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ofrzeqvrtz · 3 years
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clippedvvings​:
Lorelei x Leo @ofrzeqvrtz
“Lore, where are you?” “I’m uh…. Airport,” she confessed between heavy breaths. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the hard tiles of the glossy floor as she rushed towards her gate; customs was always such a bitch. “Not where you’re supposed to be, but I guess it could be…”
There was a long pause, which Lorelei decidedly did not like.
“…Which airport?” It was her turn to pause, though she didn’t do it solely from some sort of perceived shame, but also because she was pretty sure her gate was somewhere around here. “Lore.” “Yes?” “What airport?” “…JFK.”
This time it was Charles de Gaulle.
This time she wasn’t on some hopeless rescue mission.
The customs agent had flaming, vibrant red hair that poured from her cute little cap in elegant waves that cascaded over her shoulders. Her green eyes were as tired as Lorelei felt, but even still she welcomed Lorelei to France with a wide smile of perfect white teeth and stamped her passport. Lorelei offered a tired, but warm, and grateful, smile.
The mask fell away as she stepped out of the frantic airport and into the crisp European air. She shook her hair out of her face as she slid large sunglasses on her face, looking upwards to absorb the sunlight and reinvigorate her tired body. She couldn’t deal with jet-lag right now; she had things to do.
Emotional warmth drained from her body as she began to focus more acutely on the task before her.
She hailed a cab and made her way to the city.
Lorelei stared out of the window for the whole drive, but didn’t see any of it. She’d been to Paris before, of course, numerous times, but not like this.
Not like this.
This wasn’t some pleasure-vacation, nor was it for the family business. Her father certainly didn’t approve of this trip and had done everything in his power to stop her from going, even going so far as to cut her off financially.
Luckily, she’d always known that something like this might happen and had been siphoning off (relatively) small amounts of funds to a secret bank account and selling heirlooms where she could. Talk may have been cheap, but information was expensive and hard to come by. It had taken years to find out who had done it and longer to figure out how to pay them back. Usually Lorelei didn’t beat around the bush like this - she preferred a more direct method, but this was a special case, afterall.
He would hurt and he would know who came for him.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. He really did seem to be the type to be so self-absorbed that he didn’t think twice about his victims or the enemies he created in the process.
Did that make it worse?
The knowledge that her family meant less than nothing to these… things? Would it be better if he knew that her brothers had a family who would mourn them? Would it be better if he expected Lorelei to come for him and his? Better for him to watch the ones he loved fall, one by one, and when she finally cornered him for her to see it all in his eyes - the comprehension, the regret, and the knowledge that she was justified? Would that make any of this better? Worth it?
Did it matter?
Hours later, Lorelei exited the hotel she’d booked and began making her way for the target. Golden, handsome, and… well, at least he had his good looks, Leo Deerling was maybe the easiest of her targets to find and therefore the first on her list.
The heavens had an odd way of doing things. Whether or not destiny was pre-fated, or something create of one’s own choices, Leonardo Deerling was but one of several billions who didn’t have a clue. But there was one thing that was sure -- that the night Lorelei came into his life with the sound of a gun ringing through the rain? While it would take time for him to realize it...that had been fate, predestined or not. 
Lorelei was his fate. She was his destiny.
But that would take him years to realize -- years before he ever saw her again. The first night he met her? He shouldn’t have even been in Paris that night, let alone France. No... Leo should have been in London with his parents and youngest sister, planning together what they might do to bring home Raphael and Baby. He should have been home, where his mother would worry less and his father wouldn’t chastise for not informing him of his travel plans.
Leo didn’t like being in the dark about the status of his siblings. It was like swallowing molten iron, or being cut with a demon blade. The pain of his amily being apart was so much more than he’d ever imagined -- because he’d never thought he’d have to imagine him. He and Raph had been side by side for hundreds of years, and then...
And then they weren’t. 
The rain slated downside ways across the aged Parisian buildings as Leo made his way down the street, the sun having long since crept below the horizon and the chill of night sweeping across the cobblestones. While he had yet to speak to his sister and brother for more than a few moments since their departure, Leo could barley sleep at night. Not knowing how they were doing, if Raph was eating, if Baby was staying out of trouble. Each time that it became unbearable, Leo left London aloft his double, white and gold seraphim wings and soured into the night for just the chance of a peak at them. A chance at seeing them, alive and healthy, and not Baby smiling at him from a FaceTime screen as Raphael scowled in the background. 
The Inferno was... well, it was more or less Raph and Luca’s child, from what Leo understood of it, though his elder brother had kept most of the details to himself. Even its location in hopes of keeping the Deerling Clan at an arms length -- but with so many super natural beings running rampant in the streets of Paris, it hadn’t taken long for Leo to discover the club’s location, nor... gain someone on the inside to keep him updated on his siblings. 
He headed there to meet with her now -- alone -- as his golden blonde hair clung to his face. He was damp despite that the hood of his jacket was drawn up around his chiseled features, his wings carefully glamoured away despite that the hour crept past midnight and he was completely alone in the night air.
That is, until he wasn’t.
Leo heard her breathing before anything else -- her footsteps were concealed, expertly so, but as an angel... his own senses were heightened, and he could even hear the bear of her heart as if it was slicing through the pouring rain. He was being followed -- and he didn’t know why. 
He let her trail behind him for some time, before finally side stepping into an ally. He rounded a corner, then a beat later, was lifting into the sky with astonishing speed. A second more, and he was dropping down behind his stalker, seraphim wings spread around him in warning. The tips of his feathers gleamed like solid gold despite the cloud cover, almost as if emitting a light of their own. 
