#Layers of Fear Inheritance

[spockvarietyhour]

this toy cat is everything to me

#Layers of Fear #Layers of Fear Inheritance

[thisonesock]

Drowning in Shadows

Here is the promised One-Shot. I have to mention once again that a certain part of the dialog is not mine, but comes from a game. More on that at the end. Until then, have fun and hunting season is open for grammar or spelling mistakes. (This is the first time I'm writing in English, so show mercy)

Lucifer was miserable, to put it mildly.

He felt like he was in an endless loop, spiraling deeper and deeper into something, that felt like a never-ending void. Like a black, silky goo, that wrapped itself around his mind and soul, if he even had one left. It shifted his sight and the way he saw the world around him. What once was a bright world full of color, life and opportunities was now nothing more than a greyish, cold place, that wasn’t worth getting up for.

Could anyone blame him, that he rather chooses to lock himself away? That he tried to find something, that might light his heart again? Even if its just a spark, it would be more than enough. He knew, he could do it. He just doesn’t know how long he could still hold on to that fleeting thought.

If he wouldn’t have his family… Lucifer doubted, that he would be still here. The urge, to just end all of this sometimes became so strong and irresistible, that he often wonders, how he overcame it. And it wasn’t that he particularly wanted to die. He just wished the pain, the loathing, the fear to end. He wanted to breath. He wanted to live. He didn’t want to fight with the thoughts in his mind. He wanted to see the world, the way he saw it once. He wanted to be full of passion again, full of cheer and jumping into a day, full of energy, like he had done it so often.

Sometimes he can do that. Sometimes its easier to get out of bed. On some days he was able to prep his wife’s cheeks with endless kisses and twirl his little girl in his arms, just listening to her happy laughing. How he adored it, when she smiled, how he loved it, when his wife watched him lovingly…

The more it hurt, that in the last weeks – months – it had become less and less.

Charlie didn’t know it better. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her daddy. That was main reason why he put on a brave face and smiled at her, when he wanted to cry and curse the whole world to hell, before remembering, that he was in that place anyway.

But Lilith. Lilith did know what was wrong with him. And it hurt.

It just fucking hurt to the point, that it became numb and turned to a part of that endless void. He couldn’t even blame his wife. Who wouldn’t be disgusted with the person, that was just a mere shadow of himself? He wasn’t the man, that she fell in love with once. He wasn’t the beautiful angel, that promised to show her all the horizons, that they wanted to explore. Instead, he became a demonic beast, cast away from its home, deep into the darkest pits of the world for something so meager like free will. For the opportunity to show humanity more, than the limits of their view. And he had dragged her with him. Away from the light. Away from the warmth and comfort of Edens lap. Sure, she won’t have to deal with that bastard Adam… but Lucifer doubted that this was the alternative that she had hoped for.

And that she showed him. Less and less became the affection, that she showed him. Less and less became the moments, where they talked and shared time together. If it wouldn’t be for their royal duties, they wouldn’t probably meet at all. The Public hadn’t noticed yet, but how long would that take? Maybe a month? If even?

But the worst part was, that his dear wife took Charlie with her. Lucifer had understood her first explanations, why she held their daughter away from him.

“I don’t want her to see you like this, my love.”, Lilith had whispered. “You understand that right?”

It had hurt. The words, even said gently and full of care, right in his face. But still he just had answered: “Yes. Tell her that I will make her a new special toy, yes? As an apology?”

That apology – much to his dismay – never happened. Not only because he barely saw his child, but also because no matter how hard he tried… nothing seemed perfect enough. He wanted to build Charlie a Music Box in form of a carousel, but it wasn’t good enough.

He wasn’t good enough. And that thought – that fact – breaks him. Because he knew, he can do it. He knew, he was able to. He had done it so many times before, creating the most beautiful dreams out of thin air and know? He could spend as much time as he wanted. He could polish every detail as long as he wanted. It wasn’t enough. Every time the product was nothing but a dull, gray and empty attempt to gain something, that he had lost a long, long time ago.

So, he could do nothing, but sitting miserably in his workshop, starring at the many attempts and the many sketches he had done, just to throw them away in fits of rage and despair. How often had he pulled at his hair, in hope the pain would numb the pain inside him? How often had he thrown the started project into a corner, because a screw wasn’t at the place he wanted, just to pick it up again and feeling sorry, for destroying the progress he had made?

Lucifer didn’t know, how long he sat there, staring at the failed music box, until he heard a sound. A small clicking and the groan of the heavy door opening behind him. He could smell the sweet scent of roses and lavender and could hear her featherlight steps.

“Charlie had asked, why you didn’t say Goodnight to her?” Her calm voice disrupted the thick silence in the room and Lucifer turned around, to meet her cool and distant eyes. Her dark violet dress felt perfect over her curves and for a moment he felt awful for his appearance. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair spread in all directions, and he didn’t even want to know how deep the bags under his eyes were. The angel’s eyes widened in surprise as he glanced on the small clock on his desk. Past 9. Charlie slept for already one hour.

“Shit.”, he mumbled, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it is. I guess, I won’t be able to say it now, right?”, he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“No, I guess you don’t.”, Lilith said, her eyes watching him carefully. “When exactly do you think to spend time with your child? Or do you plan to stay in here for the rest of eternity?”

“Excuse me?” – “You know what I am talking about.”

Lucifer felt his mouth open and closing, while he blinked in utter surprise. Lilith’s voice had changed quickly from distant cold to held back anger. He wasn’t a fool. He could see that she was pissed at him and for the first time, he was able to feel something, besides the Numbness inside him. He was doing this for Charlie, right? He sat in here, because he wanted to make her the perfect gift.

“I do this for Charlie!”, he argued back, shifting aside to present her the music box, that he builds, but Lilith, much to his dismay, just shook her head. The long blond strains of her hair fell into her face, her arms crossed in front of her.

Still on the other side of the room, it felt like something held them apart. Like an invisible wall, that parted the room and them. Lucifer wondered if Lilith felt the same.

“I’m not talking about this, Lucifer.”, she finally said, her voice thick. “I’m talking about, that Charlie grows up without you. When was the last time, that you came out and talked to her? Played with her? Do you even know what she had learned the past days? Oh, what am I talking about? Months? While you hid away?”

Not willing to see her glaring and yet painfilled eyes, Lucifer turned his back to her, crumbling over his desk, while he stared at the little carousel in front of him. He felt anger, rising in him, but it was nothing compared to the harsh pain, that came with her words. The problem was that Lilith was right. He didn’t know how much Charlie had learned and done the past… time. But wasn’t it Lilith, that had suggested to keep the girl away from his misery to shield her? How could he have known that this void lasted so long?

“Are you going to answer me?”, she pursuit further, causing him to shrug helpless with his shoulders. “What do you want me to do?”

“Getting out!”

He could clearly hear the despair in her voice, yet she didn’t cross the room and he didn’t turn.

“Getting out of this cocoon that you have created around yourself to keep everyone out, Lucifer. Do you know how much it hurts to see you like this? This…”, she failed to find the right words and he could hear her seeking for breath. He could her the thickness in her normally beautiful voice and he only could imagine how far she was from crying. Still, he couldn’t feel anything. He wanted to feel something. Why couldn’t he feel? Why couldn’t he cry? Why couldn’t he tell her, how he felt?

“Like what?”, he asked instead, lacking any emotion.

Lilith was silent for a moment, before he could hear her crossing the room and turning him around on his chair.

“Is this funny to you?” – “Can’t you see me laughing? Hardy har!”

“You are unbelievable. Do you even care about the people around you?”, she snapped back and that, finally, let him feel something. Anger. Pure anger, that had built itself up over the past weeks, no, months.

“I do care about you!”, the angel shouted, jumping up from his chair, to face Lilith. He could feel his horns growing and his tail appearing. “How can you even dare to suggest something else, Lilith?! I love Charlie and you. You know that!”

“Then why don’t you show it? Why wont you talk? Why do you lock yourself away from us? Tell me!”

Lucifer shut his eyes, clawed his palms in his hair, while he crossed the room to get space. He tight feeling around his heart grow smaller and smaller. Like a snake, that dared to choke him, and Lucifer didn’t know, what he could do to stop it. To give himself some sort of Relief instead letting everything out, that he kept hidden for so long. “Because it was your fucking idea!”

“My idea?!”, Lilith gasped in utter shock. “My idea?!”, she echoed him again, before puffing in disbelief. “I have never told you to isolate yourself from everything.”

“You said that it would be better to keep Charlie away.” – “Yes, so she can have a relative normal life, Lucifer!”

“Well, big surprise, she won’t!”, he shouted suddenly, before continuing his raging thoughts. “And you know why? Because she is in fucking hell! I don’t know what makes you think that any of this is good. But let me tell you something, it isn’t! It’s a big pile of shit, a hole full of the waste and garbage of this world. If something of this makes you see anything good in it, please tell me, because I can’t fucking see it.”

“Why are you angry at me now? I did nothing to hurt you.”, she defended. “I was always at your side and supported you. And know, when I come to pry you out of this miserable hole that you have created yourself, you attack my like Im your enemy.” Tears shimmered in her eyes and Lucifer felt a pang in his chest. He didn’t want to make her cry. He didn’t want to do anything. He wanted to lie down and sleep. To never get up again. He wanted to dream again.

“Is it that, what I am to you? Your enemy?”, she now asked choking.

“No. I just…”, he attempted an explanation, but failed. Hopeless he lifted his hands but let them fall to his sides again. “… just what? Lucifer, please tell me. Talk to me! What is wrong?”

“I don’t know…. I just…”, a new wave of anger overcame him and gave his shattering voice more power. “I hate it. All of this! This shithole that you call a home, this whole situation. Just everything.”. Again, he walked past her, slamming his hands down on his desk and digging his claws deep into the wood.

“Good!”, she now said, nearly mockingly. “At least you can still feel something!”

He could feel her eyes in his back.

“Do you know what I feel, Lucifer? I look at you and I feel nothing. Not the man, that I fell in Love with. Not the father of my child.”, she scoffed. “Not even the hateful monster that you pretend to be. You’re just empty. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He could hear her turn, walking away from him and in a last attempt to have the last word and maybe, just maybe, get the answer, that he was sure he had for him, he said: “Didn’t you forget to mention you much you hate me? How you loath me, for dragging you down here?”

He heard Lilith stopping and turning, just for him, to turn to her, his eyes full of pain and despair to get an answer, that he didn’t want to her, but needed to her, just to justify his fears. “Go on! Admit it! You are disgusted with me, aren’t you? The fallen angel? The demonic monster, that has nothing to do with the beautiful being that you met so long ago.”

“Not this again.” Lilith look dry at him, tears running over her pale cheeks. “But if you need to hear it so badly, I will fulfill your wish, my love. I am disgusted with you.”

Lucifer, even though he knew, that the answer would crash him, felt his heart shatter. For a moment he even thought he could cry, but his eyes stayed dry. Something, that just fed his inner void and despair. He let his chin sink to his chest, just listening to his own breathing and his heart beating.

“But it has nothing to do with the way you look or that I am here with you.”, she continued. “I am disgusted with what you have. And I am disgusted with what you let it do to you. How you just let it change you.”

Her words echoed in his mind. He could hear her sniffling while she watched him, maybe hoping for a response. But he just couldn’t. Without another word, Lilith turned and left his workshop, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone. 

