#he was stunned to have such a beautiful specimen grace his eyes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikethestatue · 3 years ago

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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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foilfreak · 4 years ago

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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dangerousconnoisseurdonut · 4 years ago

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Omega Auction of the Century Preview

@jeromiah and @nostalgic90s proposed a most intriguing idea of Omegas being so rare, they are auctioned off, and Bruce would go for a frankly insane amount as he is the most eligible of Omegas around. This is just the start of an idea, but I have to get ready for work and want to know what people think of it so far!

Bruce couldn’t completely withhold his shudder of fear and revulsion as he heard the second Omega on the auction block went for a cool ten million, upped from the eight million the last one went for, simply because the first one had been a male and this one was a slightly pudgy (but not unattractive) female who came from a family of six, so she had a good chance for being a strong breeder. Oh, but how he and Brooke hated being referred to that way; as if they were cows or horses just waiting for a stud to come along. In school, they had both received a lot of flack from their peers, often being referred to as breeding stock or even whores once (Brooke had broken Grace Van Dhal’s nose when she said that). It was only their parents large donations to the school that they had taught them proper courses at all as many just enrolled Omega’s in more simple math courses, home economics, home estate management courses, and the like. When their parents had died, the school had tried to put them in those courses, thankfully their Uncles Lucius Fox and Ed Nygma, with their Alpha Dr. Leslie Thompkins, had simply pulled them from the school and taught them everything they needed to know.

Sadly, he thought as the third Omega was taken out for the block, it was probably all going to be for naught; rich Alphas and Betas didn’t really care how smart the Omega was so long as they were fertile and not an imbecile as they worried about the child inheriting such a thing (too bad you couldn’t keep stupid Alphas from mating). And, as Bruce was a rare intersex Omega, his fertility was somewhere around 89%, meaning he would probably get pregnant right away when they took him on his birthday and went into Heat. This was one of the reasons he was being saved for last; his high fertility rate combined with his company and his higher than average intelligence made him a very appealing Omega. Combined with the fact his twin sister was also an Omega, Bruce and Brooke could very well break the record for highest auctioned Omega in the United States, possibly all of North America, which was a steep forty million last year when Lex Luthor bought his Omega, a farm boy by the name of Clark Kent. Some people thought he overpaid, until the rumours started circulating that Lex had had a crush on the boy through their high school years, but the boy had largely appeared straight. At least, he thought as the third Omega, a boy that went for only seven million due to him having a scar on his abdomen from when he had needed to have his appendix taken out as well as his sister having had a miscarriage, Lee, Lucius, and Ed would get a large ‘dowry’ for them as the family of the Omega got around 40% of the bid.

As the fourth, and last Omega before them was hauled out, he bemoaned what they were making him and Brooke wear; all Omega’s had to wear very revealing clothes so as to entice the Alphas into spending big bucks on them. They had originally wanted Bruce and Brooke in something not even a prostitute would be caught dead in; some kind of lacy piece that frankly looked more like lingerie than any type of clothing. But, after a few well placed threats from Ed and Lee, what they was wearing was more fit for a rave or rock concert, but at least it wasn’t entirely see-through. They had put him in tight leather pants, a mesh t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination, and Lee had given him his favourite leather jacket to wear. Brooke was wearing some kind of leather halter top the covered her breasts and did nothing else, as well as a short skirt and fishnet stockings and her favourite knee high boots, all covered by her favourite leather duster. Soon though, he heard the last Omega, a beautiful young girl who came from a long line of strong Alphas and other beautiful Omegas, no Betas found in her family tree, even if her family wasn’t that well off, no doubt they would enjoy the 40% of the twenty million she was just sold for. They were soon being ushered onto the stage, and barely managed to hold in his whimpers as all the men and women in the room were looking at them like they were rib-eyes and they were all starving. Brooke had his hand clamped in a death grip as she looked out as well.

“And here we have, Ladies and Gentlemen, saved the best for last; twin Omegas, Bruce and Brooke Wayne! The last of the Wayne’s, they actually score high in mathematics and sciences, Bruce is intersex…” Bruce drowned out the announcer as his and Brooke’s ‘accomplishments’ were listed, and took stock of just who was there, and felt more than a little sick at who he saw; crime bosses like Thorn, Falcone, and Maroni were there (God, but he hoped Maroni didn’t win them as the man had four Omega’s already, and more than one of them had been accidentally photographed with shiners). There were creeps like Hugo Strange, who was rumoured to experiment on Betas, and Kathryn Monroe, who was rumoured to be something of a cult leader. Then, there were just straight up assholes like Roland Daggett, an unscrupulous CEO that was suspected of taking several shortcuts to get what he wanted, their old classmate Brant Jones, and the one who made him the sickest of all; Theo Galavan. Bruce prayed to whatever powers were listening that Galavan didn’t get them as he would no doubt dissolve Wayne Enterprises as he despised the Wayne’s, and it had been all Thomas, and later Lee, could do to keep Galavan away from Bruce and Brooke when they were younger.

“Shall we start the bidding at $500,000? Thank you, Mr. Daggett, that’s $500,000 to start us off.”

“$550,000!”

“You insult the pair, Salvatore! $750,000!” Bruce was pretty sure that was Carmine Falcone, and prayed that either they were going to be the old man’s, or his son Mario, who was said to actually be rather kind, as opposed to the daughter Sofia; word had it the woman was a straight up whack-job.

“You both insult such fine specimens; $1,000,000!” Hugo Strange bid, and Bruce quickly hoped someone outbid the man quickly as he was losing feeling in his hand due to Brooke’s squeezing.

“$1,500,000!” Bruce saw another acquaintance, Tommy Elliot enter the ring, and really hoped he had matured some since he punched his lights out.

“$5,000,000!” Please, God, no was all Bruce could think as Galavan threw his own hat into the ring.

“$6,000,000!” Bruce was both relieved someone outbid Galavan, but also a little disturbed as it was Kathryn Monroe who bid; he had nothing against older women taking younger lovers (he refused to call them cougars as he found it offensive), but it wasn’t really his thing and besides which, while he may be bisexual, he largely swung for his own team.

“$10,000,000!” Bruce looked up at the familiar voice and saw Barbara Kean and her partner Tabitha Galavan had just thrown down a substantial gauntlet, and he wondered why as not only were Barbara and Tabitha lesbians, they had two Omegas already, and one Beta; his friends Ivy Pepper, Bridgit Pike, and Selina Kyle. He figured this way, he would carry the pups and they wouldn’t have to worry about it. They were probably his and Brooke’s best hope as they would be with their friends and while Barbara could be a little intense (and Tabitha was well known for her whip), he didn’t think either woman would be abusive to their Omegas; Selina had certainly never complained about how Bridgit and Ivy were treated.

“$15,000,000!” Daggett came back into the ring with a strong bid, and Bruce was beginning to feel a little sick as he placed his other hand over Bryce, who whispered a sorry into his ear.

“$23,000,000!” Bruce was rather surprised when Fish Mooney threw a bid out as the woman was usually too busy to have much to do with Omegas, but among the crime bosses littering Gotham, she was one of the better ones to be owned by.

“$30,000,000!” Bruce gripped Brooke back as Galavan countered with a number not many would be willing to counter, even for twin Omegas.

“$40,000,000!” Barbara and Tabitha countered, and it seemed like they were in a vacuum as there didn’t seem to be any noise whatsoever. Bruce prayed that it was too much for Galavan to go above his sister as the announcer exclaimed,

“We have $40,000,000! Thank you Miss. Kean and Miss. Galavan! Do I have anymore bids? That’s $40,000,000 for the Wayne twins to Miss. Kean and Miss. Galavan going once! Going Twice! Going Three ti-!”

“$50,000,000!” Bruce was almost certain he or Brooke were going to pass out as they felt the air pressure drop at an unprecedented number, even for a pair of Omegas. He looked out into the audience and saw that many had mentally withdrawn from the battle, and felt his heart sink as he knew not even Barbara and Tabitha would go against such a bid.

“We now have $50,000,000 to Mr. Theo Galavan! That is a new record! Thank you, Mr. Galavan! Do I have anymore bids? Sirs? Ladies? Well, then that is $50,000,000 to Mr. Theo Galavan, going once!” Bruce prayed anyone would outbid Galavan; he would gladly cover the difference if at least his sister was safe, but none raised their hands.

“Going twice!” Bruce felt Brooke clutch his shoulder as her own shook with the realization that no one was going to outbid their worst nightmare.

“Going three times!” Bruce saw Galavan smirk as his dream of destroying the Wayne legacy was about to come to fruition.

“So-”

“$98,316,010.99!” Everyone was stunned and swirled their heads, trying to figure out who had placed such an outlandish (and rather peculiar) bid, only to see a man decked out in a tight leather outfit and completely bald; he didn’t even have eyebrows, but all knew who this man was. Victor Zsasz, one of, if not the most, Gotham’s most deadly assassins, the Penguin’s bodyguard and enforcer; a man not to be trifled with under any circumstances.

“S-sir?” The announcer, who before had been annoyingly enthusiastic about selling off young men and women, was now very scared as the assassin actually walked up on stage with two of his Zsaszette’s as others referred to them, both of whom smiled gently at the frightened Omegas.

“That, is a joint bid from my boss, Oswald Cobblepot, Jervis Tetch, Victor Fries, Jim Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, and the Valeska twins, Jerome and Jeremiah. They couldn’t decide which one they wanted, so they pooled their resources for the pair of them.” Zsasz explained before he took a good look at the twins and asked,

“Do either of you feel comfortable wearing that?” Bruce shook his head as Brooke whispered,

“No, Mr. Zsasz.”

“OK, we got some clothes in the car you can change into before we leave, make you look less like a pair of hookers and more like a pair of wealthy brats. Unless, of course, someone wishes to bid against the seven most dangerous men in the city?” Zsasz looked out toward the crowd, making eye contact with Galavan in particular, who actually looked to be gearing up to try and outbid the psychopath, when the announcer said,

“Going once, going twice, going thrice, sold! Sold to -”

“Just call them the Legion of Horribles; it’s quite the mouthful otherwise.” Zsasz said as he and his girls checked the pair for any bruising or scars, and somewhat surprised to see a few here and there, but they weren’t abuse scars; these were battle scars.

“Sold to the Legion of Horribles! They just have to do one final check-up and then you can pick them up at the side entrance.”

“Most valuable darlings in the world, and you make them sound like a pair of cheap hookers, nice.” One of the Zsaszette’s complained before the pair were escorted off the stage.

Please tell me what you think of it so far, as there’s a lot more to come!

#Gotham #gotham au #bruce wayne #brooke wayne #abo #victor zsasz

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

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The Eternal and Unseen (1 of 3)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

a/n: Thanks to @spartanguard and @optomisticgirl for the prompts that planted the seeds of this idea and to my TERRACE-mates @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub, without whom I might never have found the right way to encourage them to grow, and of course INCOHERENT GIBBERING NOISES OF DELIGHT to @carpedzem for the absolutely stunning art about which I cannot possibly say enough good things. Please zoom all the way in and appreciate the perfection of all the little details she included. The tiny wee fronds on the plant! The shape of the light! Emma’s feather earrings! Her red cloak! Her hat! (the hat you guys, the hat!!). Everything about it is so, so gorgeous and Nat is so talented and creative and such a joy to work with ❤️❤️❤️.

On AO3 Rating: M Words: 3.9k (first chapter)

CHAPTER ONE:

David Nolan was always surprised by people’s reactions when they learned he was the Resident Assistant for H.C. Andersen Hall at Misthaven University. Sure, it was the oldest dorm on the campus, built of dark stone in a high Gothic style, with tall towers and pointed arches, way back when Misthaven and her people still believed in magic. And sure, the heavy wooden doors had a way of creaking on their iron hinges and the windows rattled in their frames when the wind was high... sometimes even when it didn’t blow at all. But this was merely rust and weather and David was a practical man, not one to be troubled by such things as can be plausibly explained away.

And yes, Andersen did have that reputation, though David was certain it could be no more than simple silly student gossip. As an upperclassmen dorm its occupancy was by request only, and over the years it had come to be known as the place where some of the more… unique students tended to convene. But that was surely no reason for people to give that startled twitch or to take a wary step back from him when he told them about his job. Or for the other candidates to look so relieved when they learned it was he and not they who’d be taking over from the last RA, a guy called Walsh who had, in the words of one, “Still not recovered from the trau—er, the experience. But hey, good luck, man.”

A thousand years ago when it was known by another name, Andersen alone had been the university, a haven for scholars of every kith and creed and a place where learning took precedence over any rivalry, however ancient. The building had both schooled and housed them, fed them in its great dining hall with food cooked in the basement kitchen, tutored them in the tower classrooms with books procured from the vast library. When lessons were completed the scholars found repose in the common room, a comfortable space with an enormous fireplace, large, overstuffed chairs, and carved wooden tables where lively debates were had each night until the fire died and they withdrew to their rooms to sleep. (Rooms which, David observed to his delight, were twice the size of those in the other dorms and always single occupancy—no roommate squabbles for him to contend with.) As the university grew and newer dorms were built, as the ancient covenants were forgotten and magic faded from the land, fewer and fewer students chose to reside in the newly christened Andersen Hall. At present there were only eight, plus David, who despite the strange reactions he encountered was thrilled to be the RA there. Eight residents, and all upperclassmen, he thought to himself. Andersen had to be the easiest gig on campus. How odd that no one else had seemed to want it.

The hall itself stood just at the edge of the modern campus, tucked against the so-called enchanted forest that marked the border of Misthaven on three sides. It was an ancient forest, whether enchanted or not—a forest of twisted trees and clinging moss and the shrouding mist that gave their country its name. Very little sunlight survived to reach its floor and thus such things as grew there fed on decay, most digging their roots deep into the soil to wrench what nutrients they could from it and barely peeking the tips of their grey-green leaves above the ground. Other valiant species reached out for whatever light could penetrate the dense canopy, stretching upward into vines that curled around the trunks and branches of the gnarled trees to unfurl their broad leaves hopefully as close as they could to the sky. And so it was of course these very leaves and vines and branches that crept up Andersen’s stone walls and scraped against its windows, and cast deep and shifting shadows that fell both outside the hall and in.

So yeah, David reflected, Andersen Hall was old. And dark. And with each successive year it sank a bit more deeply into the forest’s embrace—a perfectly benign embrace, most of the time, although perhaps not ideal when you found yourself alone in your dorm with the music in your headphones never quite as loud as the branches across your windows, or the distant howls of wolves, or the much less distant scrabblings of other creatures to which it was not always wise to put a name. So, yeah, there was that.

And the students who chose to live in Andersen were characters, that was for sure. Even David had to admit that he’d never met anyone quite like them before. But, he reminded himself, at the end of the day they were just students. Just kids like all the others, despite the sometimes unnerving focus of their attention and the surprising depth to their eyes. Just college kids discovering themselves, exploring their quirks and hobbies and interests.

Take Emma, for example. Emma Swan, as graceful as her name implied and even more beautiful, with her warm smile and wry humour and the spark of mischief in her green eyes. One of the nicest girls David had ever met, tough and smart but with a kind and generous heart and a tender vulnerability that made him wish it were still fashionable to slay dragons. He’d gladly slay one for her—or anything else that might threaten her. His urge to protect Emma at all costs—though from what dangers it was never quite clear—surprised him with its persistent and overwhelming strength.

Also surprising was Emma’s choice of dorm-room decor; the space in her room not occupied by the bed, desk, television, and mini-fridge that were standard even in Andersen rooms, she had filled entirely with plants. Plants the like of which David was certain he had never before seen, long and twisted vines that clung and crept across the stone walls, broad leaves and pointed ones and flowers in unexpected colours. He’d examined them with a frown the day she moved in, mildly unnerved by how comfortably they already seemed to inhabit the space but convinced by Emma’s soothing reassurances and the evidence of his own eyes that none of them were anything college kids might wish to dry and smoke. And while keeping what was essentially a greenhouse in a dorm room may be a bit unorthodox it wasn’t strictly against the rules—David had even made a special visit to the Chancellor to ensure Emma wouldn’t run into any difficulty later on, if another student made a complaint, for example. The Chancellor’s eyes had widened to an alarming size, but he’d confirmed that yes, students were allowed plants in their rooms, and there wasn’t technically a limit on their number, then hustled David from his office with the rather thin excuse of a dentist appointment he suddenly remembered he had.

And as for Emma’s habit of chatting to her plants as though they understood her words, or chuckling to herself as she did so, or singing as she watered them—a low and haunting tune in a language David felt he really ought to recognise—all while wearing a pointed hat made of green straw with flowers round the brim which she called her ‘special gardening hat’… well, she wasn’t bothering anyone and David really didn’t think it was his place to judge.

And actually, Emma’s plants weren’t even the most unusual things that could be found in the rooms of his residents. Victor Whale, a slender, pale young man who gave the impression of feeding off his own nervous energy, had what looked to David’s admittedly untrained eye like an entire laboratory set up in his room—tall shelves lined with specimen jars and long tables loaded with Bunsen burners under simmering beakers of… substances in which David felt it might be wisest not to invest too much careful thought. He had not spoken to the Chancellor about those burners and didn’t intend to, both because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them and because Victor with his wild hair and wilder eyes, the sardonic smirk he nearly always wore and the barbed comments he loved to make, did not rouse quite the same protective instincts in David as Emma did.

That, and he wasn’t entirely certain the Chancellor would agree to meet with him again.

Of all his residents, the one David felt he could relate to most was Graham. They shared a similar taste for plaid shirts and brown leather jackets, and a similar appreciation for the simple joys that could be had in the great outdoors. Graham had an deep, instinctual understanding of nature that David envied; several times he’d caught the younger man in conversation with the dogs he met on the walks he liked to take or the squirrels who paused to chatter at him from the branches of trees, even the deer and other creatures that crept out from the forest to scratch at his window, serious conversation that did not appear one-sided. Graham spoke to animals as Emma did to plants—in the manner of folk to their brethren—but the connection went deeper even than that. Every few weeks he went out to spend all night in the woods, generally, David couldn’t help noticing, around the time of the full moon—and when David inquired why Graham simply replied “The animals need me.”

If animals of the furry variety had need of Graham, the feathered kind flocked, quite literally, to Snow. There never seemed to be a time when she wasn't accompanied by some feathered friend or other, and her dorm window was always open so they could come and go as they pleased. She kept bowls of seeds on her shelves and handfuls of them in her pockets and had been delighted when Emma gave her a tree so the birds would have somewhere in her room to nest—a tree that within a week had overgrown its pot and sunk roots into the stone floor of Snow’s room in a way David again found himself opting not to examine. He himself passed many a pleasant afternoon with Snow in that room, listening to her talk about—and to—her birds. It amazed him now how little attention he’d paid to birds before. They were astounding, beautiful creatures, and the sound of Snow’s voice, melodic and soothing as she stroked their feathered heads, was… well, it was… it was something he sometimes felt he could listen to forever.

Snow’s best friend in the dorm was Ruby and though David liked Ruby perfectly well he had to admit he was a bit baffled by how close the two were. They didn’t seem to have a whole lot in common. All but the bravest of Snow’s birds fled when Ruby approached, and the ones that stayed eyed her warily and stuck close to Snow as she flashed them a grin and licked her chops. Er, her lips. She licked her lips and it made the birds nervous, and… and at any rate, Ruby was bold and charming but just a bit wild. She liked to party and to stay out late, often not returning to her room until the early hours of the morning. Andersen had no curfew so David said nothing, though he couldn’t help noticing that in sharp contrast to Ruby’s habits Snow was usually in bed by 10 o’clock. Not that he paid her or her sleeping habits any particular attention, certainly not, just that he happened to notice she always left her room at around 9.45 to go wash her face, always wearing such cute pajamas and trailed by a flock of bluebirds—and it wasn’t like he made a point of being out in the common room when he knew she’d be walking by, he just… well, he happened to be there sometimes. That was all.

Yet despite these differences Snow and Ruby were the best of friends, and while Emma was more solitary and a bit distant until you got to know her, she also got along well with them. Ruby got along with just about everybody, including Belle, who David sometimes forgot was even among his residents. Belle had an unnerving way of appearing very suddenly where she was least expected and of disappearing without warning from places she’d been moments before. She was a quiet, studious young woman who moved as though her feet didn’t quite touch the floor and was so pale he sometimes fancied he could see through her. She was hardly ever in her room or even the common room, preferring to spend her time in the library.

“You might say she haunts the place,” August had remarked with a wry note in his voice that David imagined was significant, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Feeling at something of a loss, he had simply nodded. “She certainly does spend a lot of time there,” he’d agreed, then frowned when August laughed.

August was a bit of an odd one, the only person in the dorm whom Ruby actively disliked, so much that she actually snarled at him whenever their paths crossed. He took only evening classes and was never anywhere to be found during the day. At least once a week he returned from his classes accompanied by a young woman—always beautiful and rarely the same one twice—and David observed that while August preferred to sleep the day away those women would stumble from his room quite early the next morning and looking awful—pale and drawn and thoroughly exhausted. Before leaving they all would go to Emma’s door, knock three times slowly then three times fast, and when it opened they all smiled the same sheepish smile and stuttered the same apologies as they slipped into her room. When they emerged from it they were as new women—pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, glowing with health and quite pleased with themselves, wreathed in satisfied smiles.

