off the bed. He laid back, arms folded under his head unable to contain his smile. This weekend has been greater than anything he could have ever dreamed of and the best is yet to come.

You scurry out of the bathroom towards your bag, throwing on a t-shirt for modesty before pulling out the clothes you would be changing into. Bucky watched as the sun streaming in through the window glowed around you, the angel that broke the confines of his heart.

There was less of a rush to the rest of the morning, having missed breakfast but still having time before you needed to check out. You checked your phone in between changing, seeing a flurry of messages come in from the group chat, plus Wanda and Steve sending separate ones to check in.

You heard Bucky get up from the bed but didn’t turn around because it still felt awkward. A good awkward as the butterflies in your stomach were still fluttering wildly, bit still whatever this was between you was undefined and you didn’t want to presume anything.

“Hey…” Bucky began slowly, and turning around you saw he was fully dressed except for his sneakers, hands in the pockets of his jeans with his shoulders shrugged up.

He looked like a little kid who thought he might be in trouble and it made you feel good to know you weren’t the only one who didn’t know how to act around each other. When you flashed him a smile Bucky relaxed, letting the tension go from his shoulders. He reached his hands out to take yours, holding both of them close to his heart.

Letting out a nervous breath he said, “Y/N, I want you to know that I meant what I said last night, every word.” Your smile slowly reached your eyes as he spoke. “And I never expected us to…” Bucky licked his lips, looking down as he felt his cheeks begin to flush at the memory of what happened. “It was incredible, you’re incredible, but maybe we could take things slow?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, sincerity woven through an unease smile as he waited for an answer. But he didn’t have to wait long. You nodded quickly, never losing eye contact as you smiled, reassuring him you could take things at whatever pace he needed. Bucky kissed your knuckles before letting your hands go, surprised to feel them around him instantly in a hug that dissolved any lingering concerns he had about his request.

Any awkward tension had dissipated by the time you pulled away, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the sound of your stomach hangrily rumbling. Bucky chuckled, feeling his own about to rival yours in volume so he sifted through the bag from your initial CVS run to find something to eat.

You satisfied your hunger with a protein bar each, splitting some almonds and topping it off with sparkling water, that you still worried would explode upon opening by the way Bucky quickly pulled it from the small fridge. Eating as you packed, you made sure nothing was left in the room. Bucky packed your dress up with his suit again and when you were ready he arranged an Uber to the train station.

Walking hand in hand to the elevator, Bucky stole an innocent kiss, unable to help himself. He wanted to show you just how much he cared now that the truth he held back for so long was finally out there. His affectionate touches continued all the way home, as Bucky slung his arm over you during the ride back to Manhattan.

“Wanna go out for some lunch?” he asked, as you approached your apartment building.

You nodded approvingly, listing a slew of places you could go for since breakfast wasn’t actually filling. Bucky opened the front door for you, resuming the placement of his fingers laced with yours once you were both inside.

The air in the building felt different, as if the walls themselves were watching you, whispering about what might be happening between two of their residents. The elevator opened, taking you to your floor with a jerking gasp when you and Bucky kissed inside of it.

Your bags were dropped off in your respective apartments, taking the elevator back down just as quickly as you came up to go for lunch, which was actually going to be breakfast. Bucky suggested a spot a few blocks away you had been to once before, an unassuming deli with an all day breakfast menu, though you hadn’t had the pleasure of trying their well known breakfast fare. You were looking forward to stuffing yourself sweet French toast and sugary syrup, hoping to spend the rest of the day lounging in Bucky’s arms.

“Bucky! Hey!” A woman's voice pulled you away from your lazy Sunday daydream.

You both turned around at the woman who just jogged past you, stopping to catch her breath. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

She was taller than average, showing off lean legs of unblemished light brown skin in the athletic shorts she wore. A large sweat stain soaked through the front of her grey tank top, her long dark hair a little messy but not really out of place.

“C-Claire?” Bucky stuttered, not expecting to run into her let alone remember her name. “Hey…”

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you. The hospital put me on night shifts the past week, it’s been hard to adjust. We still on for Saturday night?”

Sound was ringing in your ear like a bomb exploded in front of you and it had, in the form of Bucky being a lying scumbag. His snake like words charmed his way into your heart as a ploy to take off your pants and you complied with ease.

When the world was no longer a muffled haze you realized you and Bucky were alone again, with Claire probably continuing her work out; she has to look good for her date with Bucky at the end of the week. Maybe he was “taking it slow” with her too. You bit your lip before the quiver could show, feeling like an idiot for not knowing better. Bucky didn’t change and he never would.

“I’m so sorry about that. I never– ”

You were done with hearing any more of Bucky’s lies, retorting with one of your own.

“Shit! I just realized I was supposed to help Wanda finish unpacking today. She’s gonna kill me, I gotta run.”

You didn’t give Bucky the chance to speak, ignoring the way he pleaded for you to come back. Taking off towards the nearest subway, you ran down the stairs as fast as you could, at risk of tripping thanks to the tears that flooded your eyes. Wanda’s new place was much closer, and after a few quick stops you were in front of her door, sobbing heavily as you fell into her arms.

PART 21

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes smut

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a-supernatural-writer · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows Pt.4

Previous Part Next Part

Word Count: 2801

FemOC x Poly Lost Boys

A pink and blue sugary sweet entered Vanessa’s mouth. She hummed in enjoyment as the cotton candy instantaneously melted in her mouth. She loved the treat. Anything cotton candy or even a sweet that had the pink and blue color combination sent her into a giddy state of being.

She was leaning against the railing of the boardwalk with a set of stairs leading down to the beach right next to her.

It’s been a very long time since she’s been to a beach town. The group's previous home was New Orleans. Filled with swamps and bayous, smoke filled bars, and jazz playing almost every single night.

Vanessa didn’t dislike their previous home, it was just starting to become too repetitive for her. She loved jazz but was soon losing her mind hearing the same things over and over again. Their own rock band that they formed was at the bottom of the totem pole because of the music genre.

So, that’s when Vanessa suggested that they moved. Find somewhere new where their band would be appreciated. And what better place than California? Especially a small beach town that was always looking for performers.

Santa Carla was perfect. It was a hub for strange people. People like them. Well, not entirely like them but close enough.

Not to mention, more often than not, she was feeling a strange pull towards the beach town. Over the past few years it was getting stronger and stronger. She talked to the others about it and that convinced them even more to move to Santa Carla.