The Void grew bigger.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

I hope you had fun and now to the Inspiration to it. The game, that i mentioned is called Layers of Fear, which is in my opinion a great psychological horror game. The particular dialog is from the DLC Inheritance, so all credits for that go to the Bloober Team, who created the game. The Original Dialog will follow after my little monolouge. I will also crosspublish the Story on Ao3. If you really want the full experience of this story, read it with that song: https://youtu.be/om-keDOy5cU?list=PL4fFy6wYdYt90D7sotlvTvu07-f_aiiMY

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"I hate you."

"Good! At least you can still feel something. I look at you and I see nothing. Not the beautiful girl I fell in Love with. Not the mother of my child. Not even the hateful monster that you pretend to be.  You’re just empty. I look at you and I feel nothing. And that scares the hell out of me."

"You forgot to say how hideous I am. Go on. I know you want to!"

"God, not that again!"

"I know you’re disgusted with me, admit it!"

"Right, I am disgusted with you! But it has nothing to do with the way you look. I am disgusted with what you let it do to you.  How you let it change you."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lilith #oneshot #fanfic #depression #layers of fear inheritance #layers of fear #really a great game #give it a shot! #im sad now #and i can only blame myself

[king-ludwig-ii]

Guess who has re-entered LOF hyperfixation hell

#included both versions 🫡 #made this so share with the discord specifically lmaooo #sorry if this has been done before #layers of fear #layers of fear inheritance #captains log #LOF #the painter #the daughter

[zerachielamora]

Layers of Fear + Texts & Posts Part 3 - Inheritance Edition

#long post #I'm not sorry #layers of texts #layers of fear #layers of fear: inheritance

[wrongweaponsdrawn]

“I had to dig deep to uncover what my ancestors really wanted me to find. In the process, I realized what he was trying to tell me: this house was nothing but a tomb. There was nothing for me here, no answers, no solace, no closure. My true inheritance lay within. And then, just like that, it finally happened: for the first time in my life... I saw the world through my father's eyes.

I was once told insanity runs in my family.

Let it run.''

- raven nevermore

(Source: The Artist's Daughter, Layers of Fear: Inheritance)

#the narrator weapons drawn #weapons drawn #accomplices weapons drawn #detectives weapons drawn #lord tippet weapons drawn #the narrator weapon's drawn #lord tippet #weapons drawn jackbox #lord tippet weapon's drawn #wrongweaponsdrawn #layers of fear #layers of fear: inheritance #insanity #tw insanity #tw abuse #dark magic #living embodiment of evil

[crookedmilkshakementality]

(via https://youtube.com/watch?v=oXsksUDQBK8&feature=share)

#youtube #layers of fear #inheritance #horror games

[comradekatara]

do you have a masterpost of "ty lee comes from crypto-air nomad" posts? I'm fascinated by this idea and want to read everything I can but I can't find where it started 😭

i feel like this is a question better posed to @kyoshi-lesbians, who, at least in my book, is the leading expert in ty lee studies (among other things). that said, i can definitely synthesize the argument (and why i find it cogent and persuasive), even if i don't actually know from where the theory originated (but i'm sure that if you look up "ty lee air nomad you'll immediately be directed to an old reddit page or fan forum from years ago; it's a "theory" that goes way back).

firstly, ty lee's appearance is distinctly "air nomadic" in a way no one else's is. save for aang, of course. she and aang do bear an uncanny resemblance. everyone else in the fire nation has yellowish brown eyes, for example, while ty lee, like aang, has charcoal greyish brown eyes. and they also have similar (round and cute) facial features, similar expressions, similar vibes. similar dispositions...

ty lee does not "have the personality" of a ruthless fire nation soldier, despite acting as the princess's right hand who takes out more opponents than pretty much everyone else put together. ty lee acts like an airbender, flirty and flighty. her relentless optimism and goodwill and cheer is decidedly a mask, but it is a mask she adopts adeptly. even if she is performing, she nonetheless performs the "aang" function of her respective group.

ty lee presents herself as more spiritually attuned than other people in the fire nation, who outright disrespect the spirits and spirituality. her constant talk of auras is likely a calculated move on her part, as nearly everything is, to make her seem silly and trivial, because she thrives best when she goes underestimated. but her talk of auras also has to come from somewhere, and seeing as literally no one else mentions auras once throughout the entire show, ty lee's sources are clearly scarce.

ty lee also fights like an airbender. despite generally taking the offensive, ty lee nonetheless exhibits a graceful, acrobatic quality when in combat. she never kills anyone either, merely incapacitates them momentarily. and when she is faced with stronger than typical opponents, she usually relies on her skills as an acrobat by taking the aerial advantage. note her ability to jump incredibly high, such as in "the chase," or her ability to run along a moving cable wire in "the boiling rock." ty lee's skills go beyond merely being a good acrobat. she's incredible. and perhaps even exhibiting some latent airbending skills she inherited from her ancestors.

ty lee's air nomad ancestry coheres really well with her arc as a character. imagining that her family of genocide survivors hid in the heart of the fire nation and assimilated into the imperialist culture that sought to exterminate them makes her own role that much more impactful. there's already a beautiful parallelism to the fact that ty lee is an acrobat and performer who contorts herself to suit the desires of others and performs obsequious loyalty for her own survival, but an extra layer of depth is added if she's also assimilating into the royal court by reducing herself and hiding her true feelings and motivations, just as her family did.

i see ty lee's ancestors as having assimilated into the imperial core out of fear, but over the generations, genuinely being subsumed into fire nation culture, with the desire to social climb a natural extension of their patriotism. but there are also still facets of ty lee's ancestry, whether genetic or otherwise, that have remained in traces. the generational trauma, for example, definitely reflects why her parents had so many children. and the fact that she's constantly torn between two worlds, as a genocide survivor who also directly serves the imperialists who murdered her ancestors, represents her internal struggle as someone who desires freedom of expression and the choice to assert her individuality, but is also forced through circumstance into lying and deflecting and manipulating (which, to be honest, is also the air nomad way) for the sake of survival.

surviving is ty lee's number one priority, in a way it just isn't for mai. mai and ty lee both come from social climbing families (although i've always assumed that mai's family is far wealthier than ty lee's) but mai is also depressed and frustrated and bored out of her mind. and even though she was raised in a family that forced her to don a mask and reduce herself and perform a passive model of femininity, she also has no problem stating aloud how she's feeling and what her limits are (with the exception of when azula gives her a veiled command as a test, and mai has no choice but to obey).

mai has the privilege of knowing that the stakes don't really matter, which she all but states when she claims that she grew up in luxury and opulence, and always had everything handed to her. which isn't to say that she led a perfect, easy life. she wouldn't be as depressed and repressed as she is if there weren't factors actively harming her, but she still chooses to join azula by choice, even if it's really only the illusion of choice between two awful options, whereas ty lee has to be coerced through violence.

mai kind of has a "fuck it we ball" attitude and doesn't really seem to care about her own safety (if anything, she's more concerned with comfort), whereas ty lee would do anything to ensure her survival. and that kind of mentality illustrates how she differs from most of the fire nation elites, who were inculcated into imperial privilege and never really considered what prioritizing survival even entails (zuko learns that lesson the hard way). ty really exhibits the mentality of the genocide victim/colonized subject through her prioritization of survival in the face of what to mai is a problem, but to ty lee is an existential threat.

whether or not ty lee even recognizes that her desperate desire to live comes from a place of generational grief and trauma is another story, but i do think there is something to be said for the fact that descendants of genocide survivors can feel that grief as it has been passed down to them. i think ty lee feels it, and i think that it motivates her to do whatever it takes to live, because above all, she is a survivor. and even if she has to assimilate and manipulate and cut away every part of herself that's real and authentic and true, she will do it (until she doesn't). and that's also, incidentally, what makes her such a great foil to aang.

#i hope this answers your question! #anachronornis #asks #analysis #ty lee #maixtylee #aang&tylee #aang #mai #air nomad ty lee #i should make that a tag.... #also river if u have anything add please feel free #i love ty lee she is the specialest insane girl she is everything

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 15

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 15.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Idiots in love, silly stripper routine, unserious reference to foot fetishes, mention of rimming, oral sex (m and f receiving), 69, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, vampire bite, blood drinking, use of a safe word, alcohol consumption, PTSD, anxiety/fear, panic reaction. Summary: Picking up where the last chapter left off, Max and Dolly share a night of intimacy that makes their time in the past even more precious. Nothing lasts forever, though, and there are less easy nights ahead. Notes: For this week's photo, have a peak at the guest bedroom that inspired Dolly and Max's getaway. This is the second floor guest room at the Vanderbilt's summer cottage, standing in for a guest room in their 5th Avenue palace. (And, as usual, forgive any errors I may have missed in proofreading. I really have to learn to do it before I get too sleepy.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

"Tired, sweetheart?"

"Not at all." You've said goodnight to Renee and to Emmanuel's valet already, telling them you don't need help getting ready to sleep tonight, and that leaves just you and Max alone in your room together with a fire to keep you warm. "I do want to go to bed, though."

“Mhmmmmm.” Max licks his lips and winks at you. “Then we will have to get you out of that ballgown.” He tuts after he says it and frowns. “And I can’t rip it off you since it’s back in the future.”

"Most of it is just untying bows," you remind him, but your fingers feel for the seam on the left side of your bodice and start to unclip it carefully. This is the part that requires care. If anything underneath gets torn? Well...that's just an unfortunate accident.

Max decides that he should slip off his tailored coat, hanging it over the back of a chair before he's assisting you – wearing his vest and button down, shirt and tie still. "The loveliest bow I've ever unwrapped." He murmurs. "You are a gift, Dolly." Max has always flirted, always shmoozed, but with you – the pretty words come naturally and from the heart.

“If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say you were too over the top to mean it.” He helps you with the hooks and clasps of your skirt and slipping out of your bodice, so that you’re just left in your many layers of underthings. The pretty corset cover would be a shame to lose, so you quickly set to work on those buttons.

"When it comes to you? Never." Max promises, wanting to rip everything off of you, but he also wants this to be romantic. Slightly afraid that your ex had been rough in the bedroom and doing that would trigger you, he keeps his hands steady and slow. Deciding that he will seduce you.

The ties holding each petticoat in place are easily pulled open, and each one is pulled over your head and tossed aside with little ceremony but enormous amounts of anticipation until you’re in just your stockings, corset, and chemise. It’s not that Max has never seen you naked. He has literally helped you wash, held you while you cried, and tasted your essence straight from the source. You’re not embarrassed to be seen by him. It’s just that the anticipation around this night has built up so distinctly that your skin has a layer of goosebumps just from wondering exactly how it will happen. The careful removal of your last few layers leaves you breathless, his cool fingers delicately shedding each piece of fabric from your skin like he’s plucking the petals from a flower.

Max’s fingers skim the underside of your breasts, not cupping them and just teasing with the cool brush of them. “Dolly…” he hums as he ducks his head and kisses along your neck. “We’re alone now.” He reminds you. “Tell me what you want.”

“It…seems pretty straightforward to me?” It’s also borderline impossible to think with Max’s lips on you, and you struggle to pull your thoughts together based on that one distraction alone. “I—I want to make love to my soulmate.” It seems ludicrous to say it out loud like that. Old fashioned and sentimental. But…the reality is, that this is sentimental. It’s the most sentimental you’ve ever felt in your life. Because Max is worth that emotional weight. Right now the only weight that isn’t worth it is the last of your clothes, which he helps you out of with eager hands.

“Romantic and slow.” Max decides, smiling against your skin and kissing your pulse. “Strip you down and kiss every inch of your skin. Before I finally slide inside you.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, swallowing a gasp when he nips at your pulse again. “Romantic torture? Actually sounds pretty sexy.”