David felt uncomfortably as though he ought to do something about this, though he had no idea what. The women always seemed so thrilled when they arrived—clinging to August’s arm and chattering brightly as he smiled at them with a peculiar sort of fond disinterest—and so contented when they left, after they’d seen Emma, at least, and as no formal complaints were ever lodged David was left with nothing more to go on than a feeling of vague discomfort.

He’d attempted to broach the subject once with Emma but she had simply shrugged and said “Groupies. What can you do?” and so he’d let it go.

So those were his residents. Four women—Emma, Snow, Ruby, and Belle, and four men—Graham, Victor, August… and Killian.

Ah, yes. Killian.

David liked Killian, he truly did. It was a point of pride with him to find something to like about every one of his residents, though he had to admit that finding that thing for Killian posed something of a challenge. It wasn’t just that Killian preferred his leather black or opted for dark button-downs or obscure band t-shirts instead of plaid. It wasn’t even that he was mouthy and arrogant, smarter than most everyone he met and not afraid to let them know it. No, the challenge for David when it came to liking Killian was Emma. Or more specifically, the way Killian looked at Emma. And the way she very much looked back.

“I suppose that’s one way to ‘guard’ her,” Victor remarked one evening as they sat around the fire in the common room, Emma laughing with Graham in one corner while Killian glowered darkly at the pair of them from the other. “Very dramatic, you know. Very Charlotte Brontë. Or is it Emily, I always get them mixed up.”

“Piss off,” Killian snarled, returning his attention to his textbooks just in time to miss the glance Emma shot him from the corner of her eye.

“‘Course I suppose she doesn’t make it easy for you—” Victor began, then smirked when Killian slammed his book shut and got up. “I’m going to bed,” he declared and stalked from the room, Emma’s eyes following his every move as he went.

“Enemies to lovers slow burn, 100k,” Belle whispered to Ruby on another occasion, a rare instance when she left the library to join them for breakfast. Ruby nodded sagely and both of them sat back, observing Emma and Killian’s heated argument about the best way to make a cup of tea with all apparent enjoyment. David wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, or that he liked the way his residents seemed to find the pair’s squabbles so entertaining. He knew only that if Emma and Killian really thought anyone believed they hated each other the way they both so loudly and frequently proclaimed, they were seriously deluding themselves. Their little snarky comments and defiant challenges were some of the most obvious flirtation David had ever seen, especially when combined with those damned looks. Looks that all but screamed how much they would prefer to resolve their differences with physical action than with words, and that they had already imagined how those physical dispute resolutions might go—frequently and in great detail.

David did not approve of those looks.

Nor did he approve, as the summer heat faded into the cooler air of autumn and the green leaves of the forest’s trees took on brighter hues, of the way Emma and Killian’s snappish words began to lose the battle with that oh-so-evident longing to touch. Slowly at first and tentatively, small brushes of arms and fingers that before long began to linger… In principle he supposed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, or with the budding feelings they continued to deny. He would be one hundred percent in support of it, in fact, were it not so damned blatant—those sparks of tension that turned the air electric, the raw hunger in Killian’s eyes as he watched her, the answering ache in hers when she watched him—David had come to think of Emma as he would a little sister and he did not appreciate being slapped in the face, so to speak, by the evidence of her active sexual interest in a man whom David was not at all convinced was good enough for her. It annoyed him so much that he almost—almost—found himself agreeing with Victor, who had taken to rolling his eyes and muttering “I wish they’d just fuck already” a bit too loudly whenever Emma and Killian got into one of their ‘disputes.’

He would have been able to officially disapprove the night he caught them doing tequila slammers in her dorm room—alcohol was discouraged in the dorms, even for students of legal drinking age—except that had turned out to be nothing but a very bizarre dream… although… had it been a dream? It must have been, though it had seemed so real at the time… but he remembered only catching sight of them through her slightly open door and reaching up to knock… the next thing he knew he was groaning as he woke in his own room, his head aching and feeling full of cotton wool, Emma sitting by his bedside with her ‘world famous hangover cure’ in one of Victor’s beakers explaining that he was the one who’d overindulged... “So unlike you, David, I’m really very shocked,” she’d said with that glint in her eye… and when David confronted Killian about the incident he’d merely scoffed and said “Tequila, mate? You were definitely dreaming. You know I only drink rum, and that in the company of ladies more… amenable than Swan.”

Of course, on the late October afternoon when David accompanied Graham on his walk and they stumbled upon Emma and Killian beneath a tree in the forest, wrapped around each other and kissing so deeply that he wondered how they could also be breathing—well, that was most definitely not a dream. It was also not in the dorm and therefore not technically within his jurisdiction, so he simply caught Graham by the arm and turned back the way they came.

The energy had shifted between Emma and Killian, he realised with a curious sort of bittersweet thrum in his chest. An unmistakable shift yet hard to define, as though they were hovering just on the cusp of something both nebulous and truly extraordinary. And despite them being right out in public—seriously, right off the footpath—the way they’d held each other was so intensely intimate that interrupting them, even to ask them to move to a more appropriate location, would have felt like the worst kind of intrusion. Plus of course there was no telling what uncomfortable circumstances David might find himself waking up in if he dared to cock-block Emma Swan.

Now where in hell had that thought come from?

A few hours later Emma and Killian returned to the dorm, flushed and mussed and with leaves in their hair, buzzing with that newly shifted energy—and holding hands, though they let go both reluctantly and immediately upon realising they were being eagerly observed.

“Well well well,” smirked Victor, elbowing David in the ribs. “Looks like August owes me twenty. I should probably thank you, Jones.”

“Bugger off, mate,” muttered Killian, entirely without his usual snarl, and then with a defiant glare and a flush high on his cheekbones, he sauntered after Emma into her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Well, I think I’ll go put on some very loud music,” Victor remarked, and retreated into his own room, leaving David alone in the common room feeling vaguely unsettled.

The next morning Killian and Emma arrived at breakfast together, radiating happiness and unable to stop touching, and, David would swear to it, with actual stars in their eyes. They left for their morning classes with their arms around each other, returning in the afternoon in the same manner, and when Victor and August tried to mock him about it Killian just laughed.

“We’ve worked out our differences, mates,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m certain you know what I mean.”

“It’s sweet, really,” August observed one evening a week or so later, in that dry, supercilious tone of his that grated on David’s nerves. “Though possibly not the wisest move, sleeping with the woman under his protection. I’ve seen the vows they have to take, you know, and they are intense. It could literally be the death of him.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Ruby snapped, baring her teeth as Snow placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’re right of course,” August agreed, his eyes flashing red in the firelight. “What would I know about love and loss, I’m only three hundr—”

“Well, I think it’s great they’ve finally gotten together,” said Snow loudly, glaring first at August then Ruby then August again. “I hope they’ll be happy.”

David hoped so too, genuinely. Even he could see how good the two of them were for each other. She smoothed his rough edges and he drew her out from her shell, and the dangerous sparks of their attraction settled down into the far gentler flame of new love. It was sweet, and he did approve, and yet—still he felt unsettled, a vague sensation of unease twisting deep in his gut. He’d call it a premonition, if he believed in such things. But he was a sensible man, a man of science and the twenty-first century, and so he firmly ignored it.

Two days later Emma Swan disappeared.

___

#cssns20 #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #witch!emma #captain swan #college au #sort of #there's a university #and magic #and a sword #that's magic #and a creepy forest #because of course there is #there has to be #where else would the magical battles take place #the eternal and unseen #profdanglaisstuff

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years ago

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Perfectly Perfect

Description: After a long few days at work, the love of your life helps you unwind. (A slightly Modern Office AU)

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 7,780 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: 18+ (is smut)

Warnings: Horrible smut. Be warned. No minors allow. Keep scrolling if you aren’t 18 years or older. Oh, and ‘unprotected’ sex, though reader has an IUD and mentions it. So you’ve now been warned.

Requested: Nah, this is my first ever attempt at smut. It’s long-winded and cringey as hell. Soooooo read it if you want, but be aware that it’s not very good at all. But I’m trying, and slowly learning, and the fact I finally managed to actually write any smut at all, even horrible smut, is huge for me. Baby steps.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Final warning y’all. Turn back now. This isn’t good. It’s basically horribly written, long-winded, comfortable fluff with a slight hard fucking, if you reeeeally squint. So yeah. Ugh. I’m so damn awkward. Aaaanywho! Good luck! May the odd be ever in your favour, and all that jazz!

You released a deep, exhausted breath as your eyes dropped down to read the time on the bottom right hand corner of your monitor's screen. 7:02pm. Only 2 hours passed your ‘normal’ end time, though over the last few months, you’d been putting in a lot of overtime. Far more than was normal, and it seemed lately, like 7 was the new 5.

You sigh as you lean back in your chair, bringing your hands up to rub the heels of them into your eyes. No longer worried about your mascara, as it was probably long gone by now, what with how many times you’d rubbed your tired eyes today, already. You decided it was probably time to head home, your brain was done for the day, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything more tonight. At least not without lots of errors, and then having to just waste more time tomorrow redoing most of that very same work. Work smarter, not harder. That was the motto you lived by.

So with that last thought, you leaned forward and powered down your computer, clicking the soft button on the side of your monitor to put it to rest as well. Then you pulled open the bottom drawer of your desk, retrieving your purse from within and placing it on the top of your desk, as you slipped back into your heels. The ones you’d removed hours ago to give your poor feet a much needed reprieve.

Once they were firmly, and achingly, back in place, you stood up and removed your jacket from the back of your chair. Slipping it on and pulling your hair out from within it, before hitting the forward to voicemail button on your desk phone. If anyone were to phone after you left, it would go straight to voicemail now, saving them the moment or two of just useless ringing.

You then grabbed your purse and phone off your desk, and made your way towards the office door. Opening it once you reached it and flicking off the overhead lights, as you slipped into the hallway. Promptly closing the door behind you once you fully reached the hall. Your eyes instinctively glanced across the corridor, seeing that Steve’s door was slightly ajar, and his lights were still on, so clearly he’d been working late, just as you had been. But that was nothing new.

If you had to pick any words to describe yourself, hard-working would be near the top of that list, if not at the very top. You always took your job seriously, and did everything in your power to be efficient, reliable and focused. But yet, that man, he always seemed to one up you. You thought you were a crazy workaholic. Ha! Perish the thought! That man, he was the very definition of the words. You’d never met anyone more hardworking than yourself, until you walked through these office doors for the first time, and were introduced to the enigmatic Steven Grant Rogers.

Though he didn’t stay a mystery for long, after only a week, you had him pretty much entirely figured out. Or so you thought at the time, at least. Sweet, thoughtful, charming, hard-working to a fault, intensely intelligent with a quick wit and the deep voice of an angel, all things that had made your knees weak and your heart flutter just from being in the same room as him. But then having his full attention on you, and only you, made your whole body heat up, your mind turn to mush, and your palms clam up, instantly. Every time.

It took a few more weeks after that to level yourself out around him, to just acclimatize yourself to the sheer force of being in the presence of this perfect specimen of a man. And you hadn’t even mentioned his exterior yet, you’d only vaguely touched on what he was packing on the inside. His outside was, well shit, it was also sheer perfection in and of itself.

He was all hard lines of pure stone wrapped deliciously in tantalizingly unmarred golden skin. He was a beautiful tall, broad and rippling form to behold. What with his wide shoulders, trim waist, and thighs that could draw most people's eyes and keep them trapped for eternity. You being the owner of one of those mentioned set of eyes.

So yeah, he was utter perfection in a lovely and large package. It was wholly unfair, if anyone asked you, that a man could look, act and just be that flawless, that sublime. You instantly needed to find some fault in him, you begged the God’s above to have given him some sort of flaw, there was just no way anyone could be that unequaled. That utterly perfect. It was not fair to the rest of the human population. Not even a little bit.

No one could, or should, be that glorious. But over the last 5 years of working here, with him, you’d learned early on that he was perfection in the human form. And even when you did finally track down his faults, his ‘flaws’, they weren’t even that bad. They didn’t even nick the lovely shell around him, they couldn’t even scrape or mar his lovely exterior, in any way, shape or form.

The contradiction of that, if you’re honest. His flaws made him even more perfect to you, made him even more sublime than he’d originally appeared at first glance. Because they made him more relatable, more human, just all around more. And knowing he had a few little flaws did nothing to quell your thoughts towards the man. They stood to only heightened them actually.

You shake your head, banishing the warm belly and heart pace inducing thoughts, knowing you couldn’t walk into his office to say your daily goodbyes, with the dang heart eyes your latest thoughts had evoked in you. That man could read anyone like a dang book, and after 5 years of being his personal assistant, you couldn’t hide a single thing from his all-seeing eyes. He just knew you too well now, too fully and completely.

You venture across the hall, towards his slightly ajar door and knock lightly as you push it open. And the heart eyes nearly returned as you are graced with the image of his large form wrapped to perfection in his dark grey suit. The suit appearing as if it was a second skin, tailored to his whole form perfectly. And damn, you sure do use that word, in all its forms, a lot in regards to him. But he is ‘Perfect’, and there just isn’t any better word to use in his case. There is no other words better suited to him, then just pure perfection.

He sits behind his large dark wood desk, reading glasses rested effortlessly upon the straight bridge of his perfect nose. His brows furrowed just so, in perfectly focused thought, as he types rapidly upon his keyboards keys. Most likely finishing up a report, or replying to an urgent email, either or, it doesn’t really matter. Nor does it take away from, or effect, the beauty of the image before you.

The first time you ever saw him with his black framed reading glasses on, you damn near swooned yourself into a puddle on his office floor. Something about a handsome man of his caliber, wearing glasses as he focused his attention on a computer monitor or the papers clasped within his large, tanned and veiny hands, just did things to you. Made you a fluttery and warm mess of a thing.

Ugh, you really need to focus here. You came in here to say your goodbyes, not eye fuck your oblivious boss from the shadows of his doorway.

“Hey,” you softly say, not wanting to startle him as you take a small step further into the room. “I’m heading out now, did you need anything else before I leave for the day?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and he gives you that gloriously perfect half smile he’s become so famous for. It isn’t a broad or large smile, by any means, it’s subdued and just a quirk up of the corners of his perfect lips. Did you forget to mention his pump and pillowy lips in your rambling internal exposé on the man before you? Oh, well, that was your bad entirely, as his lips were the second best feature upon his perfect face.

They were only second to those stunning deep blue eyes, the ones that currently held you trapped, and showed more emotion and compassion within them than you ever thought possible. You’d always heard or read about being able to read one's true feelings through their eyes, but you’d never been able to relate to those sentiments before, at least not until you met the Adonis before you. He didn’t hide a thing, and you believed he had not one damn thing to hide, even if he’d wanted to. He left it all out in the open where his eyes were concerned, it made it all the more easier to get to know him. To figure out his true being and personality. To determine what he liked, disliked, and found amusing. His eyes told every tale, used more words then his lips could even fathom. Everything personal you knew of this man, you’d learned from the beautiful blue gateways to his soul.

“Uh,” he hummed thoughtfully as he glanced down at his watch momentarily, and you didn’t miss the slight widening of his perfect blues when he realized the time. His eyes flicked back up to trap you once more as he leaned back on his seat and gave you his full and undivided attention. Just as he always did with everyone. He always made his employees and coworkers feel like the center of his little world, for however long they were gifted the pleasure of being in his presence. “I didn’t even realize how late it was,” he said before he bestowed upon you a small taste of his gloriously deep chuckle. “I’ll be heading out shortly myself, so everything else can wait till tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you nodded, a small chuckle leaving your lips now, “try not to overwork yourself too much. You need to eat and get at least a few hours of sleep tonight, as you have an 8:30 am conference call tomorrow.”

His smile grew just a fraction, as he crossed his large arms over his broad chest. He always got a small kick out of you mothering him. “I know, and don’t worry, I’ll set an alarm for myself and leave the second it goes off.”

“Please ensure that you do,” you smiled sweetly to offset the slight commanding tone that you’d just used on your boss. “You can’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow. And then you’ll be no use to any of us.”

He chuckled again, a little louder this time, and your mind tried desperately to lock the lovely sound away for your enjoyment for all of eternity. Then he unfolded his arms, picked his phone up off the desk and gave it a few moments attention, before you heard the distinct click of it being locked, and then he placed it back down on the desk and glanced up at you once again. “There, the alarm is all set.”

You valiantly fought the giant grin that wanted to show itself to the cheeky but perfect man before you, however you only managed to contain it to the form of a small uptick of the corners of your mouth. “Good. I swear you work too hard sometimes. You make the rest of us look bad.”

He mimicked your small smile, “I don’t think I could ever do that.” His words made your heart flutter, but only just a little, and you’d never admit it aloud. A soft ping sounded around the quiet room and his eyes drifted back to the monitor’s screen for a few seconds before looking back to you. “Okay, get outta here before we both start living in this office,” he said sweetly, with a slightly stern edge. You both knew far too well how easily you could lose track of time and space, and end up here till midnight, or even later, before either of you even realized it. “And thanks for staying so late again, Y/N.” His smile turned slightly knowing, “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than be here finishing off reports for me.”

You swatted away his concerned words as if they were a pesky fly in the air. “It’s fine. Really. All I have scheduled for tonight is making dinner for the man I love, and then I plan to happily sleep the night away.”

He nodded, a small smile upon his lips once again as he leaned forward and his eyes focused back on his monitor. “Sounds like a lovely night. He’s a lucky guy.”

“That he is,” you hummed in agreement, biting your lip to suppress your chuckle. With one nod of your head, you turned and stepped back towards the door to the hallway, “Goodnight, Boss.”

And just as you reached the door, his voice drifted into your eyes once more. “Goodnight, PA.”

Those were the two nicknames you both joking called each other. The nicknames you’d started using years ago, after he’d insisted on you calling him Steve early on in your job, but calling him by his first name just hadn’t seemed appropriate at the time. You couldn’t get over the unprofessional feel of using his first name as if you were his friend, or something of the like. He was your boss, but he hated being called ‘Mr. Rogers’. He said it made him feel like an older man in a sweater, talking to dolls on a train.

So, you’d jokingly called him Bossman one day years ago, and over time it shortened to just ‘Boss’. But he wasn’t really a fan of that either, so in return, just to joke back with you, he’d referred to you as ‘PA’, and that nickname had just sort of stuck as well. Though he only ever used it in reply to your use of ‘Boss’.

You giggled quietly to yourself as you exited the office, pulling the door back to it’s slightly ajar spot as you did.

You step through the front door into your quiet apartment, the one you share with the only man you’ve ever truly loved. The lights are all off, and there isn’t a sound anywhere within the still space. But you knew he wasn’t home yet, and you preferred it that way. It gave you a moment of quiet time to yourself, to get out of your tight work clothes and start in on dinner before he walked through the very same door you were closing softly with a click of the lock.

After removing your coat and hanging it on the hooks beside the door, you remove your heels to allow your achy feet a much needed break from their confines.

You wiggled your toes, and stretched your feet out before planting them upon the cold hardwood floors and making your way through the quiet apartment. Reveling in the few moments of peace it awarded your mind, before your love got home. As once he did, he’d fill the quiet space with his soft recounts of his day, the goings on in his little world, and his inquisitive questions about your own day.

Moving into the kitchen, you flick on the soft pendant lights above the island and place your purse atop it, before turning to set the stove to begin warming it to the proper temp. Then you move to the fridge and pull out the premade meal from within, the one you’d put together at the beginning of the week for this exact day. Pre-prepped meals at the beginning of every week, usually made on lazy Sunday afternoons, was the only way you’d ever be able to continue to eat properly, and not just succumb to quick junk food on the fly.

Your work hours, just as your boyfriends, were always a little crazy and long, and so spending hours prepping a meal every night was not an option for either of you. Instead, you both picked a few meal ideas on Sunday, and then together you’d get everything prepped and packaged and put away in the fridge, before spending the evening cuddled up on the couch and watching a movie with a glass or two of wine. Needing that relaxing few hours to prepare you both for the craziness of the work week ahead.

After placing the packages for tonight's dinner on the counter, you quickly send off a text to your boyfriend, to inform him of your safe arrival home. Then you made your way to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable and wash off any remaining makeup. Whatever was even still left after the countless rubs and presses of your hands throughout the day.

You pulled out a pair of comfy pj shorts and a fitted tank top from your dresser drawer, placing them on the made up bed before moving into the bathroom. You quickly took a makeup removing wipe to your skin, thoroughly cleansing the surface before lathering on your nightly moisturizer and heading back into the bedroom. You pulled the dress shirt up and out from the waist of your pencil skirt and started in on the buttons, going from top to bottom in an effortless and perfected way. One that could only come from years of doing this exact action, over and over and over again.