The others had a theory that made Vanessa practically itching her skin. The theory that her mate could be roaming around. And that freaked her out to no end. Her and her group have been around for over a few hundred years and only now she was getting a pull?

The group chalked it up to whether her own mate either turned into a vampire or it was a desire that both her and her mate wanted. Companionship.

Vanessa didn’t outright ever admit she wanted companionship in the sense of love or romance. She was perfectly content with her own coven.

But having a mate was a romantic situation. Sarah and Danielle are mates and so is Timothy and Luis. They were already all together before they changed, so not much changed to their dynamic.

Vanessa only guessed that deep down, she wanted it. She wanted what her friends had. Someone to be with and to rely on in a different way.

Vanessa frowned as she finished the last bit of her dinner, leaving nothing but the plastic bag behind. She crumpled up the plastic in her hands and tossed it into the trash can down below on the beach.

She still had a little time before she had to meet up with her friends. And the night would end with them maybe grabbing an extra bite to eat down at the beach.

She reached into her back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes that was slowly dwindling and would have to get a new pack by tomorrow night.

A single cigarette was plucked from the pack and Vanessa held it in between her lips as she put the pack in her back pocket and fished her lighter out in the other one. It was a gold lighter with her full name and a butterfly engraved on it. It was a present from her parents when she changed completely.

Cupping the cigarette with one hand, she flicked the lighter that was at the tip of the nicotine. Vanessa started to growl in frustration as the lighter wasn’t igniting. She stopped her attempts to get it to work and shook it up against her ear.

“Fucker.” Vanessa groaned when she couldn’t hear any lighter fluid sloshing about. She was so busy bringing everything into their new place this morning and getting all the necessary paperwork done that she forgot to refill it.

She reluctantly placed her lighter back into her pocket but kept the cigarette in her mouth. Maybe she could find someone with a lighter on hand?

“Need a light?” A lighter was held up by a leather gloved hand.

Vanessa’s eyes that were hidden behind her black sunglasses trailed up the arm and then landed on their face.

If that pull wasn’t strong before, it was now. She could feel her inside turning and twisting. The pull was much stronger, but it still seemed incomplete. Like it was waiting for more.

The owner of the lighter was a guy around her age. He had a platinum blonde mullet that almost looked white but it was nowhere close to her own white colored hair. He had stubble of the same color and icy blue eyes that looked like it could pierce through her heart. Thank god that her heart was half dead so it wasn’t beating like a drum.

Not only did the leather gloves surprise her, but his whole wardrobe did. He had two coats on which was a leather jacket underneath a black trench coat. Weird combination but it really worked for him. She saw a black shirt underneath those layers but she couldn’t tell what kind of shirt it was because it seemed to be hidden. A pair of leather pants that anyone can salivate over and ankle boots that had… Were those spurs?

Vanessa hid a smile behind her cigarette. She only concluded that he was old enough to have lived through the old western days. Maybe it stuck with him so much that he carried that piece of his life all these years.

She knew he was a vampire, a fully turned one cause she could not only smell it on him, but she felt deep within her blood.

“You have no idea.” Vanessa answers him. She cups her hand around the lighter as he ignites it, lighting up the end of her cigarette. She pulls back, inhaling it deeply, the ends of it burning as she breathes it in.

Vanessa watches as he himself takes a cigarette he had placed behind his ear, placing it in between his own lips and joining her. She breathes out smoke, tapping the ends of ashes over the side of the railing, “Thanks. I thought I was gonna lose it for a second.”

He smiled a little, breathing out his smoke, “I saw you struggling, and wanted to help.”

Vanessa smirked, she felt him trying to prod her mind. But since she was much older than he was, she had much more experience in the field of mind games than him. She closed her mind to him, not letting him get past any of her defenses. And instead put out some fake thoughts that would appease him.

But she was easily able to gain access to him without him knowing. And that’s when she learned that the pretty platinum blonde’s name was David. And so far, he thought she was human. He felt that same pull towards her. They both knew that they were each other's mate, but he thought she was oblivious to this pull. Just a naive little human.

“Why do I feel like that’s just an excuse?” Vanessa asked, taking in another puff.

David followed her actions, she will admit, guys who smoked like her surprisingly always put her off. But with David, it was a nice sight to see.

David smirked a little, “Don’t know what you mean.”

Vanessa wanted to laugh. Fucking tease. “Name’s Vanessa. I’d like to know the name of my hero of the night who encouraged my addiction.”

“Vanessa…” David repeated her name. If he wasn’t dead, maybe his heart would’ve skipped a beat. His mate's name was Vanessa. It wasn’t a name he heard often, but it would soon become his favorite.

David leans against the rail next to Vanessa, his coat covered shoulder just barely brushing against her bare ones.

Vanessa blinked and then continued to smoke as if the slight touch didn’t affect her. Which was a huge fucking lie. It almost felt like a shock and damn it felt good. David was on the same page. Suppressing his urges.

“My name is David. Hero of the night?” David smirked at Vanessa’s choice of words, “Such a compliment.” He continued to smoke as well, watching as the white haired female exhaled.

Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Take it. Don’t give them out much. But seriously, thanks. Nerves have been crazy.”

David nodded in agreement. His own nerves have been in a frenzy ever since he felt the pull towards her. He hid it well better than the others, smoking like a chimney ever since his mate set foot in Santa Carla.

He felt it even more when he sensed her at the Boardwalk. His coven could feel her too. But being the leader of their group, he broke off first, trying to find her through the crowds of people.

And when David saw her struggling with lighting her cigarette, the pull that he felt all but dragged David to her. He seized the opportunity and he was successful. He had control.

Once again, Vanessa wanted to laugh. So he liked control? Interesting. But what amused her the most was the fact that he thought he was in control. He was strong, she gave him credit where credit was due. Hell, he was close to being on par with her. Just some more practice and he would be stronger than her.

Vanessa was half vampire. She was strong in some areas but if a fully fledged vampire had enough time, they could easily beat her.

“Been in Santa Carla long?” David asked. He already knew the answer to that but he wanted to hear it from her.

Vanessa tapped off the last bit of ashes, taking her last puff, but before she could answer three news faces made their way over to the two of them and that’s when Vanessa almost lost her shit.

That pull that felt with David grew in tenfold as the new faces came closer. And it felt complete. Vanessa wanted to let out a string of curses. She didn’t just have one mate, she had four.