“Not torture, worship.” He corrects you, sliding his hands over your bare stomach and down your hips. “Show you what you deserve.”

“Baby…” Turning around in his arms, you smooth one hand over his shaved cheek and bite your lip, holding back a worried pout. “You’re not in competition with my demons, love. I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He promises softly. “I am better than your demons and I want to prove it.”

"Conversely?" You step closer to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. "In some cultures you would be considered a demon in your own right. So maybe we're just fighting fire with fire?"

“I am a demon.” His eyes flash yellow and he smirks. “A love demon.” It’s a joke, one to make you laugh.

“A desire demon?” Teasing him right back, you easily press your body against his and trail kisses from his lips to his jaw and down his neck.

"Yes." Max groans and closes his eyes and tilts his head back so let you do what you want. "Your desire demon."

“Hmmm,” you hum against his skin, almost triumphant in the way he’s reacting to you. “Yes, you definitely are.”

You make his knees weak, growling quietly as his body tightens in pleasure. "Dolly."

"Mm?" Having someone as powerful as Max is shake for you is a little intoxicating, and you barely stop to mumble against his skin. "What do you want, baby?"

"I want you." He groans, making sure he doesn't tighten his hold on you too much. You are still human and delicate. "I want to see you cum again."

“Then we should finish getting you undressed.” One more nip at his jaw makes him groan and you grin unrepentantly before you declare: “I want to watch.” And get up on the bed with darkened eyes.

Max grins, winking at you as he starts to slowly undress. "Bam Bam, bum bum." He teases, rolling his hips playfully in a mock strip tease.

The sight of him undressing isn’t funny – by definition it’s the single sexiest thing you’ve seen in your life to date. The fact that he’s doing a Chippendale’s routine in a full tuxedo is what does it, sending you into a torrent of giggles on the bed.

He pouts at you, even though he's sending you an air kiss. "Are you laughing at me?" He huffs playfully. "You wound me."

“I’m laughing at the fact that you’re singing your own stripper music,” you promise him. “If you’d picked Pour Some Sugar on Me, I’d be laughing even harder. The whole thing is perfect, baby.”

He winks and turns around to shake his ass at you with a small twerk. Enjoying the way you are laughing and having fun. You had been so apprehensive about anything physical at the beginning and now look at you.

“Max…” When you say his name again it’s soft and sweet, as gentle as you’ve ever been in your life. This man has no idea how much he has changed your approach to life. How much lighter your heart is because of him. How much sweeter the world seems with him beside you. “I love you.”

Turning back around, Max beams at you. "I love you too." He promises, unable to resist rushing over to you to press his lips to yours. The bump of his heart making him shiver and hum against your mouth.

Urging him closer without breaking the kiss, one hand pulls Max toward you on the bed while the other shoves fruitlessly at his open trousers, trying to push them off of his hips in the same motion that you would have him beside you in bed. It feels giddy in a way, from all the giggling and the tender vows, and you swear this is the closest to being a romantically portrayed young lady in love from a period film that you’ll ever get in your life. And really? You love it.

Kneeling on the bed, Max gazes down at you lovingly and bites his lip. "Want to make this a night to remember, Queenie." He hums, leaning in and kissing you softly. "I'm going to kiss every inch of your body."

The urge to get one last tease in is too great, and you widen your eyes to a look of endearing confusion and distaste after kissing him back. “Even my feet?”

"Baby, a man's foot fetish isn't something to scoff at." He teases. "You don't want me to suck on your toes?"

You scrunch up your face and shake your head, letting out another soft giggle. “I can’t say it’s on my list,” you admit. “Ballet and ballroom feet aren’t exactly modeling-ready.”

"But you don't exactly have ugly feet either, love." He wrinkles his nose, but nods. "However I will leave your feet alone, but don't tell me I can't lick your asshole."

A slow tilt of your head shows you’re actually considering it, and after a second you shrug. “I’ve never tried it, so sure. Why not?”

"What?" His eyes widen in shock and he is absolutely flabbergasted. "Really? You— you never tried— and I can—?"

You shrug again, but you’re grinning over Max’s shock. “Nobody ever asked before. So nope. Never tried any of it.”

"Dear sweet baby Jesus..." Max slaps his hands together and looks up at the ceiling. "Thank you for giving me such an innocent little soulmate to turn into a dirty girl." He grins down at you wickedly when he says that.

“Cunt first, ass second,” you tell him, wagging a finger like he’s a naughty schoolboy. “Deal?”

Waggling his brows, he makes an 'x' over his heart. "Deal." He slides off the bed to strip down fully, clothes removed in less than five seconds and he stands in front of you completely bare.

“Get back here.” More than just wanting to see him, you want to touch him. The small touches and baby steps you’ve taken aren’t enough anymore. You reach out to pull him back on the bed, letting him loom over you and taking in all the defined planes of his body before you smooth your hands down his chest and over his stomach — down to dig your fingertips into his hips before looking up to make sure it’s okay for you to explore more.

"Do you want me on my back, Dolly?" He asks softly. "I will do whatever you want and let you do whatever you want to me."

“I just want to touch you.” Already your breathing has turned heavier, lust swimming in your stomach and in your eyes. “I don’t care if you’re standing or lying down or however you’re comfortable.”

Max shifts to his side, biting his lip as he stretches out for you. His hard cock is bobbing between you and he watches you as you look him over.

“Gods…” He really is gorgeous. It would be borderline absurd if you weren’t so giddy about him being yours. “I am a very lucky girl.” You hum, turning the tables on him and starting to kiss down his body instead.

"Shiiiiiiit." Max groans and bites his lip, keeping his eyes open as your mouth starts to caress his body. "Queenie, I'm supposed to worship you."

Barely pausing in your journey down his torso, you nip at both of his hips before grinning up at him. "Can't it be both?"

“You are full of surprises.” He huffs out, but he doesn’t move to stop you on your quest.

"You've been taking such good care of me." One hand on his chest encourages him to lay all the way back, and you shift yourself to kneel between his legs. "Let me take care of you for once," you insist, lowering your head to take his cock into your mouth with a groan.

He had not expected that. Head falling back onto the pillows, Max lets out a moan that would be embarrassing if he gives a shit. But he just lifts his head and watches you slowly roll your tongue around the head. “Sweetheart— fuck.”

Humming as you bob up and down on his shaft, you would be hard-pressed to believe before this that you had actually missed something as simple as giving head, but it's giving pleasure that you missed. Sharing in intimacy. Having a real partner. Max has done so much for you that extending this intimacy is a pleasure for you as well. Plus, his moans are exquisite. Every single sound out of this man is gold, and you want to hear every single way he'll gasp your name as you swallow his cock.

The urge to grab you has Max clawing at the sheets, desperately trying now to shred the fine silks that Mrs. Vanderbilt had ordered. It’s hard, especially the way that you are so eagerly sucking him. “Dolly, Dolly— baby— you gotta— I can’t—”

It almost pains you to have to stop, but the obscene popping noise that comes with pulling off of his length is far more satisfying than it should be. “Did I do something wrong?” Instinct tells you no, but you still want to check in with him.

“Fuck no.” He groans, reaching down and cupping your cheek to pull you up for a desperate kiss. “You’re just gonna suck my soul out through my cock.”

“And is that bad?” The kiss truly is desperate — sloppy and enthusiastic and full of passion. You’ll absolutely keep going if he lets you, but Max might have other ideas about how he wanted tonight to go.

“No, but I wanted to show off my amazing skills before I cum.” He huffs playfully. “And possibly weep while doing it.”

“Honey.” Your face softens, love tempering lust, and you cup Max’s jaw in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. “Believe me, if anybody’s going to cry tonight it’s going to be me. And they’re going to be happy tears. Only the happiest tears with you, I promise.”

“Only happy tears.” Max doesn’t even want those, but he knows you probably will. He kisses you again. “Now…if you really want to suck my cock, we can do a little Gilded Age face sitting?”

“I really do.” The confession comes with a smirk, and you nudge his onto his back again gently. “But if I’m too heavy on you or it’s not comfortable, tell me right away. Okay?”

“Queenie.” Max tuts and looks at you, completely offended. “Who do you think I am?”

“Well…” The real answer is that Derek and other previous boyfriends had never wanted to share this particular experience — but none of them really ate pussy to begin with. And that’s something Max excels at. “I didn’t want to assume…” is what you answer instead.

“Assume all you want.” He chuckles. “You can’t hurt me sweetheart, I don’t need to breathe.”

“I forget about that…” you mumble, cheeks warm with embarrassment but not so much that it dampens your enthusiasm. Max pats his chest and waggles his eyebrows when he lays back, encouraging you to give him all you’ve got — so you take him at his word. You settle your knees on either side of his head and intend to be at least slightly delicate about lowering yourself over his face, but Max grabs your hips with a growl and pulls you straight down to him eagerly, making you gasp in surprise as much as pleasure.

Max has shown you what he can do but he wants to improve on that. Really drive you crazy. His tongue isn’t shy, never hesitant as he dives into your folds with a happy groan. The symphony the two of you make right off the bat is enviable. Every groan Max rumbles into your folds comes out of your own mouth as a barely contained moan. The kind that have to be muffled somehow, and there is no way quite as good to stifle moans than by taking Max's cock back in your mouth.

Max hisses into your wet folds when you engulf his cock. Loving how eager you are for it and him. It makes him work even harder to make you moan loudly. It's the kind of overwhelming feeling that only feels better the more and more you put into it. The vibrations he gets from you moaning as you swirl your tongue around his cock move through him in waves and end up pushed right back into your pussy as he licks and sucks every possible inch of your pussy.

Max squeezes your ass, smirking into your folds as he slurps and sucks. Loving every dirty second as the two of you are in a race for pleasure. It really isn’t long before your thighs start to shake and your stomach tightens. Max knows your body too well even after so little time that he can shuttle you toward pleasure with a deft and expert hand. Or, in this case, tongue.

Groaning your name into your cunt, Max watches you. Feeling your pulse speed up and the heady arousal thickening on his tongue. Signifying you are close to coming apart for him. He grunts, squeezing your ass and bringing you back on his face more, nearly pulling you off his cock completely.

You know he's always careful with you, making sure he doesn't hurt you, but the way his fingertips dig into your hips tonight almost makes you wish that he would one day. That he would go just far enough that you could still feel his grip on your thighs the next day as you go about your utterly normal life. While you know that he won't do that tonight, it feels far too good to care. The way you're careening toward your first orgasm of the night is too good to care about anything else.

Your breath catches and he knows you are about to come apart for him. Wanting to see it in all its glory when you finally break. There's no mistaking the way you shake for him. He knows it well by now and you're realizing that Max affects you in ways no one ever had before – whether that's talent on his part or the soulmate connection is up for debate. In the moment that the tether inside you snaps and you flood his eager tongue with cum, you're forced to pull away from him or really and truly you might be far too enthusiastic and choke on his cock before you can get further into the night. But pulling away means there is nothing to muffle your cries, and you force yourself to stifle a loud moan of his name to make sure that the house doesn't echo with the sounds of your pleasure.

The good thing about his strength is that he can move you around like a leaf on the wind. Bolting upright so your legs are dangling over his shoulders, the snarl Max gives is feral as he feasts in your juices. Slurping them down as if they were ambrosia, and they are. It’s the best something has tasted since he’s been turned into a vampire.