Once the shirt was open, you slipped it down your arms and placed it neatly atop the bed, before moving on to the zipper on the back of your dark grey fitted pencil skirt. But just as your nimble fingers grasped the dainty zipper, two large warm hands met yours and you jumped a little at the contact.

But then a soft and soothingly deep voice whispered into your ear, warm breath caressing the cooled skin of your neck as it washed over you. “Here, let me.”

You smiled as you glanced over your shoulder at the beautiful man behind you, the one you loved more than anything or anyone else. And the very one that despite his sheer size, always managed to sneak up on you. You hadn’t even heard the door unlock, nor it being opened and closed to allow him entry into the suite. Nor the sounds of him removing his jacket and shoes, or even hearing the telltale sounds of his keys and wallet meeting the bowl on the entryway table.

He was always a damn ninja, and you really shouldn’t have even jumped at the initial contact. You should be entirely used to him sneaking up on you by now, but yet, you weren’t, and you believed you never would be.

You nod your approval of his offer, as your eyes drink him in, in all his end of the busy work day glory. His deft fingers make short work of the task, and you realize that he is just as familiar and perfected in the action of undressing you, as you are. Maybe he is even a little better at it than you, having found yourself at the mercy of his lustful and enraptured hands many times. All the times he’d expertly and delicately—though sometimes, on special occasions, they were fumbly and forceful as they—removed every article of clothing keeping your full form hidden from his heated gaze.

Once the zipper met the end of it’s line, his fingers hooked into the waistband and slowly pushed the stretchy material down your hips where it then plummeted unchallenged to the floor below. Leaving you just in your matching black lace bustier and panties, only a few small areas of your body still hidden from his view. But as his large, warm hands found your hips and turned you to meet his intense eyes fully, you instantly realized those small areas wouldn’t be hidden for much longer. Not if the hungry twinkle in his eyes was anything to go off of at the moment.

His hands slipped behind you, his arms encompassing your waist as his gaze drifted down and back up, before he pulled you towards him, and gently crushed your small body into his much larger, more robust one. “New?” He asked in a deep and curious tone.

You smirked knowingly up at him, “they are. What do you think?”

He leaned back a little, just enough to check out the newly acquired delicate lace set once more. And as he did, your hands landed on his pecs, loving the warmth of him and using it to take the chill out of your fingers. Once his eyes had finished their thorough re-inspection, they flicked up to meet yours and you nearly shivered at the immense desire pooling within them now. “I think you should never wear anything else, ever again.”

You chuckled, your hands sliding up his chest to delve into his lusciously soft locks. “I don’t think my boss would approve of this as appropriate work attire around the office.”

He smirked down at you, nodding slowly, “mmm, you’re probably right about that. I’m sure he wouldn’t approve at all. Especially with all the people you have to meet with throughout the day.”

“Yes, and he’d probably even force me to remain hidden away in my office, the whole entire day,” you gasp playfully. “How will I live without being able to get a coffee from the break room?!”

He chuckles, “I’m sure he’d willingly bring you a coffee whenever you needed one, if it meant he could witness the masterpiece that is you in this damn set.” His finger hooked into the elastic waist of your panties and pulled it away from your skin slightly before he released it, causing a gentle snapping sound to play out in your ears. As if the noise was to affirm the words he just spoke.

“No, he isn’t like that. He’s a completely respectful and professional man,” you grin up at him. “I’m more willing to bet he’d offer me his suit jacket, just to ensure my modesty stayed at least slightly intact.”

“I dunno, that might make it worse,” he hums, as a small smirk plays on his lips now. “I’m picturing you in just this and a large suit jacket, and the image alone is killing me. He’d probably die on the spot.”

“Should we find out?” You playfully question as your hands slip from his hair and back down his chest, moving under the edges of your boyfriend's suit jacket and slowly slipping the material off his broad shoulders and down his arms. He assists you as you go, helping to fully remove the jacket and then you take it in one hand and step back, his hands reluctantly drifting from your skin as you go. Then you flip the jacket around you, and slide the sleeves onto your arms, before settling the jacket on your shoulders and gripping the lapels to adjust the placement.

Once it’s all set in place, your eyes flick back up to meet his from below your lashes and find they aren’t looking into yours anymore. His eyes are hungrily roving over your entire form, and that fact alone causes your belly to warm up and your heart to pick up its pace. The things just having this man's eyes on you, can do to you, is wholly unfair.

His eyes finally meet yours, and you notice instantly that they have darkened dramatically now. Looking more black than their usual perfect colour at the moment. “Yup, just as I thought,” he nods, and you don’t miss his thick swallow, his Adam's Apple bobbing from the sheer force of it. “This is much, much worse. He’d never be able to keep his hands off of you, and then we’d really have a problem.”

You glance down at the floor between you both, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind your ear coyly, as you whisper, “maybe I don’t want him to keep his hands off me.” Your eyes flick back up to his, giving him the best doe-eyed look you can muster, as your voice comes out a little louder, but yet, just as soft, just as sultry as before, “maybe I want him to touch me, everywhere. Anywhere.”

A soft groan echoes in your boyfriend's solid chest, so soft you almost didn’t catch it. And at that sound, he surges forward, his hands pushing the jacket from your shoulders before they find your hips again, as he effortlessly lifts you off your feet. Your legs quickly go around his waist, to rest on his narrow hips and your arms encircle his neck, just to help him hold you up. Though it’s not like he actually needs the help.

His lips crash into yours, and you couldn’t miss the neediness of the action, even if you tried. You meet his need head on, returning it in full force to show you are feeling the exact same way he is at the moment.

He takes a few stumbly and blind steps to the bed, and before you know it, you're being deposited upon the pillowy surface with a small gasp. He chuckles quietly at your reaction, and then his large hands grip your waist and pull you forcefully towards the edge, before he places a knee between your legs and leans over you just enough to slip one large hand behind your back. As the other presses into the bed beside your head. His deft fingers make short work of your bustiers clasps, thanks to you arching your back to help his hasty endeavour.

His hand slips around to the front of you, his fingers caressing your ribs as they go, before he grabs the front of the only thing covering your upper half, and pulls it away from your chest and down your arms, then discards it somewhere over his shoulder. It’s final resting place being the very last thing your mind cares about in this moment. As now his hands are moving down your sides, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your panties and helping them go the same way as the bustier; slipped from your form and flung carelessly over his shoulder to the floor behind.

Once you are fully bared to his intense gaze, he stands back up and gives your whole body another once over. His eyes only darken more as he goes, and you didn’t even think that was possible. He keeps his eyes slowly moving over you, as his fingers undo the belt around his waist, then the button and zipper of his suit trousers. And once that is accomplished he pulls the white shirt out, and you prop yourself up on your elbows for a better view of what’s about to come.

You only catch a small glimpse of the smirk on his lips, before your hungry eyes are all too focused on the slow movements of his masterful fingers. Oh the glorious things those thick digits can do. You know first hand how truly spectacular they really are, at both unraveling clothes, and you.

Just as he finishes off the last button, you can’t hold yourself back any more. Just watching him, as he undresses before you with his eyes locked on your naked body is driving you insane. He is just taking too damn long, he is thoroughly teasing you right now, and the smirk still on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You push up off the bed and move to the edge, grabbing the waist of his pants and yanking him forcefully towards you, mumbling, “get over here already,” as you do.

He chuckles and obliges to your hasty demand, but you only know that because if he didn’t want to move, there is nothing you could do or say to change that. He is like a damn brick wall when he wants to be. Your fingers take no time at all to slip into the waistband of his pants and boxers, grasping them both and pulling them down to free him from their confines. He barely manages to get his dress shirt off his upper half, before you’ve completely exposed his entire lower half.

Your eyes drink in his newly naked form, starting from his face, moving down his broad shoulders, his defined chest, his chiseled abs, the glorious V lines leading directly to his—you gasp quietly the second your eyes land on his perfect cock, all hard, upright and entirely ready for you. Yes, you’ve seen it hundreds of times before, but yet you always manage to forget just how large and intimidating it truly is. Even after many, many times of having it deep within your walls, you still have a slight moment of hesitation at the sight of it. Fear that maybe this time, it won’t actually fit.

But you know it will, you tell yourself it will at least, and that it will feel heavenly as it does. You swear, up and down, that he was made to fit you perfectly. In every single way.

You quickly stand, grabbing his hips and spinning him before you push him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Exactly where you just were, and once he is settled down, you drop down to your knees and rest your hands upon his. Your eyes finally, reluctantly, leave the impressive appendage between his thick thighs, as they flick them up to lock with his. You hold the direct contact as you slowly, so damn slowly, move your hands up his powerful thighs, to his hips, then inwards and slowly up his rock solid stomach, over the groves of his abs, to his defined pecs and then to around his neck.

You slip your fingers into his hair again and pull him down to you, molding your lips to his, perfectly. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you are all too willing to grant him access to any part of you that he so wishes. You part your lips and his tongue delves into your mouth, causing a soft moan to echo in your throat. And the sound only stands to spur him onwards.

His arms wrap around you, and you had planned to taste him, to get him entirely ready for you using just your mouth alone, but his patience seems to be gone now. He doesn’t want to wait any longer as he pulls you up to straddle his waist. One of his large hands grabs the back of your neck, to keep your lips glued to his, while the other splays out on your lower back, pressing your aching and needy core down onto the solid and hot product of his arousal. The very reason you’re core is even needy to begin with.

You grin into the kiss as you get a wicked idea, and begin to move yourself against him. Which causes him to inhale sharply, before groaning out at the delicious feel of you rubbing yourself thoroughly along his entire length.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, gripping your hair a little tighter, and helping your movements with strategic presses on your lower back. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this all day, today.”

“Oh?” You question innocently, as you pull back enough to look down at him. “Thought about this a few times today, did you?”

He gives you a pointed, but still completely heated look. One that reads of his need to have you, his need to claim you entirely for himself. His craving to make you his once again, just as he has many, many times before. The same craving needs you are all too aware are probably playing upon your features, as well. Mirroring his deep desires right back at him.

“You know I did,” he says in such a throaty tone, it sends a shiver down your spin, as he shakes his head. “You wore that damn pencil skirt today to tease me, didn’t you?”

You fight the smirk begging to form and shrug your shoulders instead, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But you do, you totally do. Because you totally did wear it to tease him.

He narrows his eyes knowingly at you, and before you can even comprehend what is going on, your entire world flips and you find yourself pinned to the bed. The larger than life form of your boyfriend hovering over you now.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he hums lowly as he grinds himself roughly against you, ripping a loud moan from deep within you; about as deep as you’re hoping he’ll be soon enough, if he would just hurry the hell up already.

“Steve,” you whine breathlessly.

And that is met with that damn smirk again, the ass. “Yes, my love?”

“Hurry it up already, I still have to put dinner,” your words abruptly end there when he grinds the length of him against you once more.

He chuckles, but then one large hand cradles the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly, as the fingers of the other dig deliciously into your hip. But only for a moment, before his fingertips slide delicately down your thigh, to grip the back of your knee, and pull your leg up to hook onto his hip. And then in one smooth, but hasty movement, he thrusts himself deep within you.

And you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the overwhelming feeling of being entirely too full and filled. A glorious shiver rips up your spin, as he stays perfectly still for a moment, giving you a chance to settle around him, around his sheer size. Your mind reminds you that your earlier fears were, once again, entirely wrong. Of course he’d fit within you perfectly, he always did. You were made to fit him, just as he was made to fill you.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he praises, his voice hoarse and thick with his desire.

Your arms wrap around him, as your hands grip tightly to his shoulder blades. And when you can’t take the lack of movement any longer, you begin to rock your hips against him in any effort to increase the pleasure you’re currently feeling. He gets the hint quickly, and pulls back, almost leaving you entirely, before he snaps his hips forward and buries himself deep within you once again.

You clench your eyes shut and moan at the delicious sensations starting to take over your entire body from his knowing and thoroughly practised and perfected movements, and before long he is picking up his pace. Driving into you at an alarming rate, but it’s exactly the way you like it. And with every tantalizing drag of his hard cock along your inner walls, every delicious push and pull of his long and girthy length, the coil deep within your lower half begins to tighten. His hand grips your thigh, searching for any purchase he can find, and alternating between forcefully firm squeezes and gentle caresses of his fingertips along your flushed and heated skin.

“Open your eyes, Doll. Look at me,” he commands.

And he doesn’t have to tell you twice, your eyes snap open and lock with his, as you scrap your nails down his back, before your hands settle on his perfectly round ass. Gripping the plump globes firmly on every inward thrust, helping to push him deeper within you with each one. You want more—no, you need more.

“Faster, baby,” you plead, smacking his ass just enough to create one sharp cracking sound to echo around the room, and to help spur him on further. He loves when you do that, almost as much as you do.

His lips crash into yours, now claiming every part of you that he can with his hand, his lips and his cock. Turns out the smack worked exactly as you’d hoped it would, as he picks up his pace even further. Slamming into you relentlessly now, and causing your muscles to begin to tighten up as you near your first peak, and the free fall to follow it.

He groans, as his lips leave yours and begin to travel down to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a hot trail of marks in their wake. And you are so close now, so fucking close.

“Oh God, almost there,” you mutter breathlessly, the words barely above a whisper. Even in your hazy mind, you know there is no point in telling him that. He knows your body well enough by now to know how truly close you actually are.

With a few more powerful thrusts, you are sent tumbling over the edge as your entire body locks up and you let out a loud moan followed by just muttering his name, over and over and over again. As if he’s fucked you so good, so thoroughly, that it’s the only word you know now, the only one you will ever say again.

“Fuck,” he groans, as he continues to pound into you mercilessly throughout your release, shaking slightly as he battles to fight himself from joining you over the cliff’s edge. And you know as your walls flutter and squeeze around him, fully and entirely, that he has to put a solid effort into fighting the urge to finish with you. But his continued movements only stand to drag this all out for you even longer, only stands to make this all that much better just for you. And as you finally start to come down for the high of the feelings he just instilled within you, you instantly feel empty, and cold.

You almost whine until he presses one more deep kiss on your lips and then you feel him forcefully flip your dazed form onto your stomach. Gripping your hips and pulling them up into the air, as he positions himself behind you. He rubs himself against your folds a few times, teasing you just a little before he slides fully back in, in another quick thrust.

And before you know it, he’s picked up the pace once more. You thought he was relentless before, but oh boy, how wrong you were, that was nothing compared to his forceful movements now. Your hands grip the bedding as you bounce yourself back into him, matching him thrust for thrust.

“Oh shit, Steve,” you gasp. “Right there. Right fucking there.”

His fingers dig into your hips, as he leans forward over you, and kisses between your shoulder blades. The action not hindering his pace in any way, shape or form. “God,” he groans again. “The things you fucking do to me.”

“The feelings fucking mutual,” you quickly say between shaky breaths, and you meant every damn word. The things this man does to you, the feelings he evokes within you, it’s all too much and yet, not enough. You feel that delicious coil deep within you start to tighten up once more, and you can’t wait for it to snap all over again.

His thrusts start to get a little sloppier, as his fingers dig further into the skin of your hip, and you’re positive there will be marks there for at least the next few days. But you don’t care. You can’t bring yourself to give a single fuck at the moment. You just want to feel his release, to experience your second one of the night.

One of his hands leaves your hip, and slips between your legs, his experienced fingers locating your little bundle of nerves, and making quick work of finding the perfect pace that gets you every damn time. Then with a few more powerful and deep drags of his full length along your walls, partnered with the delightful circles on your clit, you are shoved off the cliff's edge once again.

A loud cry rips from your lips as you feel him release along with you, filling you up so damn perfectly, and sending a shutter through you at the feeling of his hot spurts deep within you. Thank God for your IUD, as this is one of your favourite feelings in the world and you can’t do the condom thing with him anymore. You just can’t. Nothing beats the feel of his bare skin within yours, or of his warm release filling you so fully and completely. Just as his cock always does.

He groans deeply in your ear before he slumps to his side, bringing you along with him as he stays buried deep inside your core. His arms wrapping around you and cuddling you up against the heated and tacky skin of his chest. You both take a moment to come back down, allowing your heart rate and breathing to slow.

After a few moments his hand moves the disheveled hair from your shoulder, and his plump lips meet the soft skin below your ear. “You aren’t allowed to wear that damn skirt to work ever again,” he whispers against your skin.

“Oh, and why not, Boss?” You ask innocently, knowing full well exactly why, but wanting to hear him say the words.

He nips your skin lightly at the use of that silly nickname, “because I can’t handle the way it fits you like a second skin. Every time you enter my office, all I want to do is rip the damn thing off you, and take you on my desk, but I know I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You inquire playfully, turning to glance over your shoulder at him. But you know full well that you both agreed to keep your relationship entirely out of the office. From an outside and unknowing eye, no one would be able to tell you both had been together for years. You agreed in the very beginning to keep your relationship to non-work hours only, and being the workaholics you both are, it’s worked perfectly for you ever since. Most of your coworkers don’t even know you are a couple, or that you live together, and let alone that you own this apartment together for the last year and a half.

“You know exactly why I can’t,” he says knowingly behind you. Then he slips out from within you, leaving you with that depressingly empty and cold feeling once again, but you ignore it as you shift to turn around and face him. Pressing a soft kiss against his lips once you do.

You hum, nodding, “that I do, but don’t expect me to never wear that skirt again.” You pull back and grin up at him cheekily, “It’s one of my favourites, and the way you look at me when I’m wearing it is just far too enjoyable to stop.”

He groans, playfully, shaking his head, “tease.”

“I may be a tease,” you agree, shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, but the growing grin on your lips gives away your cheeky next words, “but I always make up for it after hours.”

“You do have a point there,” he agrees and gives you a beautiful smile, before leaning in to kiss you once again.

But just as his lips meet yours, a loud buzzer goes off and you jerk away from him. “What the hell was that?”

He chuckles as he pecks your lips once more and reluctantly pulls himself out of the bed. “Dinner. I put it in when I first got home and set the timer.”

You chuckle at the knowledge that you’d missed a bunch more noises upon his arrival home. How the hell hadn’t you heard any of that? Damn, might be time to get your ears checked out soon. You glance up at him, “you’re utter perfection, you know that?”

“I know,” he smirks smugly, before he laughs at himself, shaking his head at his antics as he picks up his discarded boxers and heads towards the bathroom to clean himself up.

“And oh so very humble too,” you playfully reply with an eye roll, before you watch his glorious ass move into the small room, not missing the light red outline of four little fingers on his right cheek. You giggle softly to yourself before you release a deep contented sigh as you just continue to lay there, in perfect after sex bliss.

When he reemerges, only wearing low sitting boxers, you almost drool all over yourself. He walks over to the dresser, grabbing a fresh pair of panties for you, and then collects your discarded pjs off the floor near the end of the bed, before he heads to your side and places them down next to you. He leans over you, kissing you sweetly and then whispers, “though if either of us is utter perfection here, it’s definitely you.”

You giggle again, gently pushing him away by his shoulders, “flatterer.”

“I only speak the truth,” he hums and quickly pecks your lips once more, then he takes your hands and gently helps you out of bed. “I’ll go deal with dinner while you get cleaned up.”

“Sounds perfect,” you smile, stealing one more kiss before you collect your clothes and head for the bathroom, desperately needing an after sex pee. Because, ya know, nobody wants a UTI. You laugh to yourself softly at that last thought as you slip into the bathroom, your eyes glancing over your shoulder to catch one more glimpse of the perfect man you love. And your breath hitches at just the mere sight of him half naked, just like it has many, many times before. And probably will many, many more times in the future.

Because regardless of what he says or believes, he is the true perfection within this relationship. Even with his flaws, faults and blemishes, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him.

Because he is just so Perfectly Perfect.

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Tagging my errythang list, not sure if all of you will be interested in this. So just ignore this is you aren’t down for horrible smut 🤣🤦🏻‍♀️

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peanutbutterjelly-pie · 4 years ago

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Dragon Hunt

Summary: Dean Winchester, a former knight fallen from grace and nowadays just a guy trying to get by somehow, sets out to slay a dragon that is believed to be hiding in a nearby cave. But what seems to be just an ordinary mission for him, a means to make a bit of money and have some decent food and shelter for a while, turns into something he never expected. Because he meets a gorgeous man and his life will never be the same again.

Word Count: 4193

Prompt: Fleeting Flame (written for the @writersofdestiel‘s Weekly Words Challenge)

[read on AO3]

The cave is located right behind a cascading waterfall.

Dean probably would have missed it entirely and just passed by without none the wiser if it hadn't been for Impala suddenly getting all agitated seemingly out of nowhere, the mare's neighing unsteady and nervous as she stares at the small river with big eyes. Dean follows her gaze automatically, knowing very well that her instincts grew quite attuned to the dangers of their everyday life over the course of the last couple of years. She notices even subtle shifts in the air and her sense of smell is not easily challenged.

So when she stops at the riverbank and becomes all tense Dean knows he's at the right place.

A fleeting smile flickers over Dean's features as he climbs down and draws his sword. He's slain quite a few dragons in his life and it still gets his blood pumping like nothing else. He never knows what to expect, each specimen different from the previous, and he's doing the job long enough to know that underestimating your enemy is the biggest mistake you can make.