“Who’s the babe?” A guy with long blonde hair that was teased asked David as he hopped up to sit on the rail on Vanessa’s opposite side. He had sharp facial features and he had a blonde stubble as well, but not as noticeable as David’s. Pretty blue eyes that looked down at Vanessa with eagerness. He wore a black jacket that had some random pins and chains attached to it, a mesh tank top and white jeans that left very little to the imagination, brown worn out boots, and a bunch of random bracelets.

One of the other ones who had a mop of very long golden blonde curls that he had tied back was standing next to the other blonde, smiling devilishly at her. Which was opposite of his angel face looks. He was the only one with a clean face which pushed his innocent soft look even more. His eyes were a shade of light brown that held mischief. A very colorful jacket filled with different pieces of tapestry, pins and patches was placed over a white crop top to which Vanessa thought was a nice choice for his body type. A pair of jeans that was covered by chaps, boots and fingerless leather gloves adorned his hands.

And finally, a guy to which Vanessa thought fit every aspect of the phrase, tall, dark and handsome, stood next to David. Long dark brunette hair cascaded over his shoulders. He had a little bit of a stubble but not much. Deep brown eyes that were staring Vanessa down intensely. What shocked her a little was the fact that only a leather jacket with a jaguar on one sleeve and a necklace made from random items were the only things that was covering up his upper half. His tanned torso was just out in the open for everyone to see and Vanessa was very happy that she pretty much always wore her shades. He had a simple pair of black jeans and boots to finish off his look.

Vanessa then noticed that all four of them wore a single dangling earring in their left ears. They were a coven.

Vanessa and her coven had a similar jewelry accessory. All five of them had simple gold rings on their right thumbs. Things like that symbolized that you were part of their family, and that rule applied to most if not all vampire covens.

Vanessa stomped out her finished cigarette as David introduced everyone to each other, “This is Vanessa. Vanessa, that’s Paul, Marko and Dwayne.”

She nodded in acknowledgement at their names, “Hey.” She simply said. She wasn’t really trusting herself to say more at the moment. Four god damn mates. This was highly unexpected.

David finished his own and repeated his question from before the others interrupted.

Vanessa hummed, “Just got here today. My friends and I moved into our new place this morning.”

“Oo!” Paul exclaimed, throwing his arm over Vanessa’s shoulder. For a second, she thought she was going to push him off from the shock she felt when their skin touched. She wondered if it affected Paul as much as it did her.

“Where you from?” Paul continued. Paul did feel the same shock that Vanessa did. And it made him grin even more down at her. She was pretty, really pretty. The white hair looked hot on her and he so deeply wanted to see her eyes that were hidden from them.

Vanessa felt her hand twitch, wanting to reach back and pull out another cigarette, “Not really from anywhere. We just moved from New Orleans.” She decided to go with the last place she called home. In reality, she hasn’t been home in over thirty years.

Marko moved a little bit closer to Vanessa, desperately wanting to feel the same shock that David and Paul felt. He was itching to just even hold hands with his mate.

“Pretty big move.” Marko comments, placing his thumb nail in his mouth and biting down on it.

Vanessa couldn’t tell if that was a nervous tick of his or just something he repetitively did. She was leaning more towards being nervous just from his own thoughts. The action was cute though.

“Very.” Dwayne grunts out. Vanessa could feel her chest tightening at how deep his voice was, her jaw even dropped a little. Oh his voice is not fair.

The boys snickered among themselves at Vanessa. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought they were amused at her jaw dropping, but she did know better. She put that thought out in the open for all of them. Purely by accident.

David’s pointer finger pushed up Vanessa’s jaw, drawing her attention to him. “So, what are you doing here all alone?”

David’s finger gently trailed down the side of her neck. The leather making Vanessa involuntarily shiver.

That question snapped Vanessa back to reality, “Actually, thank you for reminding me.” Vanessa pushed off the railing, parting from David’s touch, “I have to go.”

Vanessa only made it two steps away from them when Marko’s hand snatched Vanessa’s wrist, “Where are you going? We could have some fun?”

Vanessa looked back at Marko, a shock running up her arm and spreading through her entire body. Marko’s grip on Vanessa’s wrist tightened a little from the same shock.

Biting her lip, Vanessa gently pulled away from Marko only to be stopped by Dwayne from behind.

Vanessa flinched a little as Dwayne’s torso collided with her back, a shock coursing through both of their bodies at the touch, “Vanessa?” Dwayne asked, placing his big hands on her shoulders.

Taking a moment to collect herself, Vanessa removes Dwayne’s hands and is fully able to back away from them. Disappointment flashed through their eyes, not wanting her to leave.

Vanessa smiles softly at them. She knew they wanted to get to know her and be around her. Once a mate touched a mate, it was hard to even separate five feet away from each other. She just needed a breather. Four mates was a lot and she just needed one day to fully take it in.

“I’m we could have a lot of fun…” Vanessa said to Marko, causing him to smile. Vanessa directed her attention back to David, “But, I’m afraid I have previous engagement.”

“Nessa!” A female voice that belonged to Sarah called out in the distance.

Vanessa wanted to kiss the ground she walked on. Her friends had perfect timing. Vanessa smiled, looking over her shoulder at her incoming friends, “Speak of the devils.”

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys oc #poly lost boys #poly lost boys x oc #female ocs #lost boys marko #lost boys paul #lost boys david #lost boys dwayne #OC #the lost boys x oc #the lost boys x reader #vampire #half vampires

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japannkenn · 3 years

Text

(Luca) Summer Heat (rated M) (unpublished/random pieces that I wrote)

Luca doesn’t like children, which is weird, because he technically is one? (He hadn’t been eighteen for that long, and things still felt the same) He does feel bad about it. He’d dealt with them over his years of study in Genova which was always a hassle, but it wasn’t his fault.

He didn’t know why he was intimidated by a couple of adolescents, just on the brink of consciousness of the world around them. Not old enough to worry about things bigger than how fast they can eat their gelato before it melted in the summertime heat.

He guesses he’s one to talk. Even if it’s been three years, he doesn’t feel like he knows anything. He may not be much better than these kids. He doesn’t know who he is. He thought he did. He thought he was starting to figure it out.

That’s why it’s so shocking to see how second nature Alberto is around a band of rowdy twelve year olds in the water, teaching them how to swim. And maybe they weren’t rowdy—just much too much for Luca to handle. He can’t believe how patient he is, how he humors their antics and how easy it is for him.