"Gods—" You hold tight to him as he drinks you down, every last drop licked from your lips and then from his.

He chuckles, a dirty, self-satisfied sound as he smacks his lips. “Was that good enough for our opening act? Or shall I show you again?”

You could prolong the night. You know you could. Make it last as long as possible and truly wring each other out. But you’re craving the closeness of having him with you and inside you in a way that you can’t quite describe. When Max cradles you in his arms again after you catch your breath, you can’t help the soft, breathy tone in your voice when you promise him: “I’m ready.”

Gently, probably the gentlest he’s ever been, Max repositions you. Wanting to make sure that you are comfortable and looking him in the eyes when you assure him. His eyes are light, almost yellow with desire but his words are soft. “Are you sure? You want me to make love to you?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Lying beneath him in this borrowed bed, it seems like the strangest thing in the world to say that this is right, but it’s all about him. It’s all about this time spent with your soulmate and finding your strength again — because he has loved all of you. Even the parts you thought were broken forever.

“Alright.” It’s out of character for him, or maybe out of character for the facade he wears for others, but Max is almost shy right now. The tenderest love shining on his face as he leans in to press his lips to yours. You trust him with the most vulnerable of things, your heart and the intimacy of your body. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” More fiercely and completely than you ever thought possible, and yet somehow that doesn’t make you scared. It makes you sure, and so you surge up to kiss him another time.

You are the bold one and Max finds that incredibly sexy. Groaning into the kiss as his body floods with a warmth that can only come from you. Easing you back down to the silken sheets and slowly starting to cover you with his own frame and your breath escapes into his mouth.

It feels also surreal to be desperate to be touched again, but when Max’s hand closes over your side to shift his weight above you and his lips connect with your pulse, you shiver. “I love you.” Murmured again with every ounce of honesty in your body, your legs wrap lightly around his waist to encourage him to settle in the cradle of your thighs.

“I love you, Dolly.” He nudges his nose against yours and slowly settles between your legs. His cock is achingly hard and throbbing against your core. “Tell me if you don’t like something.”

“I promise.” The welcome pressure of having him between your thighs only makes you pant more heavily, needing him as much as wanting.

“Good girl.” He hums, kissing all over your face and down your jaw. “My beautiful soulmate. All mine.” His hips slowly grinding against you, feeling you get even wetter as you squirm under his cool body.

"All yours." The first real press of the head of his cock against your entrance has you squirming, practically begging for more.

Max slides his hand between you, wanting to make sure there’s no slips, no uncomfortable misses that would cause you a second’s discomfort. Wanting this to be experience you deserve. “And I’m yours.” He promises, sealing that vow with a kiss as his hips slowly push forward and the head of his length slips inside you seamlessly.

That familiar first press is almost foreign after so long without it, but wanting it makes you sigh and lets your whole body relax to take him in. Blazing hot, soaking wet, and squeezing his cock tight, your body is as welcoming to him as it possibly could be — especially with your head tossed back on the pillow and a low moan of his name on your lips as he rocks his hips forward to fill your pussy more and more with each stroke.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” Max moans, kissing your neck where you bare it. He wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into your throat but he resists. “So good, taking my cock. You like it filling you up?”

“Fuck—” Even just the groaned out curse comes with a fervent nod of your head, and you squeeze your eyes shut or open them wide alternately and he presses inside you, slowly but surely. “Fuck, Max, oh gods—I—feels so fucking good, love.”

“That’s it, you’re so perfect. Fuck, I’m about to cum you’re so tight and hot.” Max groans into your lip, trying to stay connected as much as possible.

“Slow and steady, baby,” you encourage him breathlessly, rolling your hips under him to tell him it’s okay to move.

“I’ve got you.” He groans. “Gonna take care of you. Make sure you don’t have any complaints.”

“Could never.” Complain? About him? Fuck no. If anything, your mind is fogged with happiness.

It’s taking so long but finally, finally, his hips are flush with yours and he’s buried to the hilt again. Pausing for a second before the slow drag out of you begins. He wants to take his time, but he also can’t bare to pull out of you.

Slow and steady is truly it. Like Max doesn’t even want to leave the clutch of your body but he knows it will feel so Fucking good when he does.

Hissing, Max rolls his hips quickly back into you. “Fucking perfect.” He praises. “You’re fucking perfect, Dolly.”

The rhythm he sets is exquisite, carrying you through waves of pleasure by clinging to you every bit as hard as you cling to him. Of course everyone says that your soulmate is your perfect match, but you had never really thought it would extend this far. Never thought that when he slid his arms under you in bed to keep you as close as possible, you would feel like you had finally come home.

Max has always been a thorough lover. Call it ego, call it pure pride, but he wants his partner to sing his praises during and afterwards. This time, it’s more about giving. Wanting you to have nothing but bliss when you’re in his arms. The slight slap of his hips isn’t enough to jar you, just a subtle little sound.

Every roll forward is somehow the fullest and most blissful you’ve ever felt. Stifling your moans into endless kisses and letting your hands explore the plains of his body as he moves above you and never hold back from letting your own body respond to his. Every inch of you seeks him out, so your hips roll to match his and your hands clutch to keep him close even as he has you cradled against his chest.

“Never gonna let you go, Dolly. Never gonna let you go.” He groans out, holding you close and nearly panting against your throat. He’s so fucking overwhelmed by the feel of you, of your scent and softness. The feelings bursting inside of him has him melting into you.

"Staying right here," you promise him, gasping with every thrust forward. "With you."

"You are my other half, my better half." He moans, scattering your skin with kisses. "My Queenie, my queen, my life." Until you arrived, Max had been so focused on success that it was what he lived for, now he just wants to live for you.

"Love you —" A sharp, strong thrust makes you groan into his shoulder, and you clutch him tighter. "Forever, baby."

“Forever.” Forever is a long time, especially for him and yet if there is anyone he believes would love him for an endless amount of time, he believes that it would be you. There's no second guessing or doubting when it comes to you. Just love.

You both felt like you might shake apart when you were finally joined together, and that feeling hasn't abated. Every stroke is a scrub of your pussy walls as he pushes inside you until you feel so full that your heart swells along with everything else. It's lovemaking, in the purest and simplest definition of the term, and you've never felt so lucky in your entire life.

"Never felt like this." Max admits, pulling back to look into your eyes. His own are yellow now, his facial features slightly sharper than before but he's holding back from transforming. Taking more effort than usual due to how much you affect him. "Never."

"Max—" Your chest heaves and back bows under the shaking pleasure. "Do you—" Seeing his eyes makes the thought swirl, and you would be lying if you said it was the first time it had occurred to you since arriving in 1885. "Drink from me."

The vampire above you shudders, a full body shiver that races through him and vibrates against your skin. Eyes widening and brightening even more. Tinged with hunger, desire and concern all swirled together. "Are you sure?" His voice is deeper, raspier and stopped mid-thrust to stare at you.

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in it. No worry or hidden anxiety. Only the surety that it will make this night — this first time together — all the more meaningful. “I said forever, love. And I mean it.”

He hisses, fangs popping out of his gums and it's a miracle he doesn't bury them in your throat that second. "Tell me a word." He begs, sounding slightly pained. "A safe word."

The conversation in the woods seems ages ago, and napkin was never going to be a serious safe word to begin with. So when you force your mind to function just for half a second, what you come out with is “Traffic”, and that seems like as good a choice as any. There’s never going to be any reason to say the word traffic in bed otherwise. “And you’ll… you’ll let me drink from you, too?”

"Yes." He all but groans the word, nodding at the thought of you having a bit of his blood inside you, carrying him with you. "I will. Let you have it whenever you want." Although it wasn't technically addicting, the more vampiric blood a human drank, the stronger it made them. Some humans loved to drink as much as they donated in return. "It won't hurt." He promises, kissing your lips and then ducking his head to lick over your pulse.

“I love you.” Words of trust are the only thing that come from you now, as if to say that your love for him and your trust in him are entirely intertwined. That no matter what else happens between the two of you, the tether of this togetherness holds those two things in it for both of you forever.

"I love you." He growls the sentiment, pulling his tongue away from your skin just long enough to get it out. "Forever." He reminds you, right before his razor-sharp fangs slice through the thin layers of your skin to the beautiful, pulsing vein below the surface.

It’s pressure and a sharp pinch, just like having blood drawn at the doctor, but the difference in the moments after is enormous. At the first feeling of blood being drawn up through his fangs, your body shakes in pure pleasure and kickstarts the most unexpected, swirling, lasting orgasm that has ever wracked your body.

He had known you would cum from it. Had predicted it as sure as the sun rising every morning. Groaning as he mouths against your skin and retracts his fangs so he can suck, his cock still buried deep inside you is twitching as you pulse around him.

“Fuck— fuck— oh gods—” The feeling is so much more intense than you expected and so much more pleasurable, making you moan and whimper beneath him as the hot rush of orgasm courses through you. If that is going to happen every time he bites you, you’re going to need to be sitting or lying down each and every time.

He keeps rocking into you, filling you with every snap of his hips. Slightly harsher than before as he gulps down mouthful after mouthful of your sweet blood. It's like ambrosia and he has to remind himself not to drink too much.

His pace quickens, pushing you toward yet another orgasm even faster than normal, and you’re swimming in a lighter-than-air, almost out-of-body feeling as your moans grow louder and sharper. You have to untangle one hand from the silk sheets to slap over your own mouth because Max is still drinking from you, and it takes you another few seconds to realize that you have to be the one to stop him. “Max—” Keening his name into the night, The fingers of the one you still have on him are clawing into his back while the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens all over again. “Baby—traffic.” Starting to feel lightheaded is what tips you off, though you know that could still just be the sex.

Max freezes. The cool coil of dread knotting in his stomach as he pulls away. Lips stained with your blood as he searches your face. “What’s wrong, what hurt?”

“I’m okay,” you promise him, pressing a kiss to his lips and tasting the irony tang of your own blood in the process. “Just starting to feel pretty lightheaded.”

"That happens sometimes during sex." He assures you, leaning in and licking your neck to heal your wounds.

“I’ll remember for next time.” He’s frozen still inside you, but your body is aching and needed more despite multiple orgasms. “I didn’t kill the mood, did I?”

"Do you want to keep going?" He asks, frowning slightly. He wants to make sure that your safe word didn't mean a full stop for everything. "What do you want, Dolly?"

“I want to keep going.” You pick your head up and kiss the place where his pulse beats whenever your lips meet his. “Please?”

You can have whatever you want but he's relieved that you want to keep going. Not that he would have been upset, but because he never wanted to do anything to make you feel like you had to stop. "I love you." He promises, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours and slowly starts to move again.

“I love you, too.” Shifting beneath him, your legs come around his waist and your arms twine around his back, letting each thrust hit that much deeper inside you.

“Will you cum again for me, sweet girl?” Max groans, the taste of you still so robust on his tongue. “Will you cry out for me again?”

“Feel so good…” Already your breathing turns heavier, that powerful heaviness and electricity of just being connected to him piquing every feeling in your body. “Gods you feel so good, love.”

"I'm a lucky bastard." Max grunts, gathering up the remains of his control and feeling even closer to you now that he's drunk from you. Pulling you closer and rolling his hips and grinding into you rather than pulling out.

The intense grind of his hips rubs your swollen clit with each roll of his hips, working you up that much faster. Every thought but Max leaves your head, letting you focus on him and him alone. He can sense the changes in your breathing, in your heart rhythm. "You're gonna cum." He promises, ducking his head down and kissing along your throat. "Gonna come apart for me like a firework."