It's in most cases also your last mistake.

He takes a deep breath and approaches the waterfall while every single nerve ending in his body is tingling. He's quite aware there are easier and far less riskier ways to make a living, but for a man like him, someone who always has to keep at least one eye open, the options are still limited.

Sure, he could try his luck as a farmer somewhere deep in the middle of nowhere, however, the prospect of either dying of boredom or eventually finding yourself either freezing to death due to a merciless winter or maybe just starving there all alone because Dean knows basically nothing about farming whatsoever surely doesn't look all that inviting.

No, he'd rather fight a dragon every other month and get people to pay him for that.

Dean tightens the grip on the hilt of his sword and steps closer to the waterfalls, preparing himself for anything that might happen. Soon enough he spots an opening behind the water, the entrance to a hidden cave.

Impala's instincts have obviously been right yet again.

Dean licks his lips and shoots a last glance at her over the shoulder – which could very well be the last, for all they know – before entering the cave.

It's a slippery and wet affair all around, but Dean keeps his focus sharp as he analyzes his surroundings. There is nothing much to see at first, just a single large room without any real markings. Damp and cold, but surprisingly bright thanks to the sunlight falling inside exactly in the right angle. Combined with the waterfall it leaves the cave in a quite beautiful play of light.

For a short moment Dean even feels something like serenity watching it.

But then he suddenly hears a noise coming from his right and he abruptly remembers his reason for being here as he raises his sword and switches into fighting mode. His senses razor sharp, his reflexes on full alert.

He's is ready to slay, to combat, to kill, to get the upper hand, no matter how unlikely the odds are. Because he is the best in what he does and he'd be damned if he wouldn't end up with that sweet money the villagers promised him for the dragon's head.

Dean narrows his eyes, his attention grasped by some movements in the darkness. He registers a shape in the shadows, coming closer. Apparently not all impressed by the large sword in Dean's hand.

Dean braces himself.

And finds himself rather stunned when he notices the shadow being way too short to be a dragon.

Granted, he encountered small dragons before, barely as tall as a horse, but the figure approaching him right now is clearly not one of those. It's about the size of a man.

And, as it turns out a second later, it is actually a man.

A man staying in a cave behind a waterfall.

Dean stares at him. At his glistening skin, at his eyes that shine impossibly blue in the sunlight, at his mess of a hair. And at his utter lack of clothes.

Dean has never been a prude, not by a long shot, but he certainly didn't expect to meet a breathtaking and very naked man right in the middle of his dragon hunt. He chokes up at the sight, at the man's huge display of skin, at his muscles flexing with every motion, at his beefy thighs tightening as he searches for a stable stance on the uneven ground.

Dean feels heat rushing through his body and for a second there everything stops existing beside that guy's glorious appearance. Dean actually wants to whimper right into his face, embarrassment be damned.

And it takes him a shamefully long time to remember the situation at hand.

“You, uh …” Dean blinks a few times and wills his throat not to seize up. It's not the first time you've seen an attractive man, jeez, he scolds himself. “You shouldn't – um, I mean, you shouldn't be here. It's dangerous in these parts.”

The man tilts his head.

And it might be the most adorable thing Dean has ever witnessed.

Damn.

“Dangerous?” the man asks.

In a ridiculously deep voice that is just sin itself.

Double damn.

“I – I, yeah,” Dean stammers, trying way too hard not to ogle too much. “There … dragon! … There's been a dragon spotted around here.”

The man looks at him.

“Hhhmm,” he says. As though that is just an interesting piece of information.

“I could – I could give you a lift,” Dean proposes, gesturing at the general direction where he left Impala behind. “My horse … I mean, I could get you out of here.”

Dean can't help wincing at his complete lack of eloquence. He vaguely remembers being smooth and articulate, but somehow these talents vanished into thin air at some point. Most likely the exact moment this stranger stepped into the light and blinded Dean with his brightness.

“You want to get me out of here?” the man wonders. He sounds genuinely confused. “You want … to protect me?”

“Yes,” Dean states with emphasis.

“But if I'm correct you're here to kill me,” the man points out. “I don't understand how this makes any sense.”

Dean frowns.

What?

“What?”

The man steps closer, his gaze getting even more intense. “You are Dean Winchester, are you not?”

Something clenches in Dean's chest and this time it isn't pleasant in the slightest. On instinct he grips his sword harder again as he studies the stranger with wariness.

“How do you know my name?”

The man smiles. It's slight, barely even there, but it sends a shiver down Dean's spine.

“I heard so many stories,” he tells him. “About you, Dean Winchester. First Knight of King Michael. So brave and courageous and beloved. So many people adored you. And then you failed. You failed them all.”

Dean can't help a flinch.

“The king, murdered by his own brother in his sleep, just when you stayed in the room next door,” the stranger says. “Lucifer ascending to the throne while you were unable to find enough evidence for that man's gruesome fratricide. And utterly helpless when Lucifer grew paranoid pretty soon and saw conspiracy everywhere. When he started to suspect even his own son of plotting treason, a mere boy of eleven years. You tried to protect him, but in the end it was your own brother who took the boy and fled with him, never to be seen again until this very day.” The man pauses while he assesses Dean with a bone-chilling scrutiny. “How long has that been now? Almost ten years, I believe, am I right?”

Dean feels utterly cold all of a sudden, the spark of attraction and interest turning into ugly suspicion as he glares at the man.

At this stranger who knows way too much.

“Who are you?” he hisses. “And how do you know all of this?”

Admittedly, lots of it is actually public knowledge, much to Dean's dismay, but certain things this guy mentioned aren't even remotely widespread. At least only a few people ever learned that it's been Sam that grabbed Jack one night and ran away with the boy. The majority of the population has no idea what happened to their prince, not even after all these years.

Dean swallows and tries to suppress the by now familiar dark sensation of longing whenever he thinks about Sam. His own brother who only found time for a quick goodbye and a tight hug that last night before he disappeared.

It's been so long Dean forgot the sound of his voice.

“How do you know all of that?” Dean presses through his teeth as he lifts his sword again. “Tell me!”

The man merely shrugs, completely unfazed by the blade pointed at him.

“I've always been fascinated by stories,” he explains. “Stories about kings and knights and nobility. And your tale is truly captivating, Dean Winchester.”

Dean scowls so hard the muscles in his face begin to hurt.

“My life is not a fucking story!” he exclaims. “So how dare you –?”

“You're right, I apologize,” the stranger cuts in. “I meant no disrespect. I'm sorry what happened to you.”

He sounds genuine enough.

But Dean is still majorly creeped out.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands to know. “Do you just sit around in caves, all naked, and wait for some knights to stumble upon you? Is that it?”

The man blinks. “I just heard that you're here. And that you're looking for me.” His gaze roams over Dean's entire body. “And I have to confess I got intrigued. So I stayed and wondered whether you would be able to find me.”

Dean stares at him.

What the fuck was this guy even talking about?

“I was not looking for you,” he growls. “I'm looking for the dragon that's –”

But then he freezes.

Because he suddenly notices the bright light in the man's eyes.

Which is not caused by the sun.

His heart rate picks up spectacularly as his brain suddenly connects the dots. Impala getting all anxious about this cave. Dean totally expecting to find a huge and vicious dragon inside and instead seeing himself confronted with an odd man who seems perfectly happy to stay nude in a wet and cold cave.

That stranger is seriously not some random man who lost his clothes somewhere along the way.

No, all of a sudden Dean can't help registering the energy within the cave. The magic swirling in the air. And the smell of smoke clinging to the walls.

The dragon.

Right in front of him.

The entire time.

Dean curses underneath his breath as his entire body tenses up. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so blind?

Just one look at a beautiful man and he suddenly threw every caution out in the wind?

He certainly has been taught better than that.

“Fuck!” he growls, staring at the man, at the dragon, in front of him with wide eyes.

Because he actually never met a shapeshifting dragon before. Of course he heard of them, many times, considering they're deemed to be the most powerful of them all, vicious and devious and brimming with magic. Everyone throughout Dean's life had told him to stay far away from them if he valued his continued existence, to just run and never look back.

And now here he is, facing the very thing he has been warned about so often, and finds himself unable to do anything.

The stubborn part of himself wants to ignore all the alarm bells ringing inside his head and just attack. Fight and cut and slay and prove them all wrong. The rational part of himself, however, urges him to flee. To save himself as long as he's still got the chance.

In the end he does neither.

He simply gapes at this gorgeous and deadly creature while his whole body refuses to move even a little bit. He is frozen on the spot and he's pretty sure it's not the dragon's magic's doing somehow but only the result of his own stupidity.

Damn.

“What do you intend to do with me?” Dean presses through his teeth and tries to look at least marginally confident. “Were you just waiting around for me to show up so you can play with your dinner before eating me alive?”

And he walked right into it.

Great.

The dragon, however, merely frowns at the statement. “Why would I want to eat you?”

Dean isn't really sure what to do with the confusion directed at him. “Well, uh …” He squirms around. “'Cause that what you do … dragons, I mean …”

The dragon seems to become even more puzzled by that. “You believe we eat humans?” he wonders. “But you're just skin and bones and muscles. I can't imagine you would taste any good. Can you?”

Dean is so thrown off by the question that he simply stays silent and probably looks like an utter fool in the process.

Eventually, the dragon appears to have mercy with him. “But to come back to your initial inquiry, no, I didn't wait around here to eat you.” He pronounces the word as though it's the most absurd thing anyone could ever think of. “I only wanted to talk.”

Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion. “About what?”

“I think we could help each other out.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. Of all the things he expected to hear today, this has not been one of it.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The dragon steps closer and Dean can't help becoming entranced by the motion. His graceful movements, the flexing of his muscles, his skin so perfect Dean is unable to keep himself from wondering what would happen if he'd lick it.

Because at the end of the day he is just a weak moron.

“May I ask about your plan?” the dragon wonders, once again quirking his head to the side in that very distracting way. “What did you intend to do today? After finding that evil and wicked dragon?”

Dean snorts while forcing himself to focus on the issue at hand. “Kill you and get the money. Easy as that.”

“And after that?”

Dean pauses for a moment, not really sure where this is going. “Um, live my life, I guess.”

“And after that? When your money runs out?”

Dean begins to fidget awkwardly underneath that intense gaze. “Find myself another dragon to kill.”

“Easy as that?”

“Easy as that.”

The dragon makes a thoughtful noise at that and studies Dean even more intently, his eyes so piercing Dean is actually surprised they don't burn a hole in his skin.

“But what if I told you I'm the last of my kind?” the dragon says, his voice steady. “What if I told you that after killing me you would not be able to find another dragon again? Your source of income, gone.”

Dean stares at him for a minute.

And then he scoffs.

“You're not the last of your kind,” he insists.

“Very well, I might not be,” the dragon agrees, clearly amused by Dean's almost offended tone. “But you and others like you have been hunting us for decades now. It became a sport among you, a chance to prove yourself. To impress noble ladies. To get admiration and devotion. And so you hunt and kill and never consider that dragons are actually a quite rare species to begin with.”

Dean hates to admit it, but in the last few years it's indeed been harder and harder to find one to slay. It's been nearly ten months since he met his last, to be honest. He had to take on some odd jobs here and there to get by after his money ran out way too early.

So is there some truth to what this dragon is saying?

“So you're going extinct?” he asks, dread filling his entire being.

“I wouldn't say that,” the dragon concedes. “But many of my kind grew tired of being constantly hunted and retreated deep into the mountains. Where no human would ever be able to reach them.”

Dean can't help thinking of those huge mountains north of their kingdom. They're vast and so high you can barely see the top even on a cloudless day and it's easy to imagine being absolutely safe there from any human contact whatsoever.

“I might very well be the last one around here,” the dragon says. “So what happens after you kill me? Do you find another career path? You, the knight fallen from grace?”

Dean glares hard at the last statement.

“I'll get by,” he hisses. “I always do.”

He has no other choice, after all. Not if he wants to live long enough to see Sam again.

“But what if I told you I can help you earn all the money you desire and more?” the dragon says, his voice dipping a little low and suddenly morphing into something freaking tempting Dean can't help leaning in a bit.

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“How about we join forces?” the dragon suggests. As if that's the most normal thing to propose. “I 'terrorize' and you 'kill' me?”

The air-quotes he uses are almost adorable.

“You get the money after a job well done,” he continues. “And after that we move on and do it all over again at some other place.”

Dean's eyes widen.

“Are you saying …?” He blinks rapidly. “You want to con people?”

The dragon shrugs. “Why not? After all, I heard there are a lot of greedy people out there who deserve to get the money they actually didn't even earn to begin with taken away from them. It would only be just, don't you think?”

For a long minute Dean is way too shell-shocked to even move a muscle.

But eventually he manages a croaky, “How the fuck did you even come up with that?”

The dragon seems impossibly pleased with himself as he says, “I've read something similar in an old book the other day. It seemed rather intriguing.”

Dean stares some more.

“So you wanna join forces with an enemy you just met … 'cause you read it in a book once?”

This must be the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. And he encountered a lot of ridiculous things in his life so far.

“You're insane!” he declares. “Absolutely insane!”

The dragon's smile vanishes. “Why is that?”

Dean doesn't even know where to begin with that.

“What would you get out this arrangement?” he eventually settles on. “I mean, apart from deceiving people and obviously having a field day with it?”

The dragon comes closer again and suddenly he appears so ethereal it takes Dean's breath away. He seems to glow from the inside, a being so powerful and majestic it could destroy him with a single blink of his eyes, and Dean shudders, both in fear and – even though he'd rather die than admit it – pleasure.

There is no doubt that this man is way more than just a man. Which is further proven by some fleeting flames running through his wild hair which make him look so supernatural Dean's knee start to tremble.

Dean can't help wondering what his true form must look like. While talking with the villagers one of the witnesses claimed the dragon to be at least twice as big as their already quite enormous town house. Back then Dean figured this exaggeration, but now, with this being consuming him whole just with his aura, he suddenly believes it to be true.

“I'm curious,” the dragon says. “About humanity.”

Dean takes a moment to shake himself out of his thoughts.

“Uh, what?”

“My end of the deal,” the dragon emphasizes. “You get your money and I get to know humanity.”

Once again Dean is far too baffled to react at first.

“You wanna …?” He creases his forehead in bewilderment. “I don't understand –”

“Humanity has fascinated me from the very beginning,” the dragon explains, actually sounding wistful about it. “I watched them from afar, enthralled and growing more and more eager to learn more about them. But whenever I tried to approach them they avoided me.”

Dean can't really say he's surprised. A strange man coming near, acting all weird and being all naked. He probably looked like a lunatic who just escaped an asylum or something.

“Why do you wanna get to know humanity, though?” Dean asks. “I mean, we're awful most of the time, and we're killing your kind and forcing them to retreat to the mountains, and – I dunno, we lie and deceive and –”

“I have my reasons,” the dragon says cryptically, making it undoubtedly clear that he doesn't want to deepen that topic any further.

Fine. Dean can respect boundaries.

And yet …

“Why me, though?” he wonders, more confused than ever over that simple fact. “I mean, I came here to kill you. That's not the greatest basis for a solid partnership, don't you think?”

The dragon's gaze gets painfully intense again.

“I can't really explain it myself,” he admits. “But it feels … like there is a profound bond between us.”

Huh.

Probably some magic hocus pocus that whispers some insane things into the guy's ear.

“You're mad, man,” Dean insists. “Utterly mad.”

But he can't keep himself from feeling intrigued as well.

Hunting dragons may pay well, but it's a dangerous line of work. To actually not have to worry if he'll come out of all of this alive while simultaneously still getting paid well sounds quite nice for a change.

Not to mention that the dragon is right. There are many people out there who deserve to be relieved of their money.

“How about we make a test run first?” the guy proposes. “To see how it works out.”

Dean knows he's utterly stupid for even considering this. Apart from the fact that working with a dragon to begin with is just borderline crazy he can't just bring such a dangerous creature right into the middle of some unsuspecting village. He might lash out, perhaps even unintentionally, and people might end up dead because of it.

“I can't –”

“I won't kill humans,” the dragons says, obviously either having read Dean's mind (a terrifying thought) or just perceptive enough to notice the doubt in Dean's eyes. “I never have and I never will. You have my word.”

Dean shouldn't give this much weight, but at the same time he used to be a knight and such promises meant something important to him. And no matter how hard he tried he was never able to shut that down.

Maybe they really can test it out at first. If Dean keeps a close eye on the dragon and just stays careful the entire time –

Maybe …

“You're still insane, my friend,” he says with a scoff. Because this is preposterous. Absurd. A disaster waiting to happen.

But then he remembers the money the villagers promised him for a dead dragon and he highly doubts he would be able to actually defeat this particular specimen in a fair fight. He's radiating so much power and strength Dean wouldn't have been surprised if the creature would have ended up melting the knight's sword with a single lift of his brow.

Yeah, Dean is pretty sure he wouldn't stand a chance. At least not under the conditions they're currently having.

But if they would actually go and con these people, just put on a show with Dean 'killing' that vicious dragon, for all the people to witness, then that money would be his in a heartbeat.

And he hates to admit it, but he actually needs it rather desperately.

It surely would take a huge weight off his shoulders.

But still …

“What even is your name?” Dean wonders eventually, suddenly feeling embarrassed for not remembering that little detail way sooner.

The dragon smiles at the question. As though Dean asking about his name means he managed to win him over.

“I'm Castiel,” he introduces himself.

Huh.

Castiel.

An odd name for an odd guy.

But at the same time also a gorgeous name for a gorgeous guy.

So all in all, it fits.

“Okay, Cas, first things first,” Dean states as he lets his gaze wander over the dragon's body and tries to look completely unaffected by the vast display of naked skin. “Because this is important. Essential.”

Castiel leans forward, sensing the tide tentatively turning in his favor. “What is it?”

Dean takes a deep breath.

And another one.

“Are you familiar with the purpose of clothes?”

Castiel blinks, obviously taken aback by the question.

And then he squints at the human in front of him in utter confusion before he looks down on himself like he has no idea what is wrong with his appearance.

While Dean can't do anything else but sigh in exasperation at that response.

Yes, this is downright insane!

#destiel #fanfic #fic #deancas #fantasy au #dragon cas #knight dean #dragon hunt

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baeklination · 5 years ago

Text

Drunk. Fool. pt.3

ft. Junmyeon

Pic cred: Primavera Peach

Date:200613

Warnings: light dom/sub, sex toys, anal, general explicit language. SMUT. Just be at least 18.

Pairing: Minseok x F.Reader + Junmyeon

WC: 1.9k

NOTE: HOW? Did this end up not being the ending? I dunno, but there is more smut to be had with these, so at least one more chap is coming.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

¤¤¤

Minseok didn’t have to spell it out - you knew these elevator doors wouldn’t open to a beautiful restaurant. But neither did you think they would open to this: a brightly lit hallway of an apartment on the 22nd floor with a beautiful man coming to greet you. He smiles with both mouth and eyes, warmly yet reserved and...something else. That type of something that lets you know that you are the main course.

“Precisely on time. Minseok”, he says with a slight bow, making a few strands of his red hair fall into his face.

“Junmyeon.” Minseok tips his head and raises his eyebrows, a gesture to show his appreciation for Junmyeon’s attire; black leather trousers paired with a white shirt embellished with chains and leather details in red and black. It’s definitely on the dramatic side, but it has a flare to it, and it’s an interesting juxtaposition: his serene face with this eye-catching outfit.

This guy has set a scene - and you know Minseok loves it. You can’t be a hundred percent sure, but you think Minseok’s bow was a bit lower. Is it simply because this Junmyeon is older than him, or because he knows what he has planned for you? What ever the reason you’re thoughts are interrupted by Junmyeon’s voice:

“This is her I take it..?”

As he takes a few steps in your direction his energy washes over you. It’s powerful in such a way that you don’t have to “put on” a submissive demeanour; it towers over you making you feel small, compliant, a little scared - and excited. He holds your chin with his thumb and index finger and looks at you. Not being able to hold his gaze you look down, which earns you a tap under the chin.

“Ap,ap.”

You look up again for what seems like an eternity before he turns to Minseok:

“I see what you mean...I’ll be happy to help.”

You may look composed but your mind is racing, trying to decipher what he means; help with what? Sure, you were a brat yesterday, but enough to bring in “outside council”..? Of course it was - you’d pulled him from a meeting. You had pulled your daddy from his fucking job. Shit...SHIT! Freak out-session aside you know this is your own doing, and the only way to get back into Min’s good graces is to be a good girl and bite the bullet.

Junmyeon takes your hand, and leans in, almost brushing your ear with his lips:

“Come with me, you.”

Him purposely not calling you by your name makes you nervous, yet it also sends a seductive tingle through your body, making you eager to follow. You look over your shoulder to see Min following. Good.