And he can’t believe how good he looks in that tiny red Bagnino tank top, iridescent purple scales shimmering in the sunlight, practically calling him.

Luca knew this was going to happen, so he brought a book to look down at if Alberto happened to turn back and steal a glance, lest he be caught staring. Because that would be the end of the world considering some of the things they’d done already.

There was a squiggly, fine line to their relationship.

And besides, he wasn’t good with kids. But it was fun to watch anyway. It doesn’t mean he didn’t feel bad.

“Va bene,” Luca hears him laugh from the water, a young girl looking up at him with a red tinge to her cheeks that definitely wasn’t from the setting sun. “If you can hold your breath for ten seconds, I’ll buy you another gelato.”

“Really? And I can pick the flavor?” Her eyes sparkle.

Alberto pauses comically. “No, no. I still get to pick the flavor,” his voice is giggly, and Luca’s heart wants to burst with affection and love.

“Hey! Non è giusto, you have to buy me one too!” A little boy pops up from under the water, eyebrows furrowed up at Alberto.

“Twenty seconds, then?”

“See that one right there?” He points to the same ragazza that he promised a gelato after he’d come back on the shore for a short break, sitting down beside Luca in the sand.

“Uh-huh,” he watches her as she makes a show of back stroking, glancing curiously at Alberto.

“She’s got a massive crush on me.”

Luca scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Ah, I bet that gets your ego nice and excited doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah,” he jokes, unwrapping an energy bar from his bag. He takes a bite, a quiet moment passes by and Luca awkwardly looks back down at his book. “Nah. I’m just wondering what I did to make her see me that way.” He says idly.

Luca chews his lip anxiously, incredulous. He starts to wonder if this was a trap. What was Alberto trying to do to him?

Whatever it was, it was working.

The Vespa was surprisingly still in commission, ready for a summer of rides down The Downhill, through the narrow roads, twists and turns to the piazza.

But Luca preferred Giulia’s bike whenever he could if she wasn’t using it. But he’d never admit it out loud that the reason he likes pedaling instead is because he thinks it’ll help him become more like Alberto. Physically, anyways. He was quite jealous, really, in this delicious, sensual way.

Actually, he thinks he’d tell Alberto the reason, if only he would ask. He wishes he would ask. He probably never would, because it was almost like he already knew.

“Don’t you wanna ride your fancy Vespa instead? Why do you need my bike?” Giulia even asks one day, putting Luca on the spot as he’s hopping on for a twenty minute cycle around the piazza.

“Let him use it. He needs the exercise,” Alberto says coolly from the porch, Machiavelli slung helplessly over his shoulder as he’s bringing him back inside from a bath.

Luca’s heart drops, his face burning red.

It’s almost annoying how bold Alberto is about it. No, it definitely is annoying. And Luca is tired of being constantly envious of his ever growing muscles. “Everyone’s bodies are different, you know?”

Luca glares at him. He’s trying to wash the dishes and not even Alberto was a fun distraction anymore. Just plain annoying. Stupid, dumb Alberto. “Haha,” he sulks.

“What works for me may not work for you,” he shrugs, scratching at his chin and appraising Luca’s body for a moment. What’s worse is that Luca can feel it, each little thought in his mind. What’s even worse is that in a matter of days, he’d become so self conscious about something he hadn’t ever thought about for more than five minutes.

Sure, he’d done his fair share of comparing himself to people, and especially Alberto. But he’d always had a summer fixation, whether that was a good or bad thing depended. It was always Alberto. And it wasn’t always good.

“If you’re really that worried about it, I can help you.”

Luca pauses, squeezing the sudsy dish sponge in his scaly hand. His first thought is to be defensive about it, and he is, but it’s a much lighter approach when he says with a little chuckle for good measure, “I’m not that worried about it.”

“But you are,” Alberto outsmarts him in that easy breezy way, winning another point for the Fluster Luca game. “Just a little. Right?”

When he turns to glare at his asshole of a friend again, he’s got that grin on his face, like he’d proven something, caught Luca in another lie the same way he could when they were fourteen, knowing and unbothered. It’s annoying.

Grumbling, he forces his attention back to vigorously scrubbing some dried alfredo off of a dinner plate. “I could give you training lessons. Just me and you.”

To keep from short circuiting, Luca laughs again, awkwardly.

Training started at eight in the morning the next day, on the beach. Alberto says they need open space to promote a healthy work environment, but Luca just feels put on the spot. He relied on the fact that Portorosso was a sleepy town, and it was unlikely that anyone would be awake this early. Besides the pescheria. Which is probably eighty percent of this town’s population.

Carp.

“Like this?” He asks breathlessly, trying to keep in tune with a swift jog in place, his entire body burning for all of the wrong reasons, not that he feels his ten-pack forming, but he can tell Alberto is watching him. Hard.

Alberto hums, scratching his chin. “No.”

***

Ferragosto this year is when he platonically-maybe-not-so-romantically falls in love with Alberto and Giulia all over again. They’ve got her old radio blasting the anthem of summer’64, il gatto e la volpe, and Luca can’t explain how excited he is to hear it again.

Fireworks burst over the astounding view from The Downhill. They’re finally old enough (well, excluding Giulia, but two legal adults were enough) to be out on their own under the influence of at least two glasses of wine.

It wasn’t that much, but Luca can’t help how giggly he feels, throwing his head back to sing, “Noi scopriamo talenti e non sbagliamo mai,” at the top of his lungs, delighted when Giulia takes the next verse.

“Noi sapremo sfruttare le tue qualità!” Her voice is shaky and cracks unexpectedly, but to Luca, it’s like music to his ears. Another firework rockets to the sky, bursting loudly.

“Dacci solo quattro monete e ti iscriviamo al concorso,” Alberto sings next, stumbling over the words and his voice is incredibly off key, but Luca beams at him, suddenly wanting to cry.

“Per la celebrità!” They all sing together, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

He never wants this to end. He wishes this bottle of wine were bottomless, so that the three of them could lay here in the grass forever underneath the inky black sky, lit up by colorful explosions, wiggling his toes freely in the wet grass, his two favorite people in the entire world right by his side, just like every summer.

But it’s going to end. It always did. That was the reality of it, and he always faced it. But just for a little longer, he could enjoy it knowing there was always next year. For now, he could be irresponsible and enjoy this. A little longer.