“Need you to cum with me.” You’re so close to the edge that you know this one is going to shatter you, holding yourself on the precipice of breaking apart at every seam and all you can do is beg him to follow you.

"Gonna." He promises, groaning out the word. Even though he doesn't need to breathe, he's choked up. Overwhelmed by the pure beauty of the moment. "Right after you do."

Whether he knows he’s giving you permission or not, you tumble off the cliff of one last climax, pouring your cry of his name into a kiss that tangles you together that much more. You shake apart underneath him, cunt squeezing him tight and heart pounding with every wave of your release.

Max shudders, absorbs the reaction of your body. Taking it into his soul and letting it burn inside him. Watching you as starlight burst behind your eyes. Making sure that you’re tumbling into pleasure before he thrusts deep, giving into his own needs.

The two of you lay together for long moments afterward, with Max cradling you close while you catch your breath. The feeling of being full is remarkable and oddly comforting, as the depth and the meaning of the moment washes over both of you. “I love you.” Another whisper into the candlelit-night, but it’s weightier this time. Most witches and vampires could only dream of bearing children together — but with your bloodline it is actually possible. Unlikely. Exceedingly rare. But possible.

He can sense what you are thinking about, the weight of it is also on his mind as well. "If we don't, we will still be happy." He promises you, stroking your shoulder lovingly and hoping he can keep that promise. "We can adopt or rescue puppies, whatever will make you happy and fulfill you."

“We have forever,” you remind him, within an almost wistful note in your voice. “We can do all of it.”

"Forever." He smiles. "We can do everything you want. Travel the world, and now, through time."

******

The next night feels like it's been pulled right out of a movie. The red, gold, and cream gown that Renee had laced you into is accented by a bold, beautiful set of ruby and citrine jewelry that Max and Yayo had found at the same jewelry store where Max picked out your ring. The elaborate hairdo and long, cream gloves make the long red velvet cape look positively purposeful, and you feel as made-up as could ever possibly imagine. The realization though, that you are not nearly the most elaborately dressed woman there, comes when you get out of your carriage. Annie and Emmanuel stand excitedly by on the steps waiting for Max to help you out onto the cobblestone, and her own pearl and diamond jewelry winks in the moonlight. It's simultaneously mystifying and yet so very easy to remember that this young woman is the same person who will one day be your mother, especially when she looks even more dressed up than she did in the photos of her wedding to your father. Annie is eager and smiling, eyes wide in the flickering gaslight on the street as the sign behind them proclaims the details for the production of Carmen that you are all about to see.

“I am so thrilled to be here.” She moons happily, clutching Emmanuel’s arm and smiling dreamily. This trip has been perfect and she cannot even imagine a more wonderful evening. “Box seats!”

"Your parents were very generous to allow us to use their box." Emmanuel is beaming with his newly minted fiancée on his arm.

“Yes, and I believe that we will have a grand time.” She coos, batting her lashes at him innocently. “Especially since we are also having a late dinner and dancing with the Vanderbilts.”

"We're looking forward to meeting more of their family." The invitation from Cornelius and Alice to join them at his brother's home for a soiree after the opera tonight was most appreciated, and from the way that Alice worded the invitation, you have a feeling that she might be looking forward to bringing guests who are exceptional dancers.

“Yes. I am so happy that we are here.” She turns her gaze to you and smiles. “And I get to enjoy your first opera by your side.”

You comb your mind for a long moment trying to decide exactly which kind of irony that statement is, considering your mother also took you to your first opera when you were ten years old and there was a production of The Magic Flute being performed in English nearby. Deciding it doesn't matter, you reach out to squeeze her hand when you reach the top of the stairs with Max and smile warmly. "I cannot think of anything that could make tonight better," you promise her honestly.

There is a dramatic sound of a bell, signifying that the guests need to find their seats so the opera can begin. “Oh there is Mrs. Astor.” Max leans in to tell you. “Everyone is here, apparently.” He’s smirking slightly, curious to interact with her now that he knows she’s also a modern woman in a primitive time.

“We should go and say hello to her at intermission.” You return Mrs. Astor’s small wave when she spots you across the lobby but follow your mother and Emmanuel and the young man who is escorting the four of you to your box. The blur around you — of color, of sound, of so many people so excited for the evening — has you grinning and giddy for the night in your own right.

"What I wouldn't give for my phone." Max murmurs to you. "Not to call anyone, but for the fucking selfies." He's joking of course, but high resolution colored photos from this time would be amazing.

“We could start an Instagram trend,” you joke quietly, holding into his arm as you take the stairs inside the opera house’s lobby. “Photoshopping your selfie into a historical period. Except ours wouldn’t be photoshopped.”

"Do you think people would question a selfie stick in this time?" Max asks, chuckling at the reaction to him pulling out the long telescopic tool.

“You’d get questioned like an inventor. Nobody loves gadgets like they do in this time.” The theater around you is so incredibly opulent that you really can’t look away — eyes bouncing from one thing to another like a kid in a candy store. “This place is gorgeous,” you murmur to him as you walk.

"Yes it is." The opulence cannot be replicated in your time. The attention to detail and craftmanship lost through modernization and mechanization of the world. They called it The Gilded Age for a very good reason and Max is mesmerized by the sight. "Nearly as gorgeous as my wife."

You throw him a grin and roll your eyes teasingly for good measure, but Annie overhears the last comment and coos dreamily at the two of you. “Flattery is Max’s middle name,” you tell her with a little laugh.

"A beaming bride makes for a lovely night." Max tells Emmanuel seriously, changing the popular phrase 'Happy wife, happy life' to fit into the times and your situation. "Romance her as much as possible and she will flourish."

“Every day,” the younger man promises, with sparkling stars in his eyes every time he looks at his soulmate. Emmanuel is a gentle, romantic soul and absolutely worships Annie. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

It's haunting, because he knows that it will be true. Just that the life will be cut tragically short and the rift from that time will vibrate through time to affect you. His hand is over yours that is wrapped around his other arm and he squeezes gently. Encouraging and supporting you. "Waltz with her." He tells the other man. "Every chance you get."

“I shall have to have a few pointers from you on that front,” Emmanuel chuckles. “I have never claimed to excel at dancing, although I do enjoy it.”

“I will give you lessons.” Max promises, unsure of when the horrible events with Emmanuel went down.

“And I will sing your praises to all of society for it.” Annie giddily leads Emmanuel to the open door of her parents’ box and takes your hand to have you sit beside her. “Not that you need my help. Your wife is a favorite of Mrs. Astor now.”

"Except Dolly never wants friends because of how they benefit her." Max explains. "My wife is a very loving and loyal creature. She has friends because of how they make her feel. And you are one of her dearest."

“I’m sure we should all benefit from such a shining example.” Emmanuel praises, smiling at how Annie reaches across to hug you tightly just before the lights begin to dim over the audience assembled for tonight’s performance.

One thing that Max doesn’t care for in this time, is the fact that to show too much affection is frowned upon. He releases your hand and wishes he could wrap his arm around you, but he doesn’t wish to cause a scandal, so he leans back and waits for the performance to begin.

Unbeknownst to both of you, wishing the very same thing, you slip your hand into his to thread your fingers together in his lap. This time may discourage public shows of affection, but your relationship does not. It’s all about balance.

Max looks down at your hands and smiles, catching your gaze when he looks up and he winks at you. Loving that you are in tune with him and his body leans in closer to you as the first lines are sung.

Carmen is a stunning opera. Dramatic, groundbreaking, emotional, and inspiring. By the time intermission comes you’ve been on the edge of your seat. The first half of the show has left both you and Annie breathless in the best way possible and your heart is hammering with it when the lights come up.

Max stands, helping you from your seat and he smiles at the dreamy expression on your face. "I can tell this will be a tradition now." He teases, having enjoyed himself immensely even though he had also been observing everyone else in the theatre as well.

“Modern operas have subtitles,” you assure him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “So you can follow along in English and not have to fight through the French or German or Italian.”

"How do they put subtitles on a live performance?" Max asks seriously.

“Screens.” Although the visual of actors with lyrics written on cards makes you grin as you whisper to him. “We’ll go. You’ll love how swanky it is, though nothing is swankier than chatting with the Astors at intermission and having dinner and dancing with the Vanderbilts afterward.”

"I don't think that we would ever be able to top this." Max admits with a grin, shrugging slightly.

“For now, let’s just enjoy it.” You hum, squeezing his hand again as you lean into his side. In this time, these people — they take their summers and seek out the beaches and the grandeur of Europe or beauty of mountains. And it’s clear to you after just a short amount of time that both you and Max love it here, but it isn’t where you belong. Perhaps, though? Just perhaps…you might take a leaf out of their book. And like the socialites of Gilded Age New York City take their summers away from home, you and Max might one day to decide to ‘summer’ in the Gilded Age. “For now, let’s go see the Astors.”

"Your wish is my command, my dear, sweet wife." He coos, smirking at you as the two of you glide down the stairs to the lobby. Refreshements are being served and no doubt you will have to leave his side to attend to your needs in the toilet, but for now, he will be satisfied by escorting the most beautiful woman in the room around.

Annie and Emmanuel elect to stay behind in the box and you don’t say a damn thing, preferring to just let them have their time to flirt and whisper back and forth while you and Max go and mingle. A glass of lemonade is procured for you so that no well-meaning friend or acquaintance will attempt to offer you wine out of politeness, and soon you spot the Astors at the center of a crush of admirers.

It takes a few moments for them to move through the crowd, too many people stopping to chit chat with her and her husband, but soon enough Lina is standing in front of you and pulls you in for a quick, fierce hug. "I am so glad you came." She whispers.

“How could we possibly turn down the invitation?” It doesn’t matter whether you mean the invitation from her or from your grandparents. Either way, you are here. “Are you enjoying it so far?”

"I did not think that I would, but I am immensely enjoying it." William skirts around the trains on your dresses and shakes Max's hand, speaking to him quietly as Lina chats with you.

“He’s enjoying himself here.” The two of you now your heads to murmur between you as though you were simply gossiping. “I think we might try to come back, if I can get the hang of traveling back and forth.”

"That would be wonderful." She squeezes your hand gently. "William and I would be willing to host you anytime you wished to visit." She promises quietly.

“And if you ever wanted to come forward, we would be glad to have you.” You promise her just as earnestly.

"Perhaps one day." She hums. "Although I believe that William is a bit...stuck in his ways." She offers with a small smile.

“We have an excellent staff.” A wry smile on your lips twists her way. “He would be treated the way he is accustomed. I promise.” By the very same people who currently care for him anytime they visit your grandparents, but you can’t say so here.

The glass of punch in Lina's hand is quickly drained and she fans herself. "I must excuse myself." She hums. "Unless you also need to use the facilities?"

“I’ll follow you.” You drink the petite glass of lemonade easily and set it on the tray of a waiter passing by before turning to Max. “We’ll be right back, love.”

"Of course, my love." He smiles at you and nods, watching as you and Lina Astor walk off.

Around two corners, it is not the busy, central bathroom that Mrs. Astor leads you toward but rather a smaller and more concealed one that she seemingly has special privilege to use. The attendant inside even offers her a polite smile but departs after you both step in the door.

"Now, you seemingly have a glow about you that wasn't there before." Lina eyes you with a knowing smirk before she moves over towards the mirror to check her hair.

"I have no idea what you mean." Is a complete but polite lie, and you have to stifle a smile as you peak into the mirror beside her. Not that you would know how to fix your hair even if you tried. Renee had put more pins in it than should ever even exist together on earth.