Junmyeon escorts you down the hallway, past a kitchen and the living room, through his bedroom into a room in the back - his dungeon. Your eyes widen as you take it all in: there’s a velvet couch running the whole length of the wall to your left and opposite wall has curtains along it. In the middle sits a wooden table with straps, buckles and leather cushioning. To be honest it looks like something you’d see at the medieval museum, so you can’t help but to gasp:

“Oh my-”

Junmyeon moves his hand to grab your upper arm as he turns around to look down at you:

“Only when spoken to”, is all he says. All he needs to say. Minseok has found a real one, as he called these guys. You feel a hand on the small of your back, slowly moving down the curve of your ass - you’d know Min’s touch from a thousand others’.

“Do you wanna start her off?”, Junmyeon asks, rather matter-of-factly.

“No, go ahead, she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need me”, Minseok replies, shooting you a meaning look. “Be good for me, baby. Make daddy proud”, he says and sits down on the couch.

You know that the punishment is what Junmyeon will do, but right now it feels like the lack of Min is a more severe one. In this environment all you needed was that little brush of his hand to make you go from slick to soaked; wanting nothing more than to straddle him, seeing that amused hungry smile from him as he slowly put his fingers inside you and then spread the juices up to your clit and back to your ass, lingering, circling a bit until you had to beg him to press them in.

Junmyeon leads you to the end of the table and softly presses your back for you to bend down, so that you’re upper body is resting on it. He puts his hand on your thigh, through the slit of your dress - a que for you to spread your legs - and pulls up your dress with his right hand. You close your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to give away too much. Minseok’s the one who brought you here, so he’s okay with these things - but to you it feels so good that it’s almost uncomfortably okay.

“Open your eyes”, you hear Minseok’s voice.

You look straight at him, again feeling that hunger for him, but also being okay with him seeing you turned on by someone else. And by the look of him he’s about ready to cut Junmyeon’s party short and ram his cock into your wet pussy. It’s barely noticeable, but a quick squint of his eyes, more like a twitch really, gives it away, as he sees your dress being pulled up.

Junmyeon’s hand slowly makes its way up to your entrance, and his breathing hitches. He bends down and spreads your cheeks to get a better look:

“You’ve got a prime specimen here, Minseok.” He tsks. “Does she always get this wet?”

Minseok smiles at you with pride in his eyes:

“That’s why she’s my baby girl. And if you keep going...” he trails off, making you roll your eyes as you suppress a moan.

Junmyeon makes his way to the right-hand wall and pulls the curtain away to reveal a curated selection of toys and tools ; whips, paddles, chains, masks, ball-gags and whatever else you could think of. This is either going to be very fun or very fun. He picks a collar and starts attaching a chain to it, but then stops and puts a leather lead on it instead; his attention to details is thrilling. He takes a small pouch - one of many - and turns back around. He puts a finger between your neck and the collar when he puts it on you:

“Can you breathe?”

“Yes”, you reply, feeling a bit hoarse from being quiet for so long.

He looks at you with softness and for a second you’re stunned by his beauty.

“I don’t know what a sweet girl like you could’ve done to deserve this, but if your daddy says you do...” he sighs and shakes head and lands a burning spank on your ass.

Being totally unprepared for it you cry out, but manage to bite your tongue midway. Of course that’s not good enough for Junmyeon who yanks the lead with a stern:

“No.”

You curse yourself for not staying silent, and feel embarrassed for Minseok. Not one sound will leave your lips from now on you promise yourself. Junmyeon positions himself behind you again and when you hear Min chuckle you can guess what was brought out of the pouch. You hear a low buzz and immediately after feel it pressing on your entrance; a vibrator, a small one. Junmyeon presses it in slowly - painfully slowly - but not all the way, just a centimeter or so, and brings it out again. Then in again.

“Look at your daddy, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and look at Min, struggling to keep your eyes open from the pleasure. Struggling to not beg him - either of them - to fuck you. You angle your toes inward and arch your back, trying to get more.

“Hm, I don’t think she’s as sweet as I first thought”, Jun says to Min. “She’s a little slut, isn’t she?”. While saying it he moves the vibrator up to your anal, making you twitch and inhale hard with pleasure. Picking up on it, Jun pulls the lead back and increases the speed on the vibrator as he starts pressing it in little by little to stretch you out.

“Fuck…” Minseok sighs “now there’s a sight…”

“You should see it from my angle. Grab the third bag for me, will you?”

Minseok does what Junmyeon asks and before long you feel a dildo filling your ass, moving in and out at a slow pace, and vibrating. You close your eyes and feel Minseok’s hand on your mouth; instinctively you open it and he slips two fingers inside, moving them in the same slow pace as Junmyeon.

“Feel how wet she is now” he says to Junmyeon.

Junmyeon puts his fingers in your pussy, not bothering toying with you and moans:

“She’s a mess, and I’ve barely done anything..!”

“Mm-hmm, she’s like that” Minseok replies, fingers still in your mouth.

“You, do you like your daddy’s fingers that much?”

“Yes”, you shake your head.

“Or is it me and this dildo in your ass..?”

You look at Min, not sure what to answer. Luckily, he bends down and says:

“Just tell him what you like, baby.”

“All of it. Everything”, you moan.

“She’s gonna come soon if you don’t control it.”

“Yeah, I can feel her on my fingers. I’m gonna let her. Make her. Go sit down, watch her”, Junmyeon replies. “Now let’s see how long it takes with just this” he says, pushing the dildo in all the way. You don’t even care that he’s removed his fingers; seeing Minseok so turned on, and the lewd feeling of being bent over with a dildo in your ass more than enough. Junmyeon pulls your leash tighter so your head is upright, and with the same hand grabs the left side of our ass, spreading it to get a better look. He puts the vibrator on full power which sends a jolt through your body, making your pussy almost drip with how wet it is. It doesn’t take long for that familiar electricity to build up when he start setting a faster pace, and you can’t help but to let sounds slip out.

“Are you gonna let your daddy see you come?”

As your legs start to spasm you just about manage to moan a “yes”, and you hear Min grunt. When your orgasm comes Junmyeon grabs your pelvic bone to hold you down and pumps the dildo with relentless speed, making you whine and moan an endless slew of “fuck”, “oh”.

When your sounds trail off Junmyeon relaxes the lead to let you rest your head and slowly removes the dildo.

“Come here” he says, pulling you up on your shaky legs “go lie down for a second, we’re gonna go have a drink.” Your initial excitement fades when he continues “I’ll bring you some water. There’s a bathroom right outside if you want to freshen up. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Just as you sit down Minseok stands up:

“You did good, baby”, he says stroking your head. “And since you know each other now I’ll let Junmyeon have you all to himself from now on.”

#AlmostMinseokFreeMinseokSmut #minseok scenario #junmyeon smut #WhyIsEverythingInThisNothingIPlanned

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

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Heartless

Summary: Hyungwon had been collecting the hearts of those for as long as he remembered. But none of them sounded nearly as beautiful as yours did.

Pairing: Chae Hyungwon x reader

Genre: demon au / dark / angst / bittersweet / romance

Warnings: death

A/N: Welcome to my second Demonology story for the week. I’ve had this idea for months, in fact probably close to a year now. It’s pretty dark and out of character for my usual fluffy self but since this collab is called Frightful October, I always try to include at least one story that’s more suited to the title than my others. Still, it was a challenge to write, so I do hope you will give this a chance and read it.

Word count: 3958

[Frightful October Masterlist]

He watched the human from within the shadows, his gaze unaffected despite the brutal killing happening in the alleyway. It wasn’t Hyungwon’s first time seeing such a sight, and it wouldn’t be his last either. His job was simply to clean up the mess left behind. He sighed as the woman’s cries slowed, the life soon seeping away from her face. It was a difficult moment for Hyungwon, his eyes upon her chest as he watched the movement slow and then stilled entirely. Her heart would no longer beat.

It was now useless to him.

However, the man who stood above her, exhilarated and exhausted from his achievement had plenty of beats left in his heart. It seemed almost a shame that Hyungwon couldn’t reach out to save the one that now lay dormant within her chest. But he didn’t focus on her for too long, his job was tied to time. If he moved too soon, he wouldn’t harvest it at the right moment and if he waited too long, he would sacrifice the chance he had. He waited in the shadows for only a moment more before he leapt out, taking away what the man had stolen from the woman below him.

It was another job well done and Hyungwon could afford a couple of days rest. He glanced around the darkened cellar, staring at the specimens he had collected over the years. Some of the hearts belonged to cruel and disgusting monsters, those he had no problem with culling from existence. They were heartless before he removed the organ anyway. He glanced at the row of smaller hearts and moved closer to them. He fingered the side of a small jar sadly, looking at how broken this heart was. The child had been hooked up to so many machines with no chance of survival. Those hearts were harder to harvest. Taking life from a child still felt wrong no matter how many times he had done so. Even if he knew it would end their suffering.

Hyungwon had no choice though. He was bound to his role for eternity, to serve those who he had crossed when he was young and reckless. A heart paid a hefty price, and much like with anything in life, all had a different price tag hanging above them. This broken heart he cherished so much would sell for much lower than the one he had harvested this week.

But they would all sell. The underworld was a dark and twisted land, with entities that reaped luxuries such as beating hearts. Supply and demand was still such a thing down here and he was no different from the others out there following orders and bringing forth what their masters required. Capitalism at it’s finest.

It wasn’t a role Hyungwon gained any true satisfaction out of. Sure, for monsters like the serial killer he now held the heart of, there was a fleeting moment of purpose. He knew he had saved lives by removing the man from the world above. To rid another shadow from that realm meant he had done more than just harvest a heart. But what good were his efforts overall? One killer gone didn’t rid the world of tragedy. More would cause destruction. Humans were a funny sort of race. They claimed to be the best and yet they were far worse than the animal kingdom. At least, with animals, the cycle of life made sense. Humans did as they pleased, and didn’t care for the consequences.

Their hearts all had some sin on them once their innocent years had passed them by.

Hyungwon’s role didn’t focus on some sort of heroism though. He wasn’t just removing those who did bad things from existence. Hearts came in all forms and it was his job to collect them all. From the morbidly sick to the perfectly healthy, he had done them all. Old or young, they all had a price.

Much like his mistakes had.

Putting the new heart onto his desk, he sighed, taking a seat behind it. Steepling his long fingers together, he stared down at the new order to prepare for after his days of rest.

Next, he would be collecting your heart.

Following along quietly, Hyungwon watched you intently. Each order only had five days to observe the subject and then make the best execution for optimal harvest. In the past, he had been sloppy as he learned the ways of being a Heartless, and lost one too many hearts in the process. It was all a fine art, the removal much like a masterpiece. One bad brushstroke could ruin an entire piece and heart culling was much the same. To gain the highest bid was reliant on how well the heart was still beating. Hyungwon needed to know you first before he could decipher in which way he would remove your heart.

Learning about you didn’t immediately tell him why your heart had been requested. Not that he questioned his orders now. When he was new to all of this, he would ask questions. Why did this perfectly healthy human have to die? What was so special about them over the many others out there with more plausible reasons? The truth was there was no logic involved. He didn’t need to know why he had to take your heart, even if there was no obvious answer to it. From the average viewer, you seemed like a decent human being. A college student with a bright future ahead. You were friendly yet focused, and a small part of him was envious of your ability to get everything done with so much grace. You irked him over the first couple of days of observation, living a life that had been so far from his own when he was once alive. It made him eager to find his best plan forward so he could be done with you.

And so, a day earlier than usual, Hyungwon was lurking in the shadows as you walked home from your late-night studying session, preparing to take what he was expected to from you. He knew the quicker he was in approach to you, the seamless it would be. You were naturally curious and had a lot to say to people you met during each day. If you started talking, it wouldn’t take you long to realise he wasn’t from this world at all. Coming up behind you, he reached out for his bounty, readying himself for your heart. He listened out for its beating sound, soon stunned by it.

This was why you had been chosen.

It sounded like a symphony, beating to its own tune, unlike other hearts. He had heard so many over the years but nothing quite as beautiful as yours. This heart would pay top dollar. It would cause fights among the elite in the market. It was incredibly rare, and Hyungwon was entirely overwhelmed by it.

Shaking off his reverie when he realised the sound had become distant from your continued walking, he dashed after you, grabbing you immediately. There was no scream emitted from how quick he had been. Your body slumped in his arms, now unconscious, your heart thumping faster momentarily before settling back down. Even heightened, it was like music to his ears. It pained him to reach for his tools.

And he wavered far too long above you to take what he was meant to.

Why should he take your heart? One day, it would become a prized trophy stored in a library of some wicked monster. Or worse, lay upon a table fit for a King and devoured until the very last beat. No, Hyungwon couldn’t bear the thought that your heart might stop beating one day. His hand trembled as he struggled with his inner dialogue. Could he take this heart and hide it as his own? Somehow mask the sound so no one would ever discover his deceit? He had never been so desperate to keep a heart for his own.

Then again, he had never heard such beauty before either.

Whilst struggling through his turmoil, he wasn’t nearly as aware as he should be. Eyes opened before him and he blinked rapidly, cursing that you had woken up. The plan was broken now. You had seen him and he waited for your scream, terror from what you saw before him.

Instead, you frowned, lifting your hand to his face and flinching when you connected with it. He was amazed himself, no human had ever reached out for him like this. Especially when he still held his tools towards your chest. His grip faltered though, when you spoke.

“I’ve seen you before.”

“What?”

“In a dream that I’ve dreamed my whole life. It’s you. I can’t believe it!”

Hyungwon wondered if the knock to your head he had given you had caused you to hallucinate. Sure, he looked every part of a human on the outside. But he had long left that part of himself behind. Could there be someone out there that you had mistaken him for? Yet your smile was genuine. So much so that he stopped thinking you were playing at a ploy of escape.

“Are you sure?” he asked and you nodded instantly. “Then you must know-”

“From another lifetime,” you murmured and he frowned, staring at you more intently. Had he once known you when he was alive? Only hours ago he had been done with your existence, jealous and frustrated with how amazing you were. Now, Hyungwon worried just how much he would do for you.

It was in that moment that he knew you both weren’t alone anymore, and without thinking much about it, he hastily returned his tools to his pockets, scooping you up and fled from the shadows you had both spent far too long within.

Not that taking you back to his lair was a smart choice either. You were still alive, heart beating just fine and yet completely out of place. Hyungwon cringed when he realised what he had done, though he was desperate to know more of what you said. If you knew him, then maybe you were worth the risk. Not handing over your heart next week for inspection was definitely not something he had anticipated. Right now though, he was unsure of everything about you.

He wished your order had gone to someone else.

However, with the sounds of your beating heart from across the room, he knew he couldn’t handle knowing this heart could belong in the hands of another. He was protective of it already, and since it was attached to you, his gaze softened.

You smiled. “I guess decorating the place isn’t really up on your list of things to do, huh?”

His room was simply furnished, a bed along one wall, dresser and desk against the other. A wash basin and towel was by the door and that was all Hyungwon ever used this room for. He spent far too much of his hours Earthside or in his cellar to have a pressing need for this room to be more personal. Still, he found himself awkward as you took in his basic belongings, your brows furrowed together. You then turned to him.

“Were you going to kill me?”

In any other setting, Hyungwon would have tried to placate you. But you were so direct with him that he felt no need to be anything but that with you. “Yes.”

“Because?” you wondered and Hyungwon watched as you moved closer. He didn’t answer and you smiled. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I have by bringing you here.”

“Alive, might you add,” you commented, pursing your lips together as he nodded.

“Shouldn’t you be scared right now?”

“I am, to a point. But I’m with you and I know you’ll protect me.”

He chuckled darkly. “I was about to kill you, remember?”

“But you didn’t,” you retorted and he sighed, you had him there. “And you won’t, right?”

“I’m ordered to, so don’t trust me. I could do it at any stage.”

You nodded softly, lips still pursed. “Only you this time.”

“Only me… what?”

“Only you can kill me this time. Don’t let anyone else.”

Hyungwon was confused. Had he killed you before? Surely, he would know a soul he had crossed previously. How did you even know him? He craved your answers but he also knew the more he uncovered, the easier it would be to throw himself in the firing line for you.

And you somehow knew this also. Moving dangerously close to him, you looked up briefly as you gently rearranged the collar of his shirt. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”

Shoving you off, he shook his head. “I told you not to trust me.”

He had left you and your confusing words alone in his room as he came down to the cellar. Among the beating of hearts, he began to relax, though the sound was nothing like yours on its own. It muddled his perception, listening out for it from the room above despite all those around him that he could more easily listen to.

Somehow, the even beating of your heart sent him off to sleep. He dreamed for the first time in decades, seeing a world that was so far attached from him. Dancing around as a child, laughing and giggling with his friends.

With you.

He had known you then. Or at least, the you of the past. Hyungwon had grown up with you, a dear friend and then lover to each other. As the dream continued, he almost could tell the story before it reached the next point. He knew of this past well. The pivotal moment in his life where he had killed for the first time. Shaking from head to toe as he dropped the knife he held, now covered in blood, Hyungwon heard your whimpering behind him.

“Is the monster dead?” you asked, coming out from where he had hid you. You wrapped your arms around him as he slumped, comforting words all that he heard.

Turns out though, if you kill the Heartless, you have to become one.

Jolting up from his dreams before it got to the first heart he was assigned to, he stared up at you, realising you had been calling out his name. He searched your face, wondering if you knew that he had killed you back then too. You smiled, reaching out for his hand and he snapped back, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t be down here. I specifically told you to wait upstairs.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” you wondered and before he could answer, his stomach did. Giggling, you pointed to the plate before him. “I figured if I used some of the supplies in your kitchen, I should make for two. I hope you don’t mind. Not that you really had anything in there.”

He hadn’t shared a meal since he last had with you. Did you know that as well? You smiled over at him again, gesturing for him to eat up before it got cold.

Hyungwon decided he would take heed of your request.

He would protect you from his kind once more.

Days passed and he grew agitated. He had unnecessarily killed, something that he had only done twice during his job. He had sought out the most beautiful sounding heart that he could find and without much thought, taken it to replace the one he was protecting. It had been accepted as yours without any question and for now, everything was stable. You were still at his side and no one seemed to realise his deceit. He would do it again if he had to just to ensure your safety, though you were far from pleased about it.

“Someone lost a life because of me?”

“She had a medical condition. If anything, I helped her escape a prolonged death.”

You shook your head, tears falling in streams. “She had the choice to do so much more though, Hyungwon. Please don’t kill others. Kill me if you have to.”

“You and I both know I already have once,” he replied darkly, stalking away from you. The nightmares haunted him now, his first order as a newly turned demon was to take the heart his former comrade had been sent to do that he had killed instead. He had no idea what a heart should sound like back then and was too frazzled by the task that he failed to even harvest it correctly and you were balancing between life and death. Instead, his trainer had, and he had been left with no option but to watch on hopelessly as you died. Hyungwon believed he was stronger now, one of the elite Heartless. Still, he had always followed orders. Out of fear in the beginning, and because it was all his existence meant over time. Observe, cull, and sell over and over. He had truly believed he had little heart left himself now.

Until you.

You were making him inconsistent, sending him crazy from fear all over again. He couldn’t just disappear with you, no matter how much he wanted to. His departure would only show that of his deception and put you in further danger. It would only be time before someone found you though, especially since you never listened to him.

“I told you to stay put, why did you follow me here?!” he hissed as you appeared over his shoulder as he watched his next order from afar. You sighed heavily.

“I’m not in a jar yet so you can’t hold me captive.”

“I’m not putting you in one either,” he grumbled, grabbing you by the shoulders and marching you backwards. Within a blink of an eye, you were both back in his bedroom and you threw off his grip, shaking your head rapidly.

“Is my heart that valuable?”

Hyungwon avoided answering. “If I don’t harvest that heart by tomorrow-”

“Take mine instead.”

“No.”

“She’s healthy!”

“So many are!” he exclaimed, rubbing at his face. “Healthy, young, beautiful, a lot going for them, there’s so many of them!”

“What happens if you don’t do your orders, will they kill you then?”

“If that were the case, do you think I’d still be here?”

“Then how did you manage to kill the one who attacked us?” you wondered and Hyungwon slumped on his bed, putting his head in his hands. He felt you sit down beside him, leaning into his side. He had avoided this conversation for so long now but for you, it was overdue. “You protected me.”

“I still am.”

“How did you kill him?”

Hyungwon groaned, looking up at you desperately. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? A fellow demon cannot kill me but a mere human could. You could.”

“And then my fate is to become Heartless as well?”

“You will have no such fate.”

“There is no escape for us? No happy ending?” you asked forlornly, pouting when you stopped talking. Of course, you knew there wasn’t and Hyungwon’s silence confirmed your suspicions. You began to cry and he held you tightly as you did so, rocking you both through the realisation.

The love he held once for you had returned and he would lose it again.

Eventually, darkness encased the room, long after the tears had subsided. You had both laid on his bed and were still curled up in one another, comforted by this rare moment of stillness. Hyungwon was savouring every part there was to you this time. The way you breathed in and out, the softness of your skin, the shape of your eyes. Everything was imprinted in his mind, no longer ashamed to see you within it. He had pushed the memory of you out of his thoughts long ago, unable to comprehend his rise and fall that connected with you.