He reaches over, turning the radio up to the highest volume, cheering loudly over it.

Lui è il gatto ed io la volpe, stiamo in società

Di noi ti puoi fidar,

di noi ti puoi fidare,

di noi ti puoi fidar

There’s plenty of places to makeout in Portorosso, but somehow they’d ended up behind the house because—oh, now he remembered—it’s almost time for dinner, and they wanted to be back before sundown.

Admittedly, Luca was disappointed that nothing intense had happened on their little day trip to Isola del Mare, and to him it was a waste. He never did well with mixed feelings, and he couldn’t help not being talkative on the walk back to the Marcovaldo household.

If Alberto asked, he’d just say he was tired. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the whole truth— because, merda, the swim there and back really isn’t a cakewalk or anything. He felt near exhaustion, leaning slightly against Alberto as they stumbled down the narrow road, street lamps lighting the dusk night.

He doesn’t know what kind of person he’s becoming, but it most definitely isn’t practical.

He stumbles to trail along when Alberto unexpectedly yanks him behind the dark alley-like space between their house and a neighbor’s and Luca groans confusedly because he’s already a little frustrated with Alberto, even if it’s childish and petty.

“What are you—,” A flame ignites like an explosion in his chest when Alberto roughly slams him against the concrete wall by the shoulders, sucking in a deep breath when he feels his chest pressing firmly against his. “Why—,”

All Alberto does is laugh, and Luca would punch the stupid grin off of his face if he could see it in this light. “What’s that you said earlier? Sono felice? If that’s true then why haven’t you said anything since?”

Luca grumbles. “I’m just tired.”

“Uh-huh, right,” he says knowingly, releasing his tight grip on Luca’s shoulders to drop one arm by his side, the other hand planted firmly on the wall by his head instead. It makes Luca feel worse (better? He doesn’t know), the choice to leave or stay looming over him like a playful tease. “You’re upset I didn’t put my hand down your pants earlier, aren’t you?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Luca’s face heats up and he makes a weird noise of repulsion. “It’s stupid of me, I know,”

“I’ll tell you what…”

Sometimes or more often than not this summer, he doesn’t recognize himself as a top student in Genova, or a loyal son who herded goatfish for most of his life. It’s weird feeling different and thinking about himself like this. And Alberto, his dear friend who showed him this new world above the surface, is now his lover, a little more than just a friend, all and everything in between, and he’s different.

It’s strange.

This was certainly… unexpected.

When they finally come inside right in time for dinner, they’re skittish, and Giulia gives them a look that’s definitely more knowing than confused, but she’s uninformed nonetheless, and Luca can’t help but giggle. He feels like a brat.

He accidentally bumps into Massimo, rustling away from Alberto’s tight grip on his arm. He mumbles a quick mi scusi, sitting down in his seat. “Lo giuro, ragazzi,” Giulia grumbles exasperatedly, setting down cups of water around the table.

Luca steals a glance at Alberto as he picks up his cup for a sip, darting his eyes away quickly when they make eye contact.

“Ragazzi.” Signor Marcovaldo says sternly, and Luca and Alberto flinch. “Help set the table.”

“Certo, certo, sorry about that, papà,” Alberto rushes to the counter, leaning over to take two plates at a time. He sets them on the table, getting the last two. Right as Luca decides he should get up and help too, Alberto is on his way back to the table and they narrowly miss stumbling into each other, Luca letting out a strained little chuckle as they stare stupidly at each other.

Giulia clears her throat loudly, arms crossed.

Luca and Alberto immediately look at her, breaking out into awkward laughs.

“What is it with you two? Veramente,” she takes a seat beside Alberto after he finishes setting down the plates. Luca is next to stand beside Massimo at the counter, grabbing silverware. He can feel his heavy gaze burning holes through his head as he quickly rinses them in the sink, and if he just hurried then—!

“Luca.” Massimo grumbles. Luca flinches again, willing himself to look up at the man towering above him.

“Si?”

“Calmati.”

Luca shivers, drying the forks quickly in a towel. “Oh, sì, scusa,” he rushes back to the table, giving everyone their silverware before shakily taking his seat again. He catches Alberto staring at him again, and he slightly raises his eyebrows like asking stai bene, and Luca nods quickly.

“For dessert, it’s tiramisu,” Signor Marcovaldo says as he sits down, and Alberto’s eyes light up and he gasps excitedly. “For that, you have Giulietta to thank.”

Alberto frowns. Giulia grins smugly at him, and Luca lets out his first real laugh of tonight. “Ah, come on. Can tonight get any worse?” Alberto groans half heartedly, absentmindedly twirling some pasta onto his fork.

“Sure it can. I helped strain the noodles,” Giulia jokes, her mouth full.

“Oh, is that why you’re feeling so tipo tosto tonight?”

“Of course. It’s more than you ever help out around here.”

#archive of our own #luca 2021 #pixar luca #fanfiction #fanfic #japanken #aged up characters #alberto scorfano #luca paguro #giulia marcovaldo #Luca

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

Text

Five Seconds (8/8)

If you’d like to read this work in its entirety, you may do so here.

October 24, 2018

Scully was half-elated, half terrified when her children escaped from the cabin and their captor. It removed them from harm’s way, but gave the mercenary who held them a sole focus -- herself and the child she carried, and Mulder.

Luis seemed to be even more amped up by their escape, checking his watch and trying his phone twice as often. When she rose and requested a drink of water, the man stood so quickly from the chair he sat in that it fell backwards to the floor.

He stood, twitchy and suspicious, looked at her a moment and then nodded tersely. She turned to go into the kitchen when a powerful force seized her and she stumbled, grabbing onto the back of Mulder’s chair.

“Scully!” he said, alarmed. He rose and moved to her side as the gunman watched them, tense but otherwise expressionless.

The pain wrapped around her middle and went all the way to her back. She’d experienced back labor during her labor with William and remembered the agonizing sensation. This was the real thing.

“Mulder,” she whispered, dragging her eyes up to him. She saw realization dawn on him, saw the mix of tender excitement and abject fear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, tilting his head to the side to look at her. They rarely used pet names for each other, but the sound of those words on his lips made her stalwart exterior crumple. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked at him and tried to tell him silently all the things he’d ever meant to her, and all the things he ever would.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” the man said, to Lily. “We are going to unload the ATVs off of the trailer. We are going to drive them to the camp where your family is staying. You will be on one, your brother and I will be on the other. I will have a gun to your brother’s head the entire time. You try anything, I shoot him. He tries anything, I shoot him.”