Even though it's thoroughly unladylike and she would never do such a thing in public, Lina snorts and rolls her eyes. "You are aware I have five children, correct?" She hums. "I know when someone has been naughty."

"We're married!" You defend, even though that isn't technically true, but the fact that you've just been called out by Lina Astor for getting it on practically makes you double over laughing. "Surely the Gilded Age isn't so prim that they look down on that sort of thing?"

"Again, I have five children." She teases and winks at you in the mirror. "All we have for entertainment is fucking. Especially in the winter."

This time you can't swallow it, snorting in amusement and shaking your head at her. "It was the first time," you admit a little sheepishly. "So I'm still a little...giggly, I guess?"

"Obviously the boy was good to you," She eyes you carefully and approves of the starry glaze to your eyes. Since she was a child of the sixties, she was a little more liberal in her views of sex and love and had been fortunate enough to teach William what she likes. Her own children were carefully guided but it was freeing to talk about this with another modern woman. "It's a good thing. I would hate to slap his shins with my walking stick."

"There's no need for that." Although the mental image is fairly amusing. "I'm very lucky to have him for my soulmate." Typically you would adjust your makeup. Or the way your shirt is hanging on your body. But since you've been pinned within an inch of your life and aren't wearing any makeup at all, all you can do is stand there and feel the intense heat in your cheeks while you talk to Lina. "He's very— he takes good care of me. In every way."

"Good." She offers you a small smile. "I feel that a good relationship, a good marriage is a partnership." She huffs slightly. "Although in this time, some men might not appreciate that, but a woman's part of her husband's life either adds value or causes stress." She smirks. "It is up to his attitude on what that might be."

"Thankfully, Max's misogyny is all show at this point in his life. He's spent enough time in board rooms and business meetings that he can blend in, but at home it's a partnership." Since you're standing in front of the mirror anyway, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress and make sure you're in one piece before turning away. "I'm glad that your soulmate seems to have been enlightened a little on the way things can be."

Lina chuckles and tilts her head. "History books do not show it, but honestly? Women control much more than the men would have believed. If a wife is unhappy, he will receive cold tea, sour brandy, his cigars 'disappear'." She lifts a brow at you and smirks. "Itching powder in his long johns."

"Happy wife, happy life," you laugh, absolutely loving what you're hearing from her. "And I hope you taught all of this to your girls, too?"

"Absolutely." She tuts and shoots you a grin. "And my daughters-in-law."

"Brilliant." You can't help thinking that every one of these encounters is going to make a hilarious set of stories to tell Allison when you finally get back, and you are just constantly filing away little bits of information as you go. "Absolutely brilliant."

She grins before she nods towards the stall. "If you'll excuse me, I have to wrestle with my petticoats to go to the bathroom before intermission is over."

"I wish you all the luck in the world." It gets a laugh from both of you, and you nod to the door. "Enjoy the second half of the show, Lina. I'm going to go track down our soulmates."

"Before you go." Lina stops at the stall door and looks back at you. "The book is coming along fabulously. It will be ready on time."

"You're very kind to make the copy." You soften a little at the reminder of it, feeling the ache of gratitude in your chest. "I can't imagine it's the sort of thing that is easy to share with just anyone. I promise it will be in good hands."

"I have no doubt." She hums. "My daughters are not terribly interested in magic right now, so it will be a relief to know that the knowledge might be passed down if none change their minds."

"I promise." Instinctively, you make at 'x' over your heart with your finger and are grateful that the gesture can be shared with someone who doesn't think you're incredibly odd or childish for doing it. You say your good night here, figuring that you won't be have the time to say anything appropriate later on when the opera gets out and you're swept away to dinner, and go back out to the lobby to find Max before intermission is over.

“Hey Dolly.” It’s not as if he were staked out by the bathrooms, but Max has been looking out for you. “Refreshed?”

"Refreshed, and a bit teased." You take his arm when he offers it and start back toward your seats. "Mrs. Astor noticed how particularly happy we are tonight."

“Our wedded blissful status was noticed?” Max preens smugly and he waggles his eye brows. “Or are you just walking funny?”

"Even if I was, you wouldn't be able to tell under all these petticoats." The slight smirk on your face is a beaming smile all over again and you lean into his side as you walk. "Yes, our bliss was noted. Which means I'm sure it was by other people too. But I don't give a damn. If anything, they should be very jealous of me." For last night, and also for this morning. Max had decided to wake you up before the rest of the house began their day, and he did it with his head — and then his cock — between your legs.

“We could always fit a quicky in during intermission.” He suggests, cock twitching in his trousers.

"Intermission's almost over." And while he may be quick, you're enjoying taking your time with him.

He pouts, but he knows that the scandal would be more attention that you would want to bring down on yourselves. “Next time.” He promises and offers his arm.

"Next time." There is no doubt in your mind that there will be a next time, and that gives you a sense of anticipation that you can't deny loving. "Of course, I'm not saying that when we get home tonight, that there won't be time then..."

“No?” He arches a brow. “What are we doing when we get home?”

The box attendant is in sight and there are people around you, but you know his hearing is far better than anyone else’s in this opera house tonight so you whisper with a barely contained smirk. “It’s a very good night for a ride. Don’t you think?”

He grunts and his brow goes up even higher. “You mean-“ he waggles his brows and leans in. “I’m your horsey?”

It probably shouldn’t, but the endearing silliness of Max’s choice of phrasing makes you almost snort when you laugh, and you squeeze his arm as the attendant opens the door for you to return to the box just as the bell rings to tell patrons to return to their seats. “Yes, love,” you snicker and shake your head in amusement. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Oh goody.” The playfulness is simple to keep the gorgeous smile on your face, but if he had his way, he would be ordering the carriage be brought around.

“It’s our reward for a very productive evening in society,” you decide, although that’s just the excuse. In reality, now that you’ve had a taste of Max? You’re addicted.

Max chuckles and helps you into your seat. Annie and Emmanuel are positively beaming and Max doesn’t miss the way both of them are a bit mussed. “Ready for the second act?”

“Terribly excited for it.” Annie hums, trying and failing to look as innocent as possible.

His eyes slide over to you and he makes a face. Not believing your mother for a second.

The face you make back very distinctly reminds him that’s my mother! but it’s none of your business. You face forward as the lights come down again and make the executive personal decision not to say a goddamn thing. At least, not right now.

Max smirks and reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours. "Remember..." He coos in your ear. "Technically her daughter is getting railed right under her nose as well." He teases playfully.

You can’t help it — cracking a guilty but extremely pleased grin and letting out a small laugh as the lights come back down. He’s right, of course, even if Annie doesn’t know what you really are to her. “Behave yourself,” you chastise, barely even meaning it, and lean over to kiss him.

"Naaaaaah." He kisses you happily and winks. "What fun would that be?" There's a sense of freedom in being able to tease you, to see you light up when his corniness comes out and it makes Max adore you even more. "Now watch your opera." He chides as the lantern lights are lowered again, as if he wasn't the distraction all along.

******

It quickly becomes apparent, as soon as just a few minutes into dinner, that you have made friends with the loving-if-slightly-snobby branch of the Vanderbilt family. Any and all attempts at conversation with Mrs. Willie K. Vanderbilt — gods forbid anyone call her Alva — is met with one upmanship and a quality of narcissism that you have rarely encountered in real life. There are a lot of truly terrible people who would have loved Alva Vanderbilt, and that thought makes you shudder. Instead, you come away from dinner and dancing in that house very glad to be unlaced and untied from all of your layers and flop down on the bed in your dressing gown to wait for Max to come upstairs. Cornelius had sidelined him about something or other when you back to the house and you can’t wait to have him back in your arms.

“Is there anything else you wish tonight, Mrs. Phillips?” Renee asks, just inside the doorway so she doesn’t intrude on your relaxation. “Tea, perhaps?”

“Nothing tonight, Renee. Thank you.” As warm and gossipy and giggly as you got to be with 21st century Renee, you’re worried about saying too much in front of her in this time. In this place. So you just try to be as polite and appreciative as humanly possible every day. “I think Mr. Phillips and I are going to take a long walk in the park tomorrow, and I know that Annie is planning on doing a little shopping, so you should have some time to yourself tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Phillips.” Even if she doesn’t smile, the nod is polite and her expression has softened. “If there is nothing else, I will wish you a good evening.”

“Good night, Renee.” In lieu of being able to embrace your friend, you offer her a heartfelt smile and climb into bed, armed with a book from the library to read until Max appears.

After a nightcap that Max did not enjoy, and some stimulating business talk that did, he is finally climbing the stairs to the wing where you are waiting for him. Taking his time and hating it because of the human staff in the Vanderbilt household, he is eager to get behind closed doors with you.

Max slips in the door and grins as he shuts it behind him, flicking the lock behind him. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” Your book goes down in your lap immediately and you can’t help but beam a smile at him. “What did Cornelius have to say?”

Max smirks, shrugging out of his jacket and laying it over the back of the chair in the sitting area. "Wanted to bend my ear about a project he was considering."

“Oh?” You know he loves the fact that these powerful men are taking his opinion seriously, and you smile a little brighter. “What project was that?”

"There's a tract of land that is for sale that he was considering." He shrugs slightly. "Wanted to know if I was familiar with North Carolina."

“So more than one Vanderbilt was looking ably building down there? Interesting.” Shifting over in bed makes extra room for him. But it’s not that he’ll need it. The second he gets in beside you, you’ll be cuddled up anyway.

"Maybe." Max leans a hip on the writing desk and shrugs. "Or the land sits unused until that estate is built."

"Maybe." It’s not as if either of you is a Vanderbilt historian. It could be anything. "History will tell. But for now...are you coming to bed?"

"Absolutely." Max smirks and within seconds, he's standing bare in front of the bed, looking down at you.

“Show off.” It’s endearing, though, and you grab his hand to pull him into bed with you.

He snickers and winks as he presses close, ducking his head and pressing his lips to yours.

For the first time, you pull back from Max’s kiss abruptly and frown, feeling anxiety rise in your throat. “Did you—um—is that—” It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe. It’s not the end of the world. Take deep, long breaths. “Did you…have a drink? Before you came up?”

Max's brows furrow for a second, wondering why you are pulling back but then he winces. Cornelius wouldn't take no for an answer, so he had quickly tippled back a disgusting drink. "I- uh, he- he wanted a nightcap." Max rushes to explain. "I refused but he insisted and it would have been- uh, rude to refuse."

“Oh…um…okay.” Despite you saying it, and nodding profusely, there is a spark in your fingertips and anxiety rolling down your spine. “Would you…” About to ask him if he minds brushing his teeth, a bubble of fear opens in your throat and the words get swallowed. “N-Never mind. Never mind.”

Max frowns, not liking the way your suddenly turned stiff and hesitant. “Dol-” he stops talking and he closes his mouth. Realizing that you can smell the alcohol. “Shit.”

“I know you’re not drunk.” But that doesn’t stop the fear from settling deep into your bones where it lived for so long.

"I should have refused." He shakes his head and pulls way, slipping out of the bed and backing away from it. "I'll go brush my teeth and...." He doesn't know what he can do to reassure you, but it feels like he's failed you. Without another word, he disappears.

Oddly, the feeling of panic in your body is less actual fear of him, and more fear of the feeling. You know in your mind and heart that Max would never hurt you. Fuck — you let him drink from you last night. But the gut reaction of terror behind smelling alcohol in his breath makes you afraid that you’ll always be afraid, and that’s the reason that you’re turned over on your pillow shaking subtly and trying not to sob as he goes into the bathroom.