However, the longer you stared back at him during the soft moonlit hours together, the easier he saw your renewed determination. Hyungwon watched you carefully, running his hand repeatedly through your hair. “What are you thinking of?”

“Our escape together.”

“I told you we can’t do such a thing. One of us will die trying. And that will be me.”

You poked his chest with your index finger. “Then will you rest knowing that they will take my heart without your protection?”

He swallowed roughly, emotions rising to the surface. “I can’t kill you again.”

“I will.”

Sitting up, he looked down at you, confused. You smiled, reaching up for his jawline affectionately. It still amazed him how natural it seemed for you to love him in this lifetime. Moving so you were level with him, your lips found his softly, like a breeze brushing across his mouth momentarily. You then smiled at him, placing your other hand on his face. “I will do it all.”

“I don’t understand your suggestion, Y/N.”

“You no longer want this existence, right?”

He nodded distantly, he never had. But he was bound to this cruel fate forever.

“And it takes a human to kill you, right? I’ll do it.”

“You will not-”

“Before then, I will need some ingredients. Do you ever remember the plays we read when were younger, Hyungwon? Romeo and Juliet?”

“You’ll poison yourself?”

“Will we be free then, together?” you hoped and he stared at you intently. His gaze then slipped to your chest, the heart he was protecting thumping beautifully within. It pained him to even consider hearing the last beat it ever took again.

And yet, it gave him hope to know that it would be a choice you both had as well.

Neither of you discussed the plan for the rest of the night. You explored one another in ways you had never connected in the past, Hyungwon relishing in the sound of your heart experiencing the ultimate high.

When morning came, the mood between you was loving and bright. You got up, ate your final meal together, smiling the entire time. He hadn’t felt this light since he was a child. Eventually, you got organised with what you needed. The heart he was meant to collect was still beating out there somewhere and he knew it wouldn’t be long until someone came for it.

He wouldn’t let them find yours instead.

“How do you know we’ll meet again?” he asked you softly as you prepared your last drink of this lifetime, the purple colour convincing him of its potency.

You stopped stirring it, turning to stretch up and peck his lips. “Because I found you in this lifetime again. Our fate is connected.”

“I can’t argue that,” he admitted with a smile and then wrapped his arms around you from behind, your body rocking back into his chest. “Though I worry that we won’t end up in the same place together. I have so much sin on these hands.”

You took them in your own, linking your fingers together firmly. “I won’t let your hand go, not even in death.”

He knew you meant it, and it was one of the things he focused on as he felt the life slipping from him hours later. That and the beating of your heart. It was erratic now, given once you had pierced his chest you then reached for the bottle and downed all the contents quickly. Slowly, he heard the beating skip, starting and stopping, in its final symphony. He closed his eyes when you slumped against him, hands still connected.

There was no pain, even when he no longer could hear your heartbeat. Because he knew he didn’t need to collect your heart whilst it was beating anymore.

It was already his.

_________________

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silvereddaye · 5 years ago

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Of Silk and Gold - Preview

I’m working on a new smut Anidala / Vaderdala fic called Of Silk and Gold. This is the first chapter.

Warning: This preview is for a smut fic that will be rated E and NSFW. This preview is however SFW.

Summary: Padme Amidala has dedicated herself to stopping slavery, especially girls forced into harems as slaves. However, a rescue mission goes wrong and now Padme finds herself on the auction block. She is sold into a harem. Into the harem of Darth Vader.

Chapter One

Gold eyes stared at her from under a dark hood. Padme could barely see the man’s face, but she could make out his eyes were gold and there was a smile on his face. He had stood in front of her dais for a while now. His eyes traveling up and down her body. He had once or twice nodded his head in approval. Finally, he had walked away to stop at the next dais and the next girl on display.

Padme’s hands twisted in the set of binders that were hooked to a metal chain belt around her waist. However, the belt and binders were hidden under layers of silk and satin and gold. It would affect her sale. Her sale as a sex slave most likely into a harem of one of the many rich men or the occassional woman who was attending the slave auction.

She was . . . going to be sold . . . She clenched her teeth together. She could not believe this. That she, former queen of Naboo, was going up on an auction block like a piece of meat to a bunch of horny bastards. She took a sharp breath through her nose. Then she took another. She needed to calm down. It would be impossible to escape from the auction house. For now she would have to wait. A better opportunity may present itself, and when it did, she would be ready.

Padme sadly knew all too well of this cruel world. Harems had come into fashion when the Republic had died and the Empire was born. The new Emperor kept a harem, and soon many others of the galaxy were copying him. The sex slave trade exploded. Young human women were in high demand, especially those from Naboo, as that was what the Emperor kept in his harem. Young women and girls started to disappear from the streets of Naboo. Some from their homes at night.

Padme had heard the rumors, but thought such things were happening in the countryside. Not in Theed. Then Sache, a handmaiden to the queen, had disappeared. When Padme’s term as queen ended she dedicated her time to finding Sache and taking the slave trade head on. She created a network of informants and safe houses. If a girl or family contacted her, Padme would secure a safe place to live. Sometimes that meant off planet.

It was hard work. Over time she had gained a trustworthy reputation, but there were many others out there who weren’t. Others, including women, who offered sanctuary only to turn around and sell the girls into slavery.

She knew the risks. She had pissed off a lot of people. Slavers were not kind. Bounty hunters had been sent after her. Attempts against her life had been made. That was how Yane had died. It was during a raid in one of their safe houses in Theed.

But somehow she had never thought it would happen to her. She was so aware of the risks. She knew all the signs. She had stopped so many abductions, raided so many slaver ships, and even pretended to be a slaver herself. And yet, things had gone wrong. She had been hit with a stun shot. When she woke up, she was drugged and bound.

And now she was here. She wasn’t even aware where here was. She had visited auctions before. Bought slaves from them so she could free the girls. But this one was different from the shady hovels she had been to. No, this one was on a whole other level. It took place in a multi-story large domed room. Pointed lanterns hung on delicate gold chains from the ceiling that was draped in dark red and purple silk. Around the perimeter of the room were the raised circular daises where each girl was displayed. In the center of the room were various couches and chairs for people to relax on. There were also a few tables for people to enjoy a meal or perhaps take up a gambling game.

The atmosphere was like that of a party. The party goers were all well dressed. Many of the men seemed to have brought their wives or a favorite harem girl. The latter were always easy to spot due to the collars they wore around their throat. The same to the gold one around Padme’s. Many of the party goers were human as were many of the slaves. But there were a few aliens mixed into the mix including a group of Neimondians who kept looking over at her. Padme could feel the bile rise in throat from the idea of having them purchase her.

The party wore on. Padme’s body started to ache from sitting on a mound of pillows. She had been done up in an outfit that was inspired from an outfit she had worn as the queen of Naboo. It was blasphemous. A mockery of Naboo. While her face wasn’t completely painted white, they had applied a lot of make-up to lighten it up. They of course had then applied bright red lipstick and the two red dots. Her hair had been spun up in several braids in buns. Gold pins with red gems in it stuck out the coils.

Around her neck, over her slave collar, was a thick gold piece of fabric. Gold lace flowers flowed down from the top and unraveled into strings of beading. It was the only top she was wearing. If she shifted too much, the beading would reveal her breasts. At least she was properly covered in her lower half, but that was only to hide the belt and the cuffs. However, her bare legs were on full display.

Some of the other slaves were not as lucky. Some stood completely naked on their small stages. They weren’t allowed to sit. Padme examined the women. Before the party, in the preparation room, she had listened in the gossip. Most of which was shared between the women getting the slaves ready than from the slaves about to be sold. The women would try to soothe the young girls who were clearly upset about the whole thing.

“It’s not all that bad,” one older woman said as she brushed one young girl’s hair. “Hopefully you get a good master.”

Padme huffed. That was an oxymoron. As if there was such a thing as a good harem master. Though she had listened to tales of slaves she had freed. There were better masters. Some who were kind to their girls, especially to those who pleased their masters and kept them happy. But there were also the horror stories. Padme had seen the scars and disfigurements on plenty of girls to know what could happen if you angered your master. And these were just from the survivors. What about the ones who hadn’t survived?

Padme believed that was what had happened to Sache. No way would she have willingly gone along with being a harem girl unless they kept her drugged up the entire time, which was a possibility. Padme’s theory was that Sache had been given to the Emperor. Padme had learned to go into that harem was a death sentence. The Emperor was always getting new girls. The old ones eventually disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. Rumor had it they were killed once the Emperor tired of them.

And what kind of harem girl will you be? She asked herself. Whatever kind of girl it was, it would be one that would escape. She had met the lucky ones who had managed to break free. It was possible, and Padme would do it. She had to.

The lights of the room dimmed. Spotlights turned on to highlight a large stage in the center of the room. A man in a bright red outfit stood on the stage.

“Dear guests,” he announced, “Please take your spots. The auction will begin soon!”

The party goers arrange themselves around the stage. One by one the girls was brought up on stage and auctioned off. Thus it started. Girl after girl went on stage. The bids would be offered, and the girl sold. Eventually, large hulking men came for Padme and brought her up to the stage.

“And here we have an incredibly rare delight!” the man in the red suit announced. “This beauty comes to us from the lovely Naboo, but this specimen was once a queen who sat on Naboo’s throne. Just look at her grace.”

Padme bared her teeth and growled at the man. He only laughed.

“She is a novice, and may need to be broken into,” he said as he turned and faced the crowd. “Shall we start off at 50 thousand credits?”

The bidding started and Padme just stood there. The lights were bright in her eyes and she had a hard time making out who was bidding on her. The bids kept going higher and higher. Soon they were making jumps of a hundred thousand for each bid.

“700 thousand to the Neimodians,” the man called.

The Neimodians had been constantly bidding for her. Oh let them try to touch her. She would bite off their dicks and rip off their balls.

“A million,” a voice called out.

The room fell quiet. Even the announcer stilled for a moment. That was a big jump in bids.

“One million!” the announcer shouted. “Do I hear one million and one hundred thousand?”

“One million and a quarter!” a Neimodian shouted out.

The announcer started to announced the bid, “One million and a--” But he was cut off from the same voice from before.

“Two million.”

Padme squinted. She could just make out a man standing by himself. A man completely covered in a long dark cloak. It was the man from before. The one with the golden eyes.

“Three million!” a Neimodian desperately shouted.

“Four,” the man replied before the auctioneer could announce the new top bid.

“Five!” the Neimodian shouted.

Everyone was intently watching the bidding war. Many people were whispering to each other. They eyed the mystery man and the Neimodians. Would it keep going? Would the man fold?

“Do I hear six million?” the red-suited man called.

Nothing. A rock fell into Padme’s stomach. She would rather take her chances with the mystery man then the Neimodians.

“Going once,” the announcer called. “Six million? Do I hear six million for a queen of Naboo? Going twice!”

“Twenty million,” the man called out in a calm and even voice.

The room instantly stilled. Soft gasps were heard. Even Padme’s mouth fell open. Twenty million? That was outrageous!

“Twenty million,” the man said again as he walked up to the stage.

“Twent-- twenty million, sir?” the auctioneer asked.

The man pulled down his hood. Gasps were heard.

“It’s Vader,” someone said.

Padme stared at the handsome face staring up at her with a cocky arrogant smile. He had tanned skin with dark blond hair that fell in loose curls around his face. A scar slashed next to his right eye. And his eyes. His eyes were gold.

But she knew this face. She had seen this face plenty of times on the holonet. Everyone knew Darth Vader. He was a known playboy and flirt. The holonet gossip sections loved to cover his exploitations. And it was no secret he had an impressive harem. In fact, as far as harems went, it was the most sought after one for a harem girl.

For Darth Vader was the Emperor’s heir. And to bear a child of Vader’s, would be to bare the future of the Empire.

#my writing #smut #of silk and gold #wip #anidala #vaderdala #Padme Amidala #Darth Vader

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sohannabarberaesque · 6 years ago

Photo

Postcards from Snagglepuss: Thoughts as a Major Road Trip gets underway

(And I'm talking rather long distance, with quite a few of us interesting characters taking part, know.)

Travelling through South Dakota eastbound and out along I-90 from Wall Drug and the Badlands, it can get rather surprising to notice that, once you cross the Missouri River, things seem to be a little greener and more pastoral. Though it's important to remember that the change (which is at the bridge over the Missouri River, alias Lake Francis Case, at Oacoma/Chamberlain) takes some while to notice, understand. And gets to be a little evident when most of the billboards along I-90 tend to be for the Corn Palace in Mitchell--the World's Only Corn Palace, even. (And I assume some of you still recall the time when The Banana Splits played there while their tour bus was getting repaired, eliciting much response no doubt.)

And it is at the Corn Palace, erected in tribute to the agricultural bounty of the region, that we gather for a substantial stop, a photo opportunity even. And among such who couldn't have been more impressed at the sight were the likes of Ruff and Reddy, Yogi Bear, even the Hair Bear Bunch, come to think of it ... and I understand Peter Potamus couldn't resist the historical display inside of the Corn Palace's evolution, of the many bands as played there over the years, not to mention the displays created out of corn and native prairie grasses gracing its outside, as if the Moorish-looking domes looking like turned-upside-down beets weren't attracting enow. And we all know that the very name has nothing to do with the supposedly "corny" acts as probably played there in past, which certainly caught a certain Hardy Har-Har by surprise (and we all know that Hardy Har-Har hardly laughs much, let alone his counterpart with The King's crew, Yukka-Yukka).

With not much else in downtown Mitchell--blame, obviously enough, Walmart and their ilk for decimating downtown--it was hard enough to get the few as were downtown to pose for selfies, let alone our Funtastic crew posing themselves before the Corn Palace. Especially this early in the summer. Onward, then, to a truck stop outside Sioux Falls, as much for supper as for conversation. Especially one particularly bemusing episode which saw Hardy Har-Har seated opposite Yukka-Yukka, a study in contrasts indeed. Witness this snippet of conversation:

HARDY HAR-HAR: Oh me ... oh my ... do my eyes deceive me, or am I seeing--

YUKKA-YUKKA: Do my eyes deceive ME, or am I--

[Crazy double-take]

HARDY HAR-HAR: I wasn't aware of you until--

YUKKA-YUKKA: And the likelihood of our being cousins was merely whispered about ...

[YUKKA-YUKKA produces a joy buzzer and gets HARDY HAR-HAR to shake his hand, unaware of the joy buzzer gag inherent]

HARDY HAR-HAR: Was I ever surprised?!!

(At which point, their orders came along.)

Not far from that scene:

THE KING: Are you rather surprised at my being such a specimen of cool--?

LIPPY THE LION: Are you still stunned that we might likely be--COUSINS?!!

THE KING: Which is rather vague in prospect--I remember now, that was back at the Truth or Consequences Fiesta, when the connexion was revealed!!

LIPPY THE LION: I think I remember that now somewhat ... And who could be more surprised?

THE KING: Could it be that we may equally be surprised?

SHEENA, to LIPPY: I happen to be the King's girlfriend myself, uh--

LIPPY THE LION: Lippy the Lion there, uh--

SHEENA: Sheena. King and I are rather close, but--

THE KING, interjecting: Not exactly in a relationship. We're just friends for the most part.

And I assume there's more where that came from, especially when they're closely related in the animal kingdom. And maybe more as the journey rolls on.

*************

Crossing the line into Minnesota not long afterward ... and on the heels of a wonderful sunset besides. Eventually to park for the evening near a statue of the Jolly Green Giant near Blue Earth, erected in tribute to the local vegetable production for canning and freezing. And in the morning, heading onwards to the SPAM Museum in Austin, center of production for a certain legendary canned meat product ... and who couldn't be more impressed at SPAM then us, arriving at opening time to the stunned surprise of Hormel personnel assigned the SPAM tribute? (And did I mention admission was free?)

At any rate ... practically everybody couldn't believe such a tribute to such a legendary product and its association to the town as produces it. None more so than, for one, Augie Doggie, who just can't get enough of that SPAM in such forms as sandwiches and even as stir-ins to canned spaghetti or macaroni (and, as usual, Doggie Daddy acknowledging that "my Augie's a growing boy, and he can't resist that SPAM!") ... for another, my boon companion, Huckleberry Hound, who can't resist it grilled and in sandwich form ("You do need to spray some PAM on the barbecue grill beforehand, to make it easier to handle) ... and even more unlikely, Country and Kitty Jo, from the Cattanooga Cats even, who couldn't help but open up memories of being rather dependent upon SPAM in leaner times before breaking into music when they did (Kitty Jo especially; "I admit there were even weeks when SPAM was about the only meat I had trying to break into music, even when about the only work I could get was in awful-looking coffee houses for tips when the hat was passed around).

Even the Cattanooga Cats' Groove, the feline master of barbecue, couldn't resist the possibilities of trying to barbecue SPAM, on a rotisserie even, smothered in his own barbecue sauce receipt ... so explaining buying whole cases of the classic SPAM, Bacon-Flavoured SPAM, Smoke-Flavoured SPAM, SPAM Lite even, at the attached gift shop. And so did practically everybody in the company, even Yogi Bear getting a few cans of that which, to hear Yukka-Yukka the jokemeister explain it, is acronym for "Suspiciously Packaged As Meat." (Actually, it came from an employee contest in the mid-1930's, when it first came out, and is a hybrid of "SPiced HAm." Now you know. And did I mention where even the Hair Bear Bunch have been known to include some SPAM when they have weekends at their Secret Surf and Dive Spot, mainly for sandwiches?)

As for breakfast, we found a decent-looking diner close by Beautiful Downtown Austin which had SPAM featured on their breakfast menu, though not in ways recalling a certain Monty Python sketch exactly ... yet there was a SPAM-and-cheese omlette which suited my omlette-loving taste, hash browns on the side even. No doubt explaining the delay for breakfast when our caravan left Blue Earth earlier in the morning.

*************

Next stop: Winona, Minnesota. Steamboat Days, even. Which will be covered next week in this very presence, so stay tuned.

#fanfic #hanna barbera #snagglepuss #postcards #road trip #i90 #south dakota #corn palace #jolly green giant #spam museum #spam #spam breakfast

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catch22inareddress · 6 years ago

Text

Halloween Confessions

You have yearned to meet Sebastian from afar for years. When the stars aline and you are hired to do a contemporary dance routine at a Halloween Party that he will attend, will you have the courage to follow through and finally meet him? Tonight is all about Halloween and Confessions....now, where is the bar because your gonna need a stiff drink?

Words:3600+

Your body throbbed and your nerves were tattered at every end. Weeks you had trained with your partner and friend, Travis, for tonight's event. Although it was a friendly and "casual" party of sorts, every detail was designed to the tiniest measure.

Robert spared no expense in his endeavor to entertain his guests and was always generous to everyone associated. You were a contemporary dancer and met Robert years ago through your boss and close friend Travis. Robert's wife was a fan of So You Think You Can Dance and followed Travis' career and was thrilled when a performance was orchestrated for this evening. Tonight he had arranged a number for you and while you were no stranger to dancing, doing so in front of your crush was going to push you over the metaphorical edge.

Travis came up next to you with a smile. "So a little birdie told me that Sebastian came alone tonight. He and Sadie broke up months ago." He wiggled his eyebrows at you while you resisted the urge to hide under Robert's ridiculously overpriced armoire. "Fuck me. Please, shut the hell up. I know he's dress to kill as a Priest and my libido can't handle images of him right now." Travis let out a chuckle while adjusting your dress and applying the sinfully Red lipstick.

"Please, after he sees you doing the number he will undoubtedly pull you in the closest closet and have you confess your transgressions." The blush that rose up your bosom was enough the tint the heavens themselves it was so extensive. "Leave me, Travis! I will cut you... and not with affection!" He laughed as he held his hands up in surrender and walked out of the room. "I am going mingle and do some groundwork. You'll see, darling." After that, you waved him off while you and Jeremy did stretches and final touches.

Sebs Point of view

He sat in the living room with legs spread in his typical fashion, welcoming. Even if that was the last emotion, he felt at that instant. If anything he wanted every person of the female persuasion to leave him the fuck alone. Save the one woman who walked in and then instantly disappeared. Messy hair, sweet face, casual clothes. She was with Robert's dancer friend Travis, and there was something so natural and alluring about her that he couldn't quite pin, and pin he wanted to do indeed. He had an instant hard on that he couldn’t suppress when his eyes laid on her.

He felt his phone vibrate again from his pocket and growled in acknowledgment. Chris smirked from the seat across him and welcomed Travis as he sat down next to Sebastian, a mixed drink in hand. "Sadie callin' again?" Seb nodded wordlessly. "Yea, she won't take no for an answer, and it's been driving me insane." Seb turned to see Travis sitting there and smiled kindly at him. "Hey man. Nice to see you again." Travis agreed and shook his hand.

"Flying solo, Sebastian?" He nodded and thought this was the perfect time to ask about the girl he saw the blonde man with earlier. "Yea. Actually, I noticed you with a stunning woman earlier, not to sound like a creep. Where did she go off to?" Travis smirked deviously, and Sebastian caught it, unsure of what it implied. "Oh, Y/N. She had to ...work." Seb's face instantly frowned at the thought of missing the elusive beauty but hoping that if he stayed close to Travis tonight, he might be able to talk the man in arranging a meet with her. He was sure that he came off as an ass, talking about Sadie then his friend. He had to make it up and make sure Travis knew he wasn't a prick.