“Is there any particular reason you are following me?” He asked, his voice more... curious than threatening. Her frame was small, petite. How much trouble could she cause? Though, despite that he saw no reason to make too much of a fuss, he took a harrowing step forward, snatching her small wrist into his large hand to stop her from choosing to run off. “Well?”
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ofrzeqvrtz · 3 years
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dvrklords​:
( LUCA &&. MAX )  + @ofrzeqvrtz​
Luca D’Amore was a busy fucking man. Or a busy fucking immortal, whichever term you preferred. Some of the uptight angels who lurked in the gutters of Paris called him a monster. Of course, their self-righteousness didn’t keep them warm at night - not the way Luca’s business prowess and clients did. They could sneer, scorn, and judge all they pleased - the Angels of Light had never done much of anything to protect creatures like Luca when they’d been born, so he didn’t care much for their opinion as an adult. The Inferno was a lush and thriving enterprise; the perfect combination of deadly sin and lust that infiltrated into the minds of every depraved Parisian resident. The Angels of Light could have their gold-veined marble structures and Hall of Leaders. 
They could have it all. Luca had The Inferno.
Presently, the co-owner of the illustrious BDSM- themed club was making his way through the institution’s dark halls and crimson-cloaked rooms. There was something dark and alluring about The Inferno; something that drew patrons in off the streets like flies to honey. There were the usual suspects, of course - customers who had sold themselves to The Inferno long ago. But with each night - each weekend - it felt like more and more trickled into the club, bringing the weight of their sins and wants with them like chains. He passed a few on his way over towards the bar, hoping he could catch the eye and attention of one of The Inferno’s most stable attendants - Maximiliano Moreno. Luca flashed a smile that was all teeth at a few men who attempted to grab his attention, but brushed past them in search of the VIP booth nestled beside the bar. If Max had any sense left in his body, he would answer Luca’s summons quickly.
It wasn’t often, after all, that The Inferno’s owner chose to conduct business in such a public setting.
“Scotch - something from my special store, darling,” Luca murmured to one of the passing waitresses, his hand resting on the small of her back momentarily before she hurried along on her way. Luca slid into the booth, extracting his phone from his pocket and sending one final text.
It’s now or never, Moreno.
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If there was ever a place for an incubus to have his fill of desire, it was within the dark-painted maze of Paris’ famous Inferno. Where all sorts of creatures of the night arrived to unleash their inner, delicious little demons upon the world. Maximiliano Moreno had been such a patron, once upon a time -- but it had only taken one night before he had come to one painfully simple conclusion.
The Inferno was one of few places in the world he had ever felt as if he belonged -- and the rest was history.
Max had been with the Inferno practically since the beginning, dabbling in any and all the delights of the BDSM club that he could get his greedy hands on. He bartended, mostly, but on certain nights one could find the curly-haired demon with his legs wrapped around a steel pole or smiling seductively in one of the private suits in the depths below. Tonight, The Inferno was as lively as ever, despite the fact that it was a weeknight. A Wednesday, of all nights, yet bodies writhed and danced to the heavy bass of the music. Men and women crowded around his bar, many of them lingering several beats longer than necessary to collect their drinks in attempt to catch his gaze. Some of them, he would indulge -- throwing a sultry grin in the direction of a particular couple who eyed him hungrily despite the fact that the man’s arms were wrapped around the woman’s waist. As an incubus -- a being of sex and lust personified -- it wasn’t exactly hard to find an eager person or two to fulfill his... particular needs. 
He was in the middle of pouring out a round of tequila shots for a group of chattering young women -- demons like himself, leather-clad and eyes done up in smokey dramatic makeup -- when one of the cocktail waitresses hurried up to him, her freckled skin flushed. “M-Max!” She called, the unmistakable sound of her southern accent catching his attention and drawing his dark gaze in her direction. 
Saria Young -- a human girl who’d gotten mixed up in the wild ways of The Inferno a few years back. She, like him, dabbled in several roles within the club. Though she was mostly a dancer, she was filling in as a cocktail waitress for one of their co-workers who’d come down with a nasty cold.
Or so she’d said -- but of course, Max knew it was because she was recovering from a night in his bedroom. 
“What is it, sunshine?” He called, winking at her as she hurried to the service well. 
“M-Mr. D’Amore is h-here, and h-he w-wants --”
“His special scotch?” Max’s eyes slide over to the VIP area, tucked away behind a red velvet rope. “On it. Watch the bar for a second, yeah?”
Her tanned skin flushed even redder, her blue eyes widening. “I-I can’t b-bartend --” 
Max cut her off, placing one of the tequila shots in front of her with a devilish grin. “Stop stressing so much, will you? Just smile pretty and offer to make something sweet. With a chest like yours, they won’t care what’s in their glass.” He threw a wink at her, and a few moments later, Max was sauntering to the VIP area with a crystal glass and decanter of The Macallan M -- a ridiculously expensive Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky from Luca’s private collection. Max was one of the few people who was allowed access to it, and that was a badge he’d always worn with a smug grin and a badge of pride. 
“Mr. D’Amore,” Max purred as he set down the glass and decanter on Luca’s table, raising an eyebrow at his boss. “Come to join the riff-raff, huh? Careful. You might start to enjoy being out here more than in that dark office of yours...” The incubus removed the glass stopper -- winking as he did -- and poured the appropriate amount of amber liquid into the chilled crystal glass before replacing it. “What’s the buzz, boss? You could’ve asked for this downstairs. If theres something on your mind, there’s no one better than a bartender to spill your dirty secrets to.”
Max did a small, over-dramatic bow, before righting himself and grinning impishly at the other man again. 
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ofrzeqvrtz · 3 years
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