In the bathroom, Max is cursing himself for not thinking about brushing his teeth earlier. He knows you don't like alcohol and why but he hadn't even thought of it. Alcohol has zero effect on him and honestly it had tasted horrible. "So fucking stupid." He hisses at himself.

“I’m sorry.” As soon as he walks back into the room you’re apologizing, and it seems like you’ve reverted back to simply apologizing for existing, but the truth is more complicated. The sparks from your fingers had started arcing while he was in the bathroom, and now they’ve created a sort of woven magic protective blanket around you that you did not conjure on purpose nor do you know how to get rid of. “I don’t know what’s happening.” The fear is for this now, as fear starts to be the most dominant emotion in your mind all over again.

Max frowns and his eyes widen as he starts to take a step towards you it's like an invisible barrier has been set up between you. "You don't need to be sorry." He shake his head, lifting a hand to try to push against the barrier. "It's my fault sweetheart. Mine. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

“I didn’t do this,” you rush to promise him, as bound on your side of the barrier as he is on his. As confused and shocked by its appearance as he surely is. “I don’t know how to do this.”

"It's okay, we- we'll figure this out." He promises, holding up his hands and backing away from the barrier. "Are you- do you think it's because of me?"

“I think it’s—it’s like the woods—” Thinking back to the fear you’d felt in the woods, it was like your magic had been called up out of necessity. Things had been unlocking in your mind for weeks now but you didn’t fully understand any of it. How could you, when it had been kept away from you for so long? “Like…my magic is trying to protect me?”

"From me..." Max whispers, looking devastated at that prospect. "I- I'm going to go get Annie." He decides and turns around to throw a dressing gown and pants on to rush from the room so he doesn't shock your mother.

******

Knocking on a door is a simple thing. Simple enough, anyway. But Annie Brown — sitting quietly in bed with a book and a cup of tea — is immediately convinced that someone has brought a battering ram to the second floor of the Vanderbilt’s home. She pushes everything aside and wraps herself in her robe before pulling the door open in concern. “Max?” Her eyes are wide, having expected that racket to be nothing less than the news that the house was on fire. “What is it? You look…rather upset. Is everything alright?”

"It- it's Dolly." He shakes his head and rushes to explain. "Her magic. It's- it- there's a barrier." He doesn't know what the hell she can do, but hopefully she can help you break the spell. "Because of me."

“Can’t she dispel it?” Even as she asks the question, Annie is already shifting back into her room to put in her slippers and follow Max out into the hallway. “What do you mean it’s because of you? What happened?”

"I- Dolly doesn't like drinking." He huffs, embarrassed by this. "Her- it's not a pleasant memory for her and Mr. Vanderbilt wanted a nightcap." He explains. "She- when she smelled the drink on me, she was upset." The two of them hurry towards the rooms he was sharing with you. "When I came out of the bathroom there was a barrier between us. She said she didn't do it."

"She doesn't have much experience with her magic." Annie knows that. You haven't talked about magic very much together, but you've said just enough to her for her to know that. "I will do anything that I can." She rushes upstairs with Max and follows him to your door, not knowing which one to find you behind.

"Dolly....I- I brought Annie." Max pushes the door opened and lets your mother, another witch, go inside ahead of him. Hoping that it would be for naught and you would be sitting there embarrassed and with no barrier around you. Obviously not the case since you still have a shimmery essence around you. "Oh fuck, it's still there." He hisses.

“Mo—Annie!” With your blood pulsing in your ears and panic in your throat, you barely manage to stop yourself from calling her Mom, but the tears running down your face don’t care what you call her so long as she helps. “What’s happening?” You beg, as though she could know the answer as soon as she’s walked in the door. “It’s a protection spell.” Clearly you had already figured that out, but Annie feels the need to assure you since you seem terrified. “And Max says you didn’t do this on purpose?” “No.” You shake your head adamantly and try to remember to breathe. “Ever since I arrived in—in—in Newport…my magic has been haywire.”

Biting his lip in worry, Max wishes he could go back in time and fix his mistake. He closes his eyes and sighs, wondering if you have now subconsciously linked him with your ex, the same danger. "I- I'll - I should go."

“No!” The last thing you want is for him to leave. He hasn’t hurt you and he wouldn’t hurt you, and you’re going to prove that to yourself — to your magic — somehow. “Stay, love. Please stay?”

He swallows, even though he doesn't really have to and looks around. "I - I don't know if I should." He admits quietly. "This happened because of me."

“If this happened because of you, my dear friend, then it might also undo because of you.” With the door carefully closed and locked behind her, Annie moves to the side of the bed to be as close to you as she can be while the magical barrier has you firmly protected. “Will one of you please explain to me what happened? In detail?”

Max looks over at you and senses the hesitation in your eyes. The fear of blurting out too much. "Dolly's ex used to abuse her when he drank." He admits quietly. "She doesn't like alcohol. He- he attacked her once and she managed to save herself with her magic." He rubs his hands on his pants. "When she smelled the drink on me...I guess she panicked and thought that I was like him. Or maybe her magic took over to protect her from me."

"Ex?" Annie questions the term, wanting to make sure that she understands completely. "A lover. Before—before I found Max." Gods if she only knew how much more uncomfortable this conversation is for you. You just can't afford to dwell on that right now, as you just remind yourself to breathe through the fear. "I don't think Max would ever hurt me, it's like...like my magic just jumped out of me on instinct." "Oh my..." Annie crosses her arms, looking between you and Max with concern and care written across her features. "It seems...that is, it sounds...as though you have been spellbound, my dear."

“What does that mean?” Max frowns, relieved that Annie knows what is happening but not sure it’s a good thing.

"It means that at some point in your wife's life," Annie purses her lips together, squeezing her arms around her own waist in concern. "Another witch did not trust her to wield her magic carefully. A powerful witch." Whimpering in discomfort under your magical blanket, you could scream for the irony of the thing. "My parents." The irony is terrible, but more than that, you're distinctly afraid that this might give you away. After all, some spells can only be undone by those who have cast them.

“And what do we do? What happened? How do I help my wife?” He demands.

"There are three choices," Annie tells you both, chewing on her bottom lip as she inspects the nearly invisible edges of your barrier with interest. "The simplest would be to have the witch who cast the spell unravel it. Without that option, either Dolly must break through the spell with her own force, or a witch more powerful than the original caster must break it for us."

Max knows that all of those things are impossible. He cannot give up your true relationship to your mother, and he knows you don’t trust yourself enough to break it yourself. You’re still so unused to magic. And your grandmother had already admitted through her letters that your mother was a more powerful witch than her. There was possibly another option. “What if the threat was no longer around?” He asks Annie quietly.

She sighs, understanding, but shakes her head. "You left the room and the barrier remained. I do not think this is about you as much as you fear it is."

“That’s- it’s not what I meant.” His eyes are haunted, heavy with emoting and he refuses to look over at you. “I left but I was still here.” He rationalizes. “Would she- would it work if I- I- um, wasn’t?”

"Don't you dare." There is gravel in your voice. A growl that is as unfamiliar to you as it is to them, but at least you know where it comes from. From the very bottom of your soul, where you know you wouldn't survive this world without him. You aren't as strong as your mother. Not by a longshot. Life without your soulmate is impossible now that you've found him. "You're staying right here and we'll find another way." It's like a magical weighted blanket, holding you to the bed, and all you can manage to do is shake your head at him. "Promise me. Promise me you won't do that."

Max frowns and he huffs seriously. “What if it’s the only way?” He demands quietly. “I- it’s worth it to me.” He admits. “For you.”

"It's not the only way." You would rather give up every ounce of truth to your mother than lose him. Break your promise to your grandfather and risk unknown complications. You would rather gamble with the world than lose Max. "A—Annie can dispel it." "I can?" She wheels around, looking at you as though you have just nominated her for queendom — disbelief and a touch of pride in her voice. As though she were touched that you would think so well of her. "Yes." A shaky breath comes with your nod, because you aren't technically lying but it feels that way. "The daughter of a powerful witch and a vampire? You must be able to."

“I don’t know if I am able to.” She worries, frowning as she looks between an equally devastated husband and wife. “But I will try.” She turns her head and pins Max with a stare. “Do not do anything foolish.” She cautions. “If you upset Dolly, it could provoke her magic even more.”

“Please help.” There is something about asking your own mother for help when you’re scared that makes your chest tighten, but stead of more fear it’s nearly nostalgia. Like being a little girl all over again. Except as a little girl you had had no idea that your own parents had spellbound you.

Annie frowns and nods, “of course I will help you.” She rushes to assure you “However I can.”

“Tell us what to do.” It’s entirely possible she doesn’t know, but you has to believe that she has some kind of idea. Otherwise the ace in your sleeve is calling Lina Astor to the house in the middle of the night.

“Think about touching Max.” Annie bites her lip and pushes the sleeves of her nightgown back after removing her robe. Moving towards the barrier. “Visualize it in your head.”

That is the easiest thought to have in the world, and you reach out to him under the shimmering barrier instinctively. “Um…right…” She said visualize, and you obediently close your ideas and imagine being in his arms instead.

Annie swallows harshly and turns to Max. “Give me a drop of your blood.” She demands, holding out her palm flat.

You watch with worried eyes as Max complies immediately, letting his fangs out to puncture the skin on his fingertip so a single, full bead of dark red blood wells up above his skin.

Annie thinks back to every lesson her mother has taught her, aware that this is probably the most important magic that she has ever done. “Thank you Max.” She whispers, flashing him a reassuring smile as she turns back to the barrier. Closing her eyes, she starts the incantation, hoping that she is strong enough to undo the spell with Max’s blood as an aid.

The barrier starts to vibrate around you as Annie murmurs her incantation low and steady. You can't even hear the words from a few feet away, but you can feel the affect that they're having. The barrier bends around you, the magic that was shimmering now starting to blink abruptly and then flash like bursting lightbulbs.

There's nothing more that Max wishes for on this earth than for this to work. He bites his lip, not bothering to heal his wound on his hand. Watching with baited breath, even though he doesn't breathe as the barrier continues to twist around you.

Words like reverse and shine and will and power spill from your mother's lips as the temperature in the room drops. An imperceptible chill floods the space. Not a breeze or a draft, but a chill that settles into bones and sets hooks into hearts. The cold takes hold even in Max, who has been technically icy to the touch for years. The colder you get the more you concentrate on that feeling of touching Max's cool skin with your own warm hands. The way his kisses warm against your lips. The way it made moving under him last night feel even more powerful, friction and heat and the rush of pleasure in both of your bodies making him feel warm for the first time since he was turned.

"Dolly." He murmurs quietly, stepping forward and wishing that he can just pull you out. "Please." he closes his eyes. " I need you." He's helpless and he hates that. Strong, fast, and resilient, but there is nothing he can right now but watch your mother try to undo the spell that binds you. That has you wrapped up and pulling away from him.

"Talk to her, Max." Annie gets a rush of energy back at her when he does, as though your magic responds to his voice instinctively. "About anything. Anything happy."

"I want to waltz with you again." Max tells you honestly. "I want to waltz with you every day. I missed today. I should have swept you up into my arms when you were folded into that beautiful dress you were wearing tonight."

“Tonight wasn’t your fault.” There had been so many other guests at dinner that your dances had been taken up by the other gentlemen, and Alice had sung Max’s praises as a dancer so that the ladies had very nearly stood in line for him. It was a pleasure to watch him be so sought after. To see the way his eyes found you on the dance floor regardless of his partner and know that you would be the one sharing a bed with him tonight. He thrives on feeling wanted and valued, and you never would have taken that from him.