Lily nodded, and she could hear Will swallow with some difficulty next to her. “My colleague at the camp… Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Lily said, not taking her eyes off the barrel of the gun.

“Good,” he said “Do what I say, and no one has to die.”

Lily could feel the weight of the burner phone in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could still use it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully grasped his hand tightly, eyes closed, breathing hard. As the night wore on and windows outside the cabin turned pale, her contractions seemed to be progressing as they ought, but she was in pain -- terrible pain -- and his heart clenched for her.

He hadn’t done this since Lily was born nearly two decades before -- holding the hand of his wife while she battled to bring his child into the world. He still felt an overriding guilt for not being there for her during her complicated and troubled delivery of William.

He remembered walking down the hallway toward her room the day he was born, his breath shaky and halting, not knowing what he’d find. There had been a strange sense of deja vu as he approached her door that night, and he had an odd mental picture — an actual phantasmagoria — flash through his mind unbidden of walking in and seeing Scully, her hair shorter than she had ever cut it, her body on the bed thin and reedy -- most definitely not pregnant. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, Scully lying on her side in the hospital bed, wires and IVs coming out of her, a nasal cannula over her ears. She wore a teal hospital gown and the look on her face was one of horrified surprise. The flash had so disturbed him that he ran the last few feet to her labor and delivery room and crashed through the door, which knocked into the rubber stopper on the wall. There Scully lay, in a pink gown, her hair long and her face pale, but smiling, their son lying peacefully on her chest.

He shook himself of the memory and concentrated on his wife.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The man had Will unhooking the ATVs as he pushed them back and off the ramp of the trailer, his gun strapped to a holster on his leg. Lily had her hand in her pocket thumbing the phone, trying to remember which button was “on” from memory. She depressed the button and the ancient phone beeped once, the sound covered by the merc turning on and revving the first four-wheeler, luck on her side, for once.

He moved to the side of the van and pulled out a mid-sized black canvas attache case that had a biohazard warning patch on the side. He secured it to the back of one of the vehicles and then winked at her. Lily’s insides went cold, thinking of her mother.

He pointed at the ATV and looked to Will. “Hop on, William,” he commanded. They had not told him their names. Her brother mounted the four-wheeler, licking his lips nervously. The merc turned to her.

“You know how to drive one of these?” he asked her. She shook her head. He pointed, impatient. “Throttle. Brake. Get on.”

She did.

“You know where to go,” the man said, then revved his engine, the noise a loud mechanical crank in the sleepy peace of the forest. A flock of birds were startled into flight from the trees above, taking wing into the autumn sky, a flutter of panicked commotion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Mulder, I need you to promise me something,” Scully said weakly. She was tiring and had refused food. She was laying on the narrow cot by the stove and he was sitting next to her.

“Anything,” he said, brushing back the hair from her forehead.

“Don’t be a hero,” she half-whispered. “I need you. The kids need you. Don’t… don’t try anything.”

Luis, listening in from a few yards away, spoke for the first time in an hour.

“‘S good advice,” he sneered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily slid the phone out of her pocket and took a surreptitious look down. It was on. She glanced back up to watch where she was going -- the trees here were much closer together -- saplings growing like weeds in a field. She had to swerve quickly to miss one and she heard the mercenary shout from behind her. Her quick turn had lifted the right side of the ATV’s wheels almost off the ground -- if she’d been leaning the wrong way or even at all, the whole thing would have gone over.

Straightening and watching her path on a fresh surge of adrenaline, she glanced once again at the phone -- there was a single bar of service showing. She was so shocked she almost dropped it. Licking her lips, she kept her eyes ahead and dialed 911, glancing down once or twice to make sure she’d entered it correctly. She pressed “send.” She was driving one-handed and was hoping the merc didn’t notice. Even with the roar of the engines, she could hear the phone dialing.

They were almost to the cabin. She could smell woodsmoke. If they cleared one more rise, they’d be there.

The burr of the phone ringing was the only thing she could hear.

Up the rise, she knew the ATV was still right behind her, knew that there was still a gun trained at her brother's head.

"9-1-1, what... your emergency?" she could hear the dispatcher through static.

Then she was over the hill. The cabin sat before them, a squat building standing stalwart in a field of trees, smoke leaking from the chimney and sinking to the ground like an escher painting.

She felt the machine under her go over an unexpected bump on the right side and the wheels rise up slightly. She took a chance on creating enough of a distraction for emergency services to trace her call. She leaned hard left and gravity did the rest, tipping the ATV in what felt like a slow motion fall onto its side. Lily, wearing neither helmet nor seatbelt fell hard onto her shoulder, her head snapping into the earth.

She rolled, and the machine missed her leg, but the phone went flying out of her hand, arcing through the air and into the leaf cover. The other ATV revved to catch up with her and then stopped close to the cabin on a spray of dirt and leaf pieces. Then the engine cut, and she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone several yards away cutting in and out in static.

Stars burst behind her eyes like fireworks popping in the night. When her vision cleared, the man was standing over her, his boots so close to her face that she could smell the leather. Her brother was close, but was clearly wary of the mercenary, and she saw him take several steps backward toward the cabin, his eyes on his sister and the dangerous tableau before him.

The man before her lifted a foot and she braced herself for a kick or a blow, but instead he took several steps off into the duff and then once again lifted his heavy booted foot up and this time slammed it down hard onto the staccato-voiced cell phone in the leaves, the static turning into silence with an almighty metallic crunch.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully’s contractions were extremely close together. She was lying on the cot, her face a sheen of perspiration. Mulder almost didn’t hear the sound of the engines over her groan.

Luis, who had been watching Scully intensely, his brows knitted together, stood quickly when he heard the motors. There was a chaotic sound outside and then the engines cut, close to the cabin.

“About fucking time,” Luis hissed and then was out the door, leaving it open. Mulder looked to Scully and then, very slowly and deliberately leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, “I always have and always will love you.”

Scully nodded and then another contraction pressed on her and she winced.

“Mulder, I’m feeling really pushy,” she said.

“Shit,” Mulder swore, standing without much hope of doing anything.

Scully opened her mouth and let out an unholy yowl.

And then, from outside the cabin, they heard the unmistakable voice of their fifteen year old son: “Mom?!”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Shut up,” said the merc to William from where he stood by the cabin’s door.