Robert came out into the cleared area and clanked a utensil on his glass. "So my better half has introduced me to the art of dance and her lovely and remarkably talented friend Travis has a treat for us tonight." He beamed as he waved Travis up in front of everyone. "So I have a special treat for everyone here. She is one of my best friends, and I've had the privilege to dance with her on several occasions. I choreographed this routine special for tonight, so I hope that you enjoy it!"

You came out and met Travis when the lights were low. "Easy, darling. Just pretend I'm him." You smirked at his jest, but you knew that having him in the room with this song was already sending adrenaline through your body at accelerated speeds. "Shut up and dance with me, Trav." He kissed your cheek playfully as the music started and the lights came up.

Link to Dance

While there was plenty of room, you felt Travis throw you exceptionally close to Sebastian on one move and made eye contact with him. His blue eyes were leaving marks over your skin wherever his orbs kissed your flesh.

Sebastian took a sharp intake of air, and you wanted to smother the gremlins in your stomach. The dance was a narcotic, and when the line hit of “Give Me all your love”, and your body was slung over Travis' muscular one, Seb's hands fisted at his sides in sheer possessiveness.

You were hoisted in the air, and then you spun down and around his body. Travis was facing Sebastian with a cold yet theatrical face as he slammed his hands around your body. Seb's body took a step towards you of its own volition, but Chris grabbed his arm holding him back. Sebastian snapped out of the lust infused haze he was drugged under and looked to his feet as both you and Travis ended the routine on the floor, amidst cheers and applause.

Both of you bowed and smiled as you thanked everyone and while you were talking to the Downeys you felt your body pulling you towards Sebastian, like a gravitational pull. It was all-consuming, and as soon as you could politely excuse yourself, you did, finding the bar and ordering a whiskey sour to assemble your thoughts... hopefully.

When you turned around to start walking you ran into the very person that made your body shutter and squirm with delight and unrestrained anxiety. Your drink spilling down his sinfully snug suit. He gasped at the cold liquid running down his pant legs while you cringed at the entire exchange.

"Oh fuckity fuck!" You recoiled at your first meeting going so very well. All of the shameful times you had rehearsed it going straight out the window and shattering on the sidewalk. You caught Chris and Travis laughing and giving you an obnoxious thumbs-up behind Sebastian's head, while he was laughing at your outburst unbeknownst to the audience.

"I am so sorry, S-seb. Sir?" His eyes shot up to you, losing his laugh and garnering a smirk instead. His shoulders straightened and you pulled at your dress and tried to compose yourself under his scrutiny. You cleared your throat.

"That's ok. These things happen. Although, I would've thought you were far more graceful by your performance earlier." The sex appeal this man exuded was positively unfair, how he was so put together was just plain wrong. You were damn near ready to pull him into the closest closet and beg for forgiveness in varying forms while he was in this priest costume. He, however, was unaffected by you. You needed to pull your shit together if you wanted to get this man and make him yours

"I-um. I'm not used to all of this--" You waved around to all of the drunken actors and actresses and noticed a few women cutting eyes at you and paused a moment, trying to will the intimidation away. "What? Bullshit?" He laughed, and it brought you back to the moment and the fact that your arms were still soaked and so were his pants.

He nodded towards the other side of the house. "C'mon, let's go get cleaned up." You swallowed hard as you followed this magnificent specimen of a man through the crowds. You started to lose him, but he took your small hand in his and closed your eyes for a moment. He leaned into your ear, over the music, "After I get you clean up, tell me I can have a dance?" His voice was low and gritty, and you didn't trust your voice, so you only nodded.

Sebastian meanwhile, didn't know what came over him, but as he saw you in that little red number standing so small and timid, he knew this was his chance. As you stood in front of him, he almost lost his words but when you said "sir" in a fit of pure anxiety, a switch was flipped, and he loved seeing how you unraveled in front of him.

He put on his best act to get you to follow him to someplace quiet to get cleaned up, trying to get his nerves to calm down long enough to form a plan after that. When you agreed to a dance he was fucking thrilled, just a few more minutes longer with you would be enough...for now. Hell, he would take every damn second he could press out of this scenario, every thrilling moment you would give him. Because that what this was, you were an adrenaline rush for him since seeing you dance. You were a drug for him since he saw you walk into the party.

He found the secluded bathroom and entered it, locking it behind you two.

You washed your hands and arms under the sink as he watched from the side, such a mundane task seeming so intense under his blue eyes. "So I'm

Y/N." He finally threw you that gorgeous smile you had seen before in the movies. "I'm Sebastian, but you can call me Seb, or sir ..if you like." He was smirking like the devil in a midnight mass now, and you dried your arms hiding the crimson shade and biting your lips.

"Sir? Is that because you want me to confess my sins to you?" His breathing had picked up as you took a small step closer to him, taking the damp, clean towel and drying off his hands. "What confessions would you like to make, darlin’?"

You shrugged innocently thinking to yourself. While you wanted to have a relationship with this man earnestly, you knew that the chance of that was slim. However, there was a chance of having a naughty time with him that you would never forget, so what the hell. Let go and throw some caution to the wind.

"Wouldn't you like to know, sir?" Your towel-clad hand traveled down to his wet pants and attempted to dry them, but he ripped the piece of fabric out of your hands and lifted you onto the expansive counter.

"I do. Tell me your confession." He held your hands as your chest heaved against his, blue eyes begging you to ask for something, anything.

"I've thought about you. I’ve cum saying your name before." Your eyes dropped at the statement, but when he moaned at your words, you looked up and saw his jaw twitching. "Fuck me. How long?" You smirked just now truly realizing how turned on he was becoming from this revelation and the fact that he was most certainly a word man.

"Years, please. Sir. Can I have you tonight?" The only description of the sound that he emitted was a whine as his lips crashed on to yours with a force that was almost painful. He bit your lower lip as your legs wrapped around his torso and pulled his flush with your body. You felt the rigid and impressive length of his cock against your thigh and moaned as he rutted against you. "Fuck, doll. You're so responsive to me. I knew as soon as you walked in tonight, I needed you to be mine."

The words edged you on as you ran your slender fingers into his long mussed hair, tugging on it. "I'm all your, Seba." He growled at the new name you picked for him as you suckled on his sweet spot earning a delightful moan and securing a love bite. If you only had one fuck with him, you were going to make it memorable.

You slid down the counter and started unbuttoning his shirt taking off the collar and tossing it across the room while he watched you with lust blow eyes. "You are so fucking breathtaking; I could cum right now. Watching you undress me. Got me so hard, woman." You smirked as you roughly tugged the shirt off the expansive and broad shoulders then nipping and kissing down his chest and abs to his belt.

You made swift and impressive work with his pants, and as he stood in front of you in all his naked wonder, you wished you had time to work out all of your favorite fantasies on this work of art. Those thighs had many filled dreams alone for you. You licked your lips and focused on the intimidating but luscious cock dripping with precum in front of your face, begging for attention. "You don't have to, doll." As soon as he said those words you were all in. You yearned for more sweet nothings to fall from your intended lovers' lips.

You licked up the underside of his shaft while he let out a deep moan that bellowed from deep within him, vibrating out and making your pussy wet without even touching you. "You mouth is fucking divine. I can only imagine how the rest of you feels against me, underneath me." You hummed in response as you took as much of his length and girth in your mouth, allowing your hand to encompass the rest of him, leaving no part unloved.

Your head bobbed back and forth as you hollowed your cheeks out and forced your gag reflex to back the fuck down. He braced himself against the counter, and you pulled back.

He looked down at you with a lip in protest. "Don't be gentle with me, Seba." You went to take him back in your mouth, but he had other intentions and pulled you up against the broad naked chest. So roughly that the air was taken from you. His eyes looked wildly betwixt your own.

"Tell me you want me, Y/N." His voice was ragged, and his breath was strained with desire. "I-I want you. I need you." He bit his lip so hard you thought it would bleed in objection. "And you want it rough? My girl wants my cock hard?" You shook your head. "I'll take whatever you'll give me, sir. I'm yours."

He claimed your lips then, savagely and took your leotard and dress off your frame roughly. He dropped to his knees before you and without warning dove into your wet folds causing you to weep out. He looked up at you with a smirk you could feel and the quirked brow that only aroused you further. Your hands went to his hair as his hands dug into your thighs, guaranteeing bruises. "Ah-Sebastian. Your mouth feels so good on my cunt. Your lips are so sinful." He moved his head from side to side and your legs closed around his head and right before you came, you grabbed his hair pulling him up. "What is it, doll?" He seemed concerned that he had injured you and gently caressed your thighs causing you to smile because that was not the case.

"I want to cum around your thick cock, please." He smiled salaciously. "That can be aranged, princess. I'm gonna wreck you." He lined up his cock and thrust into without warning, and you surrendered your head back, one hand on the counter and one hand on his rippled shoulder.

When you finally had enough senses to look back at your lover his eyes were on you, taking every bead of sweet and bare flesh in for his memory. You bit your lip, and when his eyes found yours, he gave you a particularly hard thrust and called out his name with praise.

"Your pussy is so tight just like it was made for me, baby. So sweet and snug. I can't wait to taste it again." His massive hand wrapped around you and pulled you close to his sweat-slicked torso. The grunts and moans alone only brought you that much closer to release. As if he knew, his fingers found your clit and flicked it just right causing you to bite his shoulder and he growled at the pain mixed with pleasure.

"Ah-Fuck, doll. Where have you been all my life?" His thrusts were getting sloppy as he drilled into you. "Cum inside me, Seba. I want to feel you. Give it to me. Now."

He grabbed your face. "Look at me! I want to see your face when you cum, and I want to see you when I make you mine. Understand me?" You tried to nod, but he held your face so firm you were unable to. "Yes, sir." He smiled and kissed you, his lips are what sent you over the edge of reason into the stars.

He pulled back, and his eyes were deep enough to swim in and lose yourself for all eternity. He let out a moan and said your name as he came inside, painting your velvet walls with his seed. As he finished, he lent in for a soft kiss and then laid his head against yours.

"I-I've....you are lovely, and that was extraordinary." He was out of breath and absolutely exhausted but took the time to take a washcloth to clean you up.

"Are you blushing? Even after all of that." You snickered at his observation. "Yes, well. This was a first for me. I mean one night stand?" He stopped what he was doing with a frown on his face and then silently nodded. "I see." He threw the washcloth in the hamper and handed you your dress while he began putting his clothes on.

There was an awkward silence, and you felt as though you had done something wrong but didn't know what to say or do to make it right. "So... " You stood before him all dressed and went to open the door, and he was silent. You would be lying if you said that you didn't want to cry, you assumed that he wanted to just get this over with, so you would only do it for him instead.

"I guess, I'll let you get back to your friends then?" You walked out of the bathroom, leaving him there.

Sebastian watched you walk out and cursed to himself. He wanted you to stay with him; he wanted to talk to you. Fuck! Why did he have to sleep with you? You were just so fucking lovely and sexy and...

At that moment he knew he would be damned if he let you slip through his fingers with a handful of what-ifs. He ran down the hall and found you talking to Travis who had a concerned look on his face but a smile when he saw him approaching you.

"Y/N?" You turned around, and he could've sworn that there were unshed tears. "I-I think you promised me a dance?" You stood there a moment with confusion on your face, but as you took in Sebastian's face, you only saw a timid man asking a woman to dance, hoping that she would say yes. Gone was the alpha male who just dominated you in the loo.

"...ok." He gave you a genuine smile with a fleeting look to his feet then back to you, taking you to the dance floor.

Link to Song (If you like contemporary dance I love the choreography for this song)

While you didn't like John Mayer, you were always a fan of the acoustic version of Slow Dancing in a Burning Room and as he pulled you close you were silently praying that this wasn't your song. The way his body held you to him and swayed to the rhythm felt hypnotic, but the words brought the tears back up.

"Hey, hey. You ok?" You frowned. "Oh, yea. Just this song. I fuckin hate Mayer but this song and you and ...dancing like this..." The words just flowed out of your mouth, and you covered it for a moment. He pulled your hand gently from your face and kept dancing but somehow pulled you closer.

"Confession?" You just looked at him, then nodded. "At the risk of scaring you off, I have a desire to know you. I know we started off unconventionally and for that, I can't say that I'm sorry because the moments that I spent with you in there, out here, they are burned into my memory. I need to know you and I am at your mercy." Your brow furrowed as you took in his words.

"What-What if I'm not who you think I am. I mean you seem to have some idea of me?" He put his forehead against yours. "Damn straight, darlin', I want you, and I don't care. Hell, I'm scared shitless too. You have me on a pedestal, and I don't deserve to be in your arms. Will you take me though? Take me as I am?" You smiled as he laid it all out before you.

"And how is that, sir?" He stopped dancing. "As a shitty actor who only wants to make this lovely beautiful woman smile as often as I can?" You wrapped your arms around him. "Shitty actor? Never. And yes but only if you stop stepping on my toes and let me teach you how to dance properly."

"Fuck...seriously? I am so sorry, doll." You smirked as he looked down at your feet before pulling you in for a delicate and chaste kiss. "Also, you do know you're comin' home with me tonight?" Your hands threaded through his hair at his admission. "Oh thank goodness. I have like a dozen fantasies that I want to play out with your thighs alone." His eyes widened before he grabbed your hand and started walking to the front door with you laughing behind him.

“Fucking hell, woman. I love your confessions.”

The strikethroughs below didn’t work so head on over to the tag list and take a peek or make corrections.

Feel free to add yourself or send me an ask!!!

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PLEASE COMMENT AND MY ASK BOX IS ALWAYS OPEN. I’M A LOVER OF ALL MY READERS SO FEEL FREE TO HIT ME UP ANYTIME!!! THANK YOU!!!

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#Sebastian Stan #sebastianstan #sebastian imagine #sebastian reader #sebastian stan reader #oneshot #sebastianoneshot #love #fluff

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jackalwrites · 6 years ago

Text

Orders came in abruptly at the peak of the morning. Apparently a sorceress was up to her old tricks again. Ghirahim and Zant both had just gotten to sleep only a few hours before, though one of them didn’t sleep and only stayed up paying attention to their tent mate. Those runes surely did capture his full attention, and while he was still unsure about Zant he enjoyed the sight of them and their glow.

Ghirahim was full of energy and even eccentric while Zant was disgruntled that it wasn’t in fact time for breakfast. A look of distaste passed on Ghirahim’s features as he walked by the Twili and heard him grumbling about something incoherent. A language barrier didn’t help in cases such as these. With a shrug of his shoulders and materializing his mantle about his normal attire he went towards the camp where Ganon was already standing looking annoyed.

“Cia is on the offensive again. You’re to follow the cliffs leading into the desert until you reach where one of the scouts spotted the enemy.” There was no discussion of what exactly the enemy was and Ghirahim and Zant were both trying to process what had just transpired, though Zant not as long because the next thing Ghirahim realized as he was still trying to figure which direction was best to go for strategy, was that Zant had placed his helmet back over his face and was already heading off in the direction provided by their General.

“You’re not supposed to take off before me.” The sword said in much the manner like a petulant child might have. He was clearly displeased and it even showed as he allowed the sword to materialize with a simple snap of his fingers.

The blade moved in synchronicity like poetry in motion as he charged into the crowd of monsters underneath Cia’s thrall. Easily dispatched and done away with he found himself standing next to the most ugliest plant he had ever seen. “If this is our enemy then I don’t see why I should bother.” The sword scoffed, and was studying the strange plant. Multiple heads that seemed to be working together despite giving the appearance of whirling and writhing.

“You shouldn’t insult it.” He heard Ganon in the back of his mind. A sort of refresher thought from back when they had all three been discussing the fauna and flora of Hyrule. Ghirahim had tuned out then as the subject wasn’t about his favorite thing- himself- so was it any surprise when he had to duck when one of the round of seeds it employed as a weapon were going straight for an onslaught in his direction? No; it wasn’t. The spectator of this was especially amused. Zant was on the other side, but as the plant moved he was able to see that Ghirahim was on the other side.

“At least you know how to dodge..” he said smugly as he prepared to tuck his limbs in close to his body. The key to attack was to take advantage of the flexibility provided with his lanky form. With a well executed spin he moved around to where he could get a better aim at one of the stalks.

With a good aim he thrust one of the scimitars towards the closest stalk which had changed color after rampaging a bit. Zant was amused when he heard the odd, and almost animalistic cry from the overgrown herbal monstrosity. He wasn’t expecting on it to start a charge around the vicinity, and apparently neither had Ghirahim who he could see getting knocked to the side. Morbid curiosity had prevented him from intervening. Well curiosity, and that he still had an unspoken rivalry going with the sword.

He watched as Ghirahim got to his feet and dusted his attire off. The blade was definitely glaring in his direction. “Just stay on that side and I will fight from over here!” Once the plant had come to a stand still Ghirahim had saw it as his chance to move in and strike in quick succession. Slashes orchestrated with a swift hand were given in calculated blows on wherever Ghirahim had thought was the weakest spot to attack.

During this Zant was watching and developing a pattern based on the pattern that the enemy was using. It was moving in one that as a master stratgeist he could easily decipher and utilize against it. A few more times of Ghirahim ducking out of the way and dodging he found that working together actually brought them closer to a goal.

“Keep dodging while I strike. It cannot mobilize while it is stunned.” That was the best way to describe it: stunned. The plant was completely out of commission, and that allowed for Ghirahim to move in for the kill. Or rather he would have if it hadn’t been for a foolish and egotistical pride. The orders were for naught, because Ghirahim was being stubborn.

“You aren’t my master. Don’t order me aroun-,” He didn’t get to finish what he was saying since a fresh new barrage of seeds much like bullets were showering in his direction.

“On second thought.. keep stunning it.” Ghirahim couldn’t disagree with that method of thinking, and as much as he disliked admitting it, Zant so far had been a tactician of excellent prowess. Unrivaled ideas and plans that even Ganon had listened to. Maybe not always perfectly implemented into use, but the basic premise was. He was jealous in those regards, but also had remembered how in their first battle together- at least where they had worked together- that he had complimented him. That was something he had thought of in his time to himself since then.

Ghirahim while he was lost in thoughts of the past was brought of his reverie as Zant gave an odd kind of war cry. More like a wailing or a screech combined. He looked to be getting ready to go into a fit of his own any second, and Ghirahim was correct. With the scimitar in his hands he materialized one after another sending it for his desired target. A loud squeal from the plant and he stood watching wondering what exactly the thought process was behind such a furious attack.

Aesthetic was usually the name of the game when it came to combat as well as all things. If you can’t look amazing or graceful while even on the battlefield then why bother? Ghirahim was in total adoration as Zant was acting as both guard and offensive now.

Zant was irritated with how the sword was standing dumbstruck, and had even stopped mid attack to watch whatever he was doing. He had done this a few times with some stray lizalfos. Act like he was helpless, and then wait for him to come to the defense. He had no idea why, and he figured with the life force almost completely gone from this enemy, that he wasn’t going to stick around find out. When it was near defeated he dissipated in thin air leaving a confused Ghirahim behind. A few more of the barrage of seeds striking him and only defended against with his sword and diamond barrier, the demon wasn’t pleased one bit and decided to finish off the creature which gave one last loud cry before it shriveled up.

Ghirahim stared down at his clothes and saw splotches of dirt among large amounts of something green. He was disgusted, and decided to just head back to camp. The sun was rising over the cliffs and painting the desert in soft tones. Teleporting back to their base he sighed as he made his way to the tent. Zant wasn’t there which was a pity as Ghirahim wanted so much to give him a piece of his mind.

Over the past few weeks Ghirahim had learned routine in regards to his tent mate. Zant while he was from a realm of eternal twilight, actually quite liked following the routine that Ganon had them on. He himself could go either way as Ghirahim very rarely succumbed to the need for sleep; that meant that he could perfect his sword techniques or even his magic. Sometimes he would just stay up and admire the beautiful specimen that he shared a tent with.

While Zant wasn’t much the wiser, Ghirahim had actually adopted this morning routine of attending the mess hall for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He didn’t eat the same meals as he found it to be simple fodder, but that didn’t stop him from trying to stomach it. It guaranteed he could socialize with Zant.

His ire still rich and plentiful he was memorizing what exactly he would say to Zant in his mind. All rehearsed words left his head though as he spotted the odd usurper chowing down on fish. A staple that annoyed Ghirahim both in texture and in smell. Taste was another story- it could be delightful with the right mixture of seasonings.

Zant was working away on one fish from his plate and seemed to be grinning at the meal. How could something so simple elicit for such an expression Ghirahim wondered and sat down with his own rations he got from the cook.

Grilled fish with fruit and a few vegetables. He picked up a piece of the fruit and began to eat, but was surprised to find he had Zant staring at him.