Lily rolled up to her knees and shook her head, standing woozily, just as the man Luis came barreling out the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luis hissed at the other man.

“Get your panties out of your ass, Cardinal,” he said. “I’m here.”

“She’s in labor, you greasy piece of shit. We’re on the fucking clock.”

Another dump of adrenaline hit Lily’s bloodstream and she took several steps toward her brother, who was still looking at the cabin in alarm.

He nodded at Luis and unstrapped the black attache kit from the back of his ATV, walking to the open doorway, where he paused. He pointed to where Lily stood, not far from her brother.

“Watch these two,” he said, “and maybe don’t lose them this time?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“...and maybe don’t lose them this time,” Mulder heard from the doorway. The voice was familiar, and when he looked to the man’s face, he was taken over by such an unholy rage that his vision quite literally tunneled, going black from the sides.

He’d launched himself before anyone knew quite what was happening, even himself. His body hit the other man’s full force and they flew outside, landing in the duff and scattering dirt from the force of their impact.

“Krycek,” he hissed, “you son of a bitch-” and then he reared back his fist and delivered a haymaker to the man’s chin -- all the pent of fury of finding Scully at the top of Skyland Mountain all those years ago crashing back -- Krycek’s head whipped back, spraying blood onto the O horizon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d say this for her brother: his time on the ice had served him well.

Cardinal was as taken by surprise as everyone else by their father’s furious launch at the other merc, and Will, who had been standing several feet away, took the opportunity to grab his improvised hockey stick, which had been propped up by the door on the outside of the cabin and swung it with everything he had at the man. It connected with Cardinal directly across the temple; the dull, sickening thud the best thing Lily had ever heard. Cardinal hit the wall of the cabin and crumpled, sliding to the ground like bubbles down wet skin.

Her father’s head whipped around to see what had happened behind him, and Krycek seized the opportunity to kick Mulder hard, sending him flying backwards. Both men scrambled up to standing when Scully appeared in the doorway of the cabin, taking two shaky steps outside. Everyone turned to her.

“Mulder,” she rasped, looking at her husband, distraught, “I think it’s time.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder looked to his wife.

Scully then let out a scream and stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby tree for support. Lily dashed to her side without thinking, giving Krycek the opportunity to swing the gun he still held in his hand up to train it on both of them. Mulder’s heart rose to his throat.

From nowhere, Krycek produced another pistol, which he aimed at Will, who had been attempting to get around the side of the cabin after felling Cardinal. Mulder froze.

"This ends one of two ways!" Krycek shouted, stopping everyone in their tracks. There was a smear of blood running down his chin. "All of you dead, or everyone alive. I really don't care one way or the other."

Krycek flicked the gun once at Will, who dropped the stick and made his way over to his sister, who was still several feet away from Scully, who had taken a few staggered steps before slumping to her knees, knocked back by another powerful contraction, this one right on the heels of the last. She was panting, and swung her eyes up to Mulder drunkenly. Krycek had a gun on her and one on their children.

"All right," Mulder said, anguish gripping him, "all right."

He was out of options. He looked to the functioning four-wheeler that Krycek had come in on. Krycek could have Scully on it and to the county road in less than ten minutes. The other four wheeler was still on its side, smoking, the smell of gas and oil ripe in the air. He'd never be able to get to them.

Mulder looked at Scully. He looked at his children. Hopelessness rose in his gut like vomit, consuming and poisonous. He thought vaguely of bum-rushing Krycek once again, one last sacrifice to save those he loved.

The moment slowed to a honied drip. Five seconds to make a choice, each one ticking by more slowly than the one before it. One. He thought of Lily as a baby, of William; the newborn smell of their sweet red hair. Two. He thought of Olivia Kurtzweil, sitting across from him in his office. Lying dead on her own floor. Three. He thought of Samantha, her thick braids flying out behind her, laughing as she ran down the beach in Quonochontaug. Four. He thought of his first day of firearms training at Quantico. His instructor laying a pistol on the countertop and saying: “It takes only seven pounds of pressure to pull a trigger.” Five. He thought of Scully. Of their first meeting in the basement office, her bright seafoam eyes and her chipper little handshake. He thought of her terrified face atop Skyland Mountain, how her hands felt around his neck as he carried her all the way down. He thought of how she gasped when he touched her, of the dusky way her skin looked in the moonlight.

He moved to take a step toward her, but was shocked into stillness when a gun shot rang out out of nowhere and Krycek slumped to the ground. Mulder turned to where the shot had come from and there, standing in the middle of the Northwoods forest in a pristine white blazer and jeans stood Lauren, the archaic rifle that had adorned the deer mount on the cabin wall pressed expertly to her shoulder. Smoke wafted out of the barrel, and she slowly lowered the weapon.

“You stopped answering your phone, Fox,” she said. “We had a deal.”

XxX

Will and Lily were both facing away from where Krycek had fallen, looking at Lauren in surprise, and Mulder took three large strides to get to them before they could turn and see what was left of the man. He grabbed them by the shoulders, one hand on each of them and leaned down.

“It’s okay,” he said, in a quiet voice, “we’re all okay.”

Will turned into him and buried his face into his father’s chest. Lily put her hand over his and turned toward Scully, who was leaning against a tree, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. Luis Cardinal was still out cold by the cabin’s wall, his arm thrown out an odd angle. Mulder hoped it was broken.

“Can you guys help your mom into the cabin?” he said and both kids went immediately to her.

He heard the crunching of leaves and found Lauren at his shoulder.

“I called the county Sheriff before I came onto the property,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t know how long it will take them to get here.”

Mulder turned to her in full.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky, “You saved my family.”

“You’re all the family I have left,” she said, “and you would have done the same for me.”

He pulled her tightly to him. She gave him a brief squeeze, the rifle she was holding pressing into his hip. She pulled back.

“Please tell me Dana’s not in labor,” she said.

“Dana’s in labor.”

Lauren took a deep breath and glanced down at the man whose life she had taken not moments before.

“Don’t look,” Mulder said gently.

Lauren nodded stoically and shouldered the rifle.

“There’s another merc by the cabin,” Mulder said, “alive. Can you help me secure him? See if there’s some rope or something inside?”

Lauren nodded and headed into the cabin, and Mulder turned to Krycek and pushed him over onto his back with his foot. The man was looking straight up with sightless eyes. Then Mulder noticed several pairs of zip ties that Krycek had had secured to his utility belt. He tried not to think of what he’d planned to use them for, and pulled one from the dead man’s waist.

“We need to make this quick,” Lauren said as she came out the door, her statement punctuated by a low, feminine moan from inside the cabin. Mulder’s gut roiled.

“Let’s go,” he said, and dragged Cardinal roughly by the shoulders to a medium pine not far from the cabin door. Mulder wrenched the man’s hands behind his back around the tree and Lauren cinched the zip tie on tightly. He gave a light moan but was otherwise still.

When they trotted back into the cabin, they found both kids at their mother’s side, wearing panicked, wary faces.

Scully had settled onto the cot that had been set up near the woodstove. Her eyes were closed and her hands gripped the steel frame. Mulder asked the kids to collect clean linens and blankets from the cedar cabinet and then went back outside to pull Krycek’s body over behind a large tree, knowing he was disturbing evidence, but not caring. He didn’t want it anywhere the kids could see.

When he came back inside, Scully was propped up on pillows, Lauren kneeling next to her. They both turned to him. Scully reached out her hand and he walked over and grabbed it.

“Any sign of the Sheriff?” Lauren asked in a low voice.

Mulder shook his head.

Scully winced and squeezed his hand, gritting her teeth.

“Her contractions are one on top of each other, Fox,” Lauren said.

Lily had drifted over and spoke from Mulder’s elbow.

“Can you give me and Will something to do?” she said, “he’s kind of freaked, and so am I.”

“Hey Will,” Mulder said, “can you take the bucket to the pump and bring us water?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up and grabbed the bucket by the kitchen wall and scooted outside quickly.

“Lily,” Mulder said, and she looked up at him. “Do you think you can help your mom?”

“Yeah, I can,” Lily said, and went to Scully’s other side.

Scully looked up to Mulder.

“I’m feeling really pushy,” she said once again and gave him a this is serious look.

“You pitch, I’ll catch,” Mulder said easily, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel, and moved to the end of the bed. He helped Scully pull down her leggings and get situated back on the bed.

Scully was breathing hard and took another deep breath, trying to slow herself down.

“Lil,” she said, pausing to close her eyes and breathe through her nose, “you hold one knee, Lauren will hold the other.”

Lily nodded bravely and grabbed her mother’s leg firmly. Lauren did the same on Scully’s other side.

Mulder could see a bright thatch of hair already crowning between Scully’s legs and grabbed a clean towel, reaching forward.

“Oh my god,” Lauren said, just as Scully gave another almighty yell. The baby’s head was all the way out. One more push and Mulder caught his second son as he careened into the world, registering his complaints loudly for anyone who would hear them.

Will came banging through the door just as Mulder was placing the child on Scully’s chest, a full bucket of water sloshing over where it hung from his hand.

“The Sheriff is here!” he said, as he took in the sight before him.

“Come and meet your brother,” Scully said, smiling tiredly, sweat beaded on her brow.

EPILOGUE

Lily stood in front of the building nervously twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, over and over; a tic she’d had since childhood. Her father was parked not quite a block up the avenue waiting for her -- not totally out of sight, but enough to afford her some privacy. She glanced at his car's taillights once and then looked back at the old building with its colossal white columns and bright red brick.

She knew Travis's schedule well enough that she shouldn’t have been surprised when he emerged from the double doors of the Old Engineering Hall, but her heart skipped a beat anyway.

He was several steps out when he noticed her standing at the base of the old cement staircase, and he pulled up short, cinching his backpack once contemplatively before continuing his descent. He stopped in front of her, but made no move to touch her or talk. He merely looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

She gave him a tentative smile that he didn't return.

"Hi," she finally said.

"Hello," he said. He didn't sound angry or upset, merely expectant, maybe a little resigned.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She couldn't think of a thing to say -- where to possibly start telling him her story. He must have sensed how overwhelmed she was, as he took a breath and said, not unkindly:

"You were supposed to meet me for lunch. You never showed up."

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head, remembering the feeling of being pursued through the student union, of holding her father's hand and running from Darlene's house, thinking she may have gotten her whole family killed. Of running through the trees. Of gunshots and the hot ozone smell of cordite.

"I called you," he went on, "I called you like thirty times."

"I didn't have my phone," she finally said, "I couldn't-"

"-you didn't have to ghost me, Lillian," he interrupted, "I was afraid something happened to you... I was about to call the cops when I realized that I didn't actually know where you lived." His tone was serious, a touch disappointed, and it made Lily's insides feel like iced lead.

"My... my name's not Lillian," she whispered, and the tears finally fell from her eyes.

He tilted his head like a confused pup and looked at her, puzzled and upset.

So she told him. Everything. She took a breath and let loose with everything she and her family had been through for the last nine months. In a teary voice with hitching sobs, she told him about her family's genetic legacy, about going on the run, about how she had managed to feel safe and happy when she was with him, able to forget -- at least for a few hours -- about the dangers pressing on her from all sides. And finally about the last 72 hours and her life at the other end of a pointed gun.

He stood, staring at her in fascination and what looked like disbelief. When the last word of explanation had been said, she could feel her insides wilt a little in relief; everything out in the open, the last of her words falling out of her mouth and sinking to the ground, heavier than air.

“I… I would understand if you didn’t believe me,” she finished.

Just as she steeled herself for his withering incredulity and disbelief, he took one giant step toward her, dropping his backpack as he moved, and wrapped her in his thick, sturdy embrace. She felt herself melt into his caress like liquid, felt his hand come up to hold her head tightly to his chest, his fingers threading through her hair.

“I believe you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

She experienced a relief so profound she gave an involuntary sob into the solid mass of him, as he murmured words of encouragement and comfort into her ear. She figured out in that moment what love was. It was this.

She wasn't sure how long they held each other, but he didn't pull back until she did, and even then he reached out and grabbed her face in both hands lightly, his thumbs rubbing her cheekbones in a gossamer wisp.

"Jesus," he finally said, searching her eyes with his intense hazel gaze. She gave him a shaky smile and a half laugh and he dropped one hand to her arm, leaving the other on her face, which she leaned into. "I don't know your real name," he chuffed kindly, "What do I even call you?"

She smiled, sniffed -- probably unattractively, she thought -- and closed her eyes once before looking at him with affection. "I'm kind of partial to 'Frisbee,' to be honest," she said. He leaned down and kissed her with everything he was worth.

#In Conclusion #MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #XF #Fanfic #My fic

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