It had become common place that whatever Ghirahim was eating, and wasn’t intending to finish became dibs for the Twili.

“Are you still going to give me the fish today?” Zant quizzed as Ghirahim sat directly across from him. He was already eating the fruit which showed it was off the table. The past few weeks he had learned that Ghirahim wasn’t half as bad as he had first thought. He asked him questions about his culture, showed genuine interest, and also seemed to be a good companion for debate or just discussions when he couldn’t sleep at night.

He was still getting over the fact that Ghirahim rarely if at all slept. The few times he had dozed off he had been reading a book, and even Zant with the new freedom to gaze at him without seeming like a creep- had found him beautiful. Not many things in the light world were attractive in his eyes, but there was an undeniably significant beauty that surrounded Ghirahim. He would never have admitted that though, and he was actually taken aback the first time when Ghirahim had kissed him. He had left the sword alone in their tent after returning the favor by making it seem he was going to reciprocate.

He was chewing the piece of fish he had currently, and didn’t realize that Ghirahim was holding out his plate of rations towards him. Offering food with any other Twili would have made him flustered, as food was the initiating of a courtship. It seemed that Ghirahim had picked up on that, or maybe the demon blade just liked to be in his company. He wasn’t sure which. More than likely plotting something.

His question was answered as he saw the sword leaning his chin on his hand as it laid on the wooden surface of the table. A flirtatious position evidently, but Zant was still oblivious- maybe even skeptical that such a creature would even entertain being around him.

“You know I’ve been thinking… maybe you could join me for a proper meal.” Oh there it was. Zant was shaking his head mentally, but the idea of free food was tempting. “I’d like to be alone with you, Twili.” Ghirahim’s fingers were now dancing along the table towards Zant. “We’re already having a meal.” Zant replied before swallowing. He started eating the food from the plate that the blade had offered him.

“Let me try again; I would like to be alone with you. And I have to admit I have been curious about what you look like underneath those robes.” Ghirahim noted how Zant was slightly uneasy, and he saw an opening for subtle revenge while working towards another goal. He allowed his foot to edge underneath the table and tap Zant’s own lightly. Zant made a sound, but went back to eat his meal.

“What do you say? I would enjoy getting to know you more.~” Ghirahim spoke in a sultry tone while lifting his foot up more to caress the tip of his shoe against Zant’s leg. The definition was quite satisfying and he noticed that Zant wasn’t even inching away as he usually did.

Chewing silently for a few seconds Zant then broke the pause between them. “I will say two things. One I will consider it, and two and most important, if you do not withdraw your foot from touching me I will remove it forcefully.” Burning eyes meant business and Ghirahim slowly retracted his foot back into his own personal space.

“I’ll take that as a possible yes.” Ghirahim was quiet on the outside, but inside he was reeling with the way that Zant had been so direct with him. He loved the rare glimpses of that part of his personality as it made him absolutely giddy. “Don’t get your hopes up,” Zant told Ghirahim as he walked away from the table. He was peeved that anyone had fathomed even touching him in such a manner, yet he was oddly interested and even entertained how something might have continued between him and the sword.

Zant hadn’t given him a definite answer during the day, so Ghirahim did the only thing that he knew to do- which was go find him and ask for his decision. He didn’t find the Twili anywhere in sight, so he just left a note in their bunk, and was getting ready to leave when he ran into Zant again.

“You never gave me an answer. Besides it isn’t like you have anything better to do.” The demon blade was being insistent even as Zant wasn’t giving him an answer of yay or nay. With a sigh audible to Ghirahim’s own ears, Zant finally spoke. “I will go on the condition that you do not under any circumstances touch me with your filthy foot again.” He didn’t usually mind Ghirahim being close, even if it could be a little bit annoying, but having his feet where he had no idea where they had possibly been set him off a bit. Ghirahim didn’t waste words, and left with a delighted expression which bordered on smug and satisfaction. He had a lot of work to do, and what exactly that was Zant wasn’t aware of, but he decided to pick up the piece of paper and read it. He wanted him to show up to the temple from before. He was fond of the atmosphere it provided- it reminded him a lot of home honestly, a place that while wrought with bad memories was close to his heart.

When it started nearing sundown he set out for the temple, and already a pleasant aroma was assaulting his senses, and he hesitated for a few moments. What if this was all some elaborate set up? With Ghirahim he could never be completely sure; he liked to think that he had the ability to read the sword, but he genuinely could make mistakes himself. Even a king was not without error. He remembered that it had been well known quote when he was a child. Pushing the thoughts of quotes of the past out of his mind he entered into the temple where he saw that the sword had actually outdone himself. Candles placed with a sense of decorum about the spacious vicinity. Lighting was ambient, cold, yet welcoming; the only thing that could have made anything any better would probably have been the presence of some Twili lighting in the form of sols.

“You showed up.” A voice emerged seemingly from nowhere, and Zant turned around to see that Ghirahim was standing almost a little too close for his comfort. “What do you think? I like to think that I have outdone myself this time around.” More of that vulgar and eccentric posing met his eyes. It wasn’t an unwelcome sight entirely though, and he went back to looking across the room. He found the source of such a pleasant aroma, and watched as a few of Ghirahim’s servants were leaving lavish dishes on one of the wooden tables that had gone conveniently missing from their tent. A few chairs added for comfort of whoever would be present. The small imp-like creatures began shuffling out with the last precisions of placing a large plate with fish, and some wine down. Ghirahim had added the last touches just because he knew how Zant was fond of them- also perhaps because he didn’t quite know how he would take to his gourmet dish. Ghirahim showed him to one of the chairs closest, and then moved to present him with a glass of wine. The demon sword watched in interest as he saw how Zant had taken to holding a sleeve up to his face. An odd quirk, but still appealing to him nonetheless. He took a seat opposite Zant and started to select a few dishes onto a plate that he thought he would be pleased to try. Roasted cucco, sun dried fruits with honey and bread, a variety of vegetables with different seasoning, and some soups. “You’re welcome to help yourself.” Ghirahim had placed only small servings of each that he thought Zant would enjoy. Underneath his confidence he was nearing the edge of being nervous, and even anxious. A few times while he had been directing his servants, the bokoblin, in their tasks he had considered the idea of just calling everything else, and pretending it all was some intricate set up to make fun of Zant. He wasn’t alright with the idea of Zant showing him animosity like when they first met, and he figured now was as good as a time as any to show how he felt. Flirting was one thing, and declarations of adoration were another.

Once Zant had recovered from being overwhelmed by the wonderful smelling variety of dishes he noticed that Ghirahim had offered him a dish. Giving a nod of thanks he took a bite of some of the grilled fish that looked like it was covered in some kind of sauce. His eyes widened at the taste, and he was brought back to the dishes he had been used to being treated to as accompaniment of the royal family. He helped himself to another bite, and then another, before moving onto some of the dried fruit. He noticed that Ghirahim didn’t seem to be having a portion at all for himself, and was more intent on watching him. Maybe all of the flirtations had actually been genuine. He was still nervous with the idea that such a beautiful, and attractive creature could even hope to show him attention, but if he was, who was he to deny such advances?

“Do you enjoy it so far?” Ghirahim was scooping up some of the soup before him, and then bringing it back to his mouth. Even when he ate he seemed.. Perfect. Not all comparable to him. Zant nodded taking a bite of the roasted cucco, and then some of the mashed pumpkin. Not native to the desert- in fact a lot of these foods wouldn’t be, and that led Zant to wonder if maybe Ghirahim had been conjuring some of it. He shrugged. Food was food. “It reminds me a lot of the dishes that we have back where I am from.” He was flattered that the sword would go through such lengths for him as well. Maybe this was how they contrasted? Among many other ways. Not one person had entertained the idea of showing him this amount of affection- except for a few of his own kind, but that was best left in the past.

“Alright.. What are you playing at?” He didn’t use any of the derogatory phrases he usually did. For a change he was curious, and really wanting to know what ran through the sword’s mind. What if all of it was a joke? Would he rub it in his face? He hoped not.

“I figured that you would get tired of eating the same boring dish day in and day out. It seems I was wrong as you seem to enjoy routine to a certain degree.” Ghirahim expressed with a smirk on white lips before taking another spoonful of the soup. In front of him was a perfect example of aesthetics, and what he saw as truly unique- and compatible. He wasn’t sure how to answer Zant at first on the query of whether or not he was playing at anything, but while he did enjoy stringing someone along for his own enjoyment, he also liked taking the direct approach sometimes as well, and it seemed that none of his emotional displays were having their desired effect on the lofty male.

“I wanted to get to know you a little bit more.. And I don’t mean exchanging stories or teasing you, I wanted to know you. Your likes, dislikes, dreams, your past..” he sighed as he realized that he was bordering on sounding quite pathetic lying all of this out in the open. To save face he also chuckled. “I also wanted to know what is exactly so worth keeping underneath those robes.” He saw Zant’s expression change slightly, and that was enough for him. “My likes and dislikes…” Zant trailed off for a few seconds unsure how to answer that question, even if it was rhetorical he felt that he should. That was the point of Ghirahim bringing him there wasn’t it? To develop their relationship a little bit further?

Zant was still apprehensive about doing any kind of discussion with Ghirahim when he first had met him, but things had gradually receded into what they were now, and he gave a nod. “Alright, what do you want to know exactly first?” He took lighter things onto his dish and ate in between Ghirahim speaking. There was a thought in the back of his head that perhaps all of this was to initiate courtship. He certainly was showing concern and interest, didn’t only potential mates do something like that? Twilli didn’t tend to be the warmest of races after all, and they had been taught from a young age that it was better to hold opinions to himself.

“Let’s start with your likes.” Ghirahim was going for something simple, and watched in interest as Zant put down the soup he had been working on and then drunk some of the wine that had been provided. “I like learning new things, coming up with different strategies, the moonlight of this world,” He paused as he noted across the table the white locks that were gifted to the demon, but continued on. “I’m also quite fond of master, Ganondorf.. And maybe... “ Would it be too out of the way to say that he considered the sword spirit to be one of his ‘likes’? He could imagine the smug expression on Ghirahim’s features so he made no mention of it. “I also quite like this meal.” There Ghirhaim had heard it; Zant’s tastes were simple, but a fuse was lit within the recesses of his mind as he found he hadn’t been mentioned even once, so as the meal progressed he was quiet in his thoughts. Now was not the time to discuss himself, but instead to make a conscious effort to open up the possibilities of a future between himself and Zant. His disgust quickly changed to adoration in so less of a time. It wasn’t usual for him to warm up to anyone, and the idea that Zant didn’t directly reciprocate his feelings made him feel an unknown emotion.

“How about dislikes?” He asked raising a glass of wine to his lips and taking a hearty sip from the glass before putting it back down onto the wooden surface of the table. He tapped his fingers on the solid surface for a few seconds until he was answered. “I’ve never been a fan of the light for one, I don’t like eccentricities, traitors, or tradition. Authority has also never been welcome.” The usurper drained his own glass and pushed the remnants of the meal away from him to the middle of the table. “Are you finished?” Ghirahim asked as he saw the obvious in front of him. He considered his thoughts for a moment and seeing that Zant was staring at him he got up from his own seat and wandered across the room to Zant. “We can go retire outside for awhile if you want, we have a wonderful full moon out tonight, and I would enjoy to be able to view your magnificence underneath such beauty.” Ghirahim was acting more like his usual self Zant noticed, but the comments of beauty and magnificence puffed up his ego, so who was he to deny such a request? Once outside with Ghirahim leading him to the blanket he had laid out he settled himself on it, and sighed only to see that the sword had come not far behind, and actually had the bottle on wine with him. “I figured a drink would be good..” Ghirahim stated as he noted how out in the open that the moon seemed to make his runes that were visible to him even more illuminated. They reminded him of some mysterious mosses he had ran across in Faron Woods once, and he had actually found them to be of great pleasing to his eye, and so he flopped down on the ground next to Zant. He poured some more of the wine, and then offered a toast that Zant accepted.

“It’s amazing out tonight.” Ghirahim breathed out in a sigh before noticing that Zant was actually staring at him. Zant was seeing the demon in a new light, he was seeing the efffulgent quality and detail of the sword’s hair, and noted that even the moonlight basking down from above them both seemed to make the red of his mantle stand out even more. Captivated would be an understatement in this case- no, he was completely enthralled.

That interrupting little voice perked its ugly head up once more however, and the arrogance was back. “What is the bottom line of such kindness and airs?” He was met with a smirk from Ghirahim as an answer. “I’m glad you asked that, since… I may have been fibbing a little bit before.” He said with an exaggerated sigh before moving to settle against the Twili who didn’t seem to be fazed in any negative ways. “I want to get to know you better, like I said.” Ghirahim then trailed his hand over to rest on Zant’s own knee. No reaction, so far so good. “I want to let you know how much I truly adore you.. And if a dinner is how to do that, then I am happy to do that.” He leaned his head on Zant’s shoulder. “I want to enjoy the rest of the night alone with you, until dawn if you have no qualms against that.” Zant didn’t, and in his mind and his known traditions the sword was actually commencing the beginning of a courtship; offered meals, and then subtle touching and cuddling. Usually with any other potential mate he would take his turn to see if things were allowed so to speak.

Still hoping that he didn’t have his hopes up too much he noted that Ghirahim was just laying against him. He inhaled his scent; a fine mixture of floral and copper- the blood from the slain on the battlefield- he moved just so to tip up his chin and press a kiss against his jaw. If things went well he would be allowed to move beyond just nuzzling. A pleased sound was his reply, and he moved to pull Ghirahim into his lap and begin a full on kiss. Cool lips against his warmer skin made him purr appreciatively, and he moved a hand to the swords back. He wasn’t denying him yet, and even seemed to want it. Maybe his mistake was when he started to shift his hips slightly grinding against the swords ass. A smirk on his own lips, he was met with a chuckle from the demon as he pulled away from exploring the confines of his tastes.

“Am I to guess that you are wanting to enjoy the night with me as well?” Only this didn’t fit into Ghirahim’s plans too much. He had been moving slow, but now all of a sudden something had flipped a switch on in the usurpers head. Maybe it had been something he had said earlier? He hadn’t said much so it couldn’t be that. He swallowed realizing that the saliva that had been flooding from Zant’s lips was having an odd effect to it. His body even though cool to the touch since he was steel was heating up slightly and he went to continue the kiss, and as he did he became aware of the Twili’s hands exploring his body, moving down to run over his thighs with one while the other remained transfixed on his rear and even squeezing. Oh, what an easy way to put him into a mood. “I’ll take that as yes.” He told Zant during another break for air, more for Zant’s benefit than his own.

Zant seeing that Ghirahim was receptive to continuing a courtship moved from his lips to the crook of his neck where he started nipping, and licking at the pale skin. A moan was his answer, and surprisingly he found that Ghirahim was starting to try to create his own rhythm against his own. Still clothed and he was already getting lost in a daze of pleasure. He wasn’t even out of his sheath, but the delicate pressure of Ghirahim’s bottom resting against it and then even moving in synchronization sure earned pleased sounds from the depths of his throat. Growing bolder he decided to try to change their position and place the demon down on the surface of the blanket. This way he was afforded the ability to be in domination. He was unsure of only a few things: Mainly how he would be mating.

Things had moved fast for Ghirahim, and while he usually could be a lover who got straight to things if it was wanted, that wasn’t what he wanted for him and Zant this time around. “Wait, wait.. Slow down this night was to just get to know each other.” Though he figured that that was what Zant was attempting to do with initiating intimacy. Zant stared down at Ghirahim. He had been stopped, did that mean that he was being rejected? He wasn’t thinking so. “I’m giving you my answer,” He bent down to where he was fully over Ghirahim and brushed his tongue along his cheek. It was becoming painfully clear to Ghirahim that he had started something that he couldn’t very well end or else he would see no possibility of pursuing Zant again.

“Fine, but we are not coupling this time around.” He said smugly, and then reached down between them to seek out the spacious attire and where he thought that Zant’s member could be. He did have one right? That brought to the surface a thought that Ghirahim had pushed to the back of his mind since the plan to seduce had even happened. Sitting up as best as he could as he spoke up. “You.. you do have something don’t you? A dick?” He rarely spoke dirty as he felt it should only be reserved for the bedroom or his lovers he took interest in. “You know what I mean right?” Maybe it would be better to just show him based on how the Twili was staring blankly. Damn those bright eyes! Ghirahim cursed but removed his own attire with a well executed fingersnap. He was bare in front of the demon with just his mantle left on. It being the only stitch of clothing covering his body added a certain taboo quality to things.

Zant had been about to answer Ghirahim, but it was too late as he then saw everything laid out. Chiseled, and perfect body laid out like some kind of pale god and he couldn’t help the purr that left his lips, but he was confused as his eyes traveled down the body and then stopped from the fine indentation of the hip bones to the semi-flaccid length. So Ghirahim had been aroused too? He felt a strange tingling down where his sheath was. He smirked before lowering himself back down over the sword. “I do have one, but it isn’t quite like yours.” He actually thought that Ghirahim’s was rather hideous. Not a single rune. Instead it had markings similar to the diamonds that he was fond of, but more in the appearance of a fractured gem. Quite beautifully if he was being honest. He started to grind against Ghirahim as he sought out his ear this time around and nipped the shell of it. Hips shifted against him, and he was sure that the sword would go along with it, but instead he found a hand pushing his face away. “I told you I would do something, but not this, not tonight.” Ghirahim was being insistent, and when Zant lifted up he took his foot and pressed the tip of a toe teasingly against Zant’s crotch. Moving it up and down teasingly he then spoke in a sultry tone. “Get rid of the pants.” Zant obliged, and then was taken aback as Ghirahim got onto his knees and crawled towards him after pushing him back.

“I’m interested in what you have here, mind if I look?” Ghirahim asked with a chuckle as he took his palm and ran it upward and downward along Zant’s crotch. He was aware of something underneath giving off a slight pressure, and he noticed how a fine film of blue similar to the color of the runes was already leaking to the surface. The scent was overwhelming, but not unpleasant, and the sword kept up his caresses, but as soon as he saw a tip peaking through the delicate little pouch, he added his tongue into the mix. Giving a groan Zant watched in interest as Ghirahim moved his tongue along the crown of his member. It wasn’t even fully out, and already the sword had him sensitive and wanting more. More of that long tongue was added, and he saw that Ghirahim was wrapping it around what bit of the shaft and squeezing as well as tracing the tip in circular motions over the tip. More fluids made and he moaned as the rest of his cock popped free from his sheath dripping.

Ghirahim stopped the caressing, and seeing the fully exposed member took in the sight and detail of it: delicate runes, darker blue color for the crown, a fair enough girth, and length. He was satisfied with the sounds that he was earning from the usurper and so loosening up his tongue just a bit he moved it to probe the inside of the sheath in curiosity as his lips and mouth enclosed. A gasp and Zant watched as well as felt as the sword started moving his head in a bobbing gesture. That tongue was moving in a flicking gesture along the sensitive area of his sheath, and he brought his long fingers to the white locks, and brushed his fingers through before regaining more.

“I’ve never experienced this..” No, he wasn’t even sure that a Twili could exercise their tongue in even a similar manner. Taking note of the dark eyes staring up at him he purred as his hips began to shift again. A new itch starting up that desperately needed to be sated, and the only cure was the welcoming quality of Ghirahim’s mouth. Gods.. he was getting close, he could feel it. Closer, closer.. And!

Ghirahim released him with an audible pop and drew out his tongue from the sensitive spot. He wasn’t finished though and he wrapped his tongue along Zant’s cock again, and allowed it to squeeze in a gentle manner. Blue fluids that he was assured was precum started running down the length of his tongue and he swallowed easily before taking Zant into his mouth again and sucking in between uniquely massaging him. Hips shifted once again, and this time Ghirahim only rested his palms against Zant’s hips for balance. His tongue relaxing to allow Zant better maneuvering he moaned as his cock pulsing moved in and out of his mouth. He was aware of the Twili getting closer and closer so he brushed the pads of his thumbs against a few of his runes, and this must have been enough to let him reach his limit. He was aware of a hot fluid shooting down his throat, and he pulled back letting his tongue lewdly laggle for a bit before licking his lips. “You’re not half bad, Twili.” Zant was on the ground at this moment in time completely stilled and unable to move as he was spent. Panting he managed to speak a single word. “Stars.”

Ghirahim had promised him stars, and a night of getting to know each other, and while it wasn’t what he had wanted at first, it had proved a perfect end for the night. He couldn’t ask for more, but was instead gifted further as he found the demon sword was moving to settle on top of his body. “I told you I would do something. Did you perhaps see stars?” He asked smugly before grabbing one of the spare blankets out to cover them both up. “I promise that is only the start.” Ghirahim told Zant with a sigh, and Zant had no complaint he was still lost in the daze, but managed to bring his fingers up and move to tuck some hair behind Ghirahim’s neck. “Only the start?” He was getting his hopes of continuing, but Ghirahim as if on the same wavelength of his thoughts sighed. “In time, now let’s enjoy the stars.” He said and nuzzled into the Twili’s neck. Everything had gone according to plan, if not difficult.

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