“Still….” Max shrugs. “I only want to dance with you, Queenie.”

“I love you, too.” You shift forward without realizing it, instinctively wanting to be closer to him, and gasp softly when you realize the barrier has moved the tiniest bit. “Oh gods…I think it’s actually working!”

He can only hope. Max steps a fraction of an inch closer to you and continues on. "I want to travel with you. See the world. Experience everything with you." He takes comfort in the fact that Annie is aware of vampires, is the daughter of one, so he doesn't have to censor himself. "Watch the world change with you."

“When you see the barrier start to come apart,” Annie pants with effort but concentrates, pausing her incantation to give you instruction. “Try to pull at it. Like you’re picking apart embroidery. Max, keep talking to her.”

“Our lives are going to be perfect.” Max tells you desperately. “If we can have children, I’ll give you as many as you want. Gorgeous little girls, who look like you and handsome little boys who have your sweetness.”

As Annie chants and Max makes endless promises, the barrier binding you to the bed loosens slightly in halting amounts. It waves like oceans waves and turns a vibrant, flashing purple. It squeezes you tight, as if trying to retain control, but you keep your eyes closed and concentrate on imagining all of the things that Max is promising. Your life together. Your happiness. If you can let go of everything else, maybe you can grab at the happiness. “Good!” Annie cries, seeing you move under the waves of magic. “Open your eyes, Dolly. You have to take it apart yourself.” The magic has bent to your mother’s will — or what you have to assume was her will — and looks now like pearlescent threads of satin ribbon fraying in every direction across your body. It is not the neat, directed weaving you expected but knotted and gnarled tangles of wispy white, and you immediately grab at the nearest knot to find it astonishingly solid in your hands as you furiously work it open to release the threads.

Max steps forward. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can. Please do it.” He begs quietly.

The only other time in your life that you have broken through the barrier of your magic was for Max. To protect him. And now you understand why your attempt at a protection barrier didn’t work at all — because you’ve been surrounded by one for most of your life. Fear is what made you leap into action last time. Fear that something would happen to take Max away from you. Even if you knew in the most logical parts of your mind that a bullet could not kill him — you feared it. And fearing that one drink could turn Max into the same monster Derek was, while illogical, is the definition of a knee jerk reaction. Every single thread you grasp is a reminder to yourself that it won’t happen. That alcohol has no effect on Max. That the dangers of the pst will never repeat themselves. Every knot you grasp, tugging at the strands of your gnarled fears, is a step toward being stronger. For Max.

“Come to me baby.” He begs, holding out his arms to you as you attempt to break through the barrier. “I choose you, I’ll always choose you over everything.”

“I—I’ll always choose you, too.” Your fingers dig into the knot of magical threads at the heart of the barrier, feeling the way the power — your power, untouched and unwielded — bends and droops at your words. The threads don’t merely break, they seep into your skin like sun rays and light you from the inside. Annie and Max watch in awe as every shred of magic untangles itself after that large knot, absorbing into your mind and body so thoroughly that you begin to glow.

“Beautiful.” Max whispers, completely enthralled by how powerful you are. A wind that doesn’t come from anywhere ruffles your nightgown and blows around you. A byproduct of the magic being harnessed and absorbed by you.

“Gods above…” Annie presses one hand over her heart, watching in awe as you take the last threads of your binding apart. You look like an angel, and she cannot tell why but her heart aches over the image of it. “Max!” Throwing yourself forward is easy now, as though you could simply fly wherever you needed to go without any effort, and you launch yourself toward your soulmate with one hand outstretched to bring your mother close as well.

Max cradles you, wrapping up in the security of his arms with palpable relief. He had honestly worried that it wouldn't work, that he would be separated from you. Now the warmth of your body is surrounding him and all he can feel is like you've come home.

Characterizing it as crying would be an understatement. What you are doing is weeping into Max’s shoulder as you cling to both him and your young mother in sheer relief. It feels, for the first time since you were a child, like you are whole again, with a in one of magic running in your veins alongside your blood. There is no other way to explain it — you feel whole again. For her part, Annie hugs you tightly, tears of effort and - yes - more relief in her own eyes. She cannot explain why she feels so close to you, but now it feels even more important that the two of you had met. “We should discuss this with my mother when we return home,” she murmurs, knowing that her mother is a far more power witch than she is at this time. “I wish I knew other witches nearby to consult. But you must learn to control your powers. They will act out, now that they are free.”

Max frowns, concerned. “She will.” He promises Annie. “She will, even if I have to learn magic myself.”

“Lina.” You remind him, not wanting Max to think that he has to take the entire world into his shoulders. “We should go and see Lina tomorrow. She might be able to help.”

Annie frowns slightly and pulls back. "Lina Astor?" She asks curiously. "Oh- I had completely forgotten." She admits, huffing slightly. "She is a very accomplished witch. And when we go home, mother will be a boon to you."

“Thank you.” Putting aside completely the fact that it was most likely Annie herself who spellbound you as a child, you high her tightly in thanks now. Without her here, who knows if you ever would have figured out what had happened or been able to break the enchantment at all. It might have been a lost cause without her incantation.

“You are most welcomed.” She hum, pulling back and biting her lip. “For now…perhaps you should have your soulmate hypnotize you.” She suggest. “To relax you.”

“I’ve…we’ve never…” you glance at Max curiously. “Does that work?”

Max winces, but nods. “The powers I have…I could make you do anything.”

“Then maybe a relaxing night’s sleep is the thing after all.” Hugging Annie tightly once more, you sit back and realize how truly exhausted you feel in the moment and huff a laugh at yourself. “Though I may not need you to do anything more than tuck me in, love.”

"If she's not needing it, I would rather not hypnotize her." Max admits. "It takes away her free will and I don't want to do that."

“Your love is very clear.” Annie nods in understanding, though her own mind is racing and she very much doubts her sleep with be restful. But her exhaustion is different from yours.

"Thank you for your help." Max takes her hands and kisses the back of them profusely. "Thank you." He repeats. "I'll escort you back to your room as soon as I get Dolly settled." He promises.

“I know my way.” She assures him, not wanting you to have to be left alone even for a few minutes. Not after what you’ve just undergone. “I’m glad you’re well, Dolly. That we could figure out what was wrong.”

Max sends her a grateful look and closes the door behind her after she slips out. He hadn't want to leave you, couldn't stand the thought, and now he doesn't have to. "Dolly..." He murmurs quietly, turning back and looking at you with nothing but pure relief.

“I’m sorry.” The words are out of your mouth immediately, and you practically throw yourself at him again to hug the proverbial breath out of him. “I know you wouldn’t have hurt me. And I know I’ve said that you could have a drink if you wanted. It just took me off guard and I panicked.”

"No." He shakes his head and holds you tight. "You have nothing to be sorry for." His hand moves up and down your back. "Not one goddamn thing. This is on me." He tells you. "My mistake that you nearly paid for."

“It’s done now.” That’s the important part, after all. That it’s over and that you’re both safe, and you can have your arms around him now. “Are…are you okay? I know I scared you, but…I scared me, too.”

"I think my heart stopped." Max jokes dryly.

“Har Har.” You intone, rolling your eyes at him to continue diffusing the tension left in the room. “Thank the gods Mom was here.”

"Yeah...thank God." He murmurs quietly, deciding to let the fact that your mother was the one who most likely put the spell on you lie. "Let's get you to bed, Queenie, you look like you are about to pass out."

“I’m exhausted.” In fact you’re nodding without evening meaning to, and halfway to sitting in the mattress already.

"You should be." Max whispers as he quickly lays you down and climbs into the bed beside you and pulls you close. "You did something amazing. Something I would never believe if I didn't see it for myself."

“I don’t even believe it.” You mumble, letting Max pull you in close and wrap you up tight in the safety of his arms. “I thought spellbinding was a myth. A magical boogeyman than witches threaten their kids with. I didn’t know it was real.”

"Surprise." He huffs sarcastically, shaking his head and slowly starting to rub your back.

"Will you rest tonight?" The last thing you want is for him to sit up worrying, but you know you're on the verge of crashing and won't be able to stop him one way or another. What matters to you more than anything is that he tries to rest.

"I'll try, sweetheart." He promises, unable to guarantee anything right now. Nothing expect he needs to hold you. "You just sleep." He whispers. "I'll be right here, watching over you and making sure nothing happens to you."

"I love you." And having that love for one of the things that goes bump in the night means you sleep a little more deeply in his arms. In the waking hours, you'll have to seek out more help in harnessing your magic. Tonight? Max's arms are all you need.

______

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[greetingfromthedead]

Vash's Moving Castle (Vash x Reader)

Plot: A strange building made up of old spaceship parts, moving around on two legs across the wasteland of the desert, it hisses and creaks and fills the heart of many with fear... That castle is home to the magnificent tech wizard Vash, infamous for both his gunmanship and for being a womanizer—or so the rumor goes in your city. You're the eldest child of a gunsmith and as such don't expect much from your future. However, your simple life takes a turn for the exciting when you're ensnared in a disturbing situation, and the mysterious tech wizard appears to rescue you.

Pairing: Vash x mostly GN Reader, occasional she/her pronouns, the use of "girl" etc from quotes directly from the movie. I tried making it completely GN, but my flu ridden brain short circuited on some very specific parts so I gave up.

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: Howl's Moving Castle style AU, no use of "y/n", Vash is a tech wizard, I have both brainrot and the flu, idk what else to put here, Howl is cute, Vash is cute, I tried my best.

Word count: 3.7k

Author's Note: Got the idea yesterday, yall seemed interested and the flu ridden brainrot I had to endure all day today was simply debilitating so I wrote a little something. I hope you like it, not sure if I will continue or not even though I have quite a few HC-s for this little AU situation.

The 6th city, May, is decorated more than usual. After all, May Day has arrived. Even though it is still early in the afternoon, the streets are bustling with people. The aroma of baked goods reaches your nose through your open window, and it makes you think about your sister, Meryl, who is working at the very popular doughnut shop on the other side of the city. She must be very busy today with the rush of customers coming in for their celebratory pastries. For you, it's a free day. Today, your little weapon's repair shop, which you inherited from your father, is closed. You decide to take advantage of the downtime and visit your sister, whom you haven't seen in a long time.

You put aside the little handgun you have been tinkering with and stand to close the window. Your little shop is situated quite high, and the workshop has the perfect view to look out over the roofs of all the other houses. Your eyes glance over the familiar sight—the scrappy buildingd made out of old spaceship parts and in the distance, you see the wide open desert. But today it is slightly different. You heard the commotion this morning when the people first noticed the addition to the landscape. With fearful and hushed voices, they talked about the monstrocity looming on the horizon and the kind of calamity it might bring.

"It is Vash's Moving Castle!" The people on the streets whispered and pointed. "Do you think the horrible Typhoon has come to lay waste to our city?"

You knew very well the rumors about the gunslinger and tech wizard named Vash the Stampede. He is said to be a ruthless demon specializing in murder and wide-scale destruction. Apparently, he kills without mercy—men, women, and children alike. He has wiped whole towns from the face of the planet, and his infamous castle is created with the sole purpose of being a weapon of mass destruction.

As you pull the window closed, you look at the mass of metal outside of town. Calling it a castle is a gross overstatement. You can't imagine how such a heap of scrap gets to be called anything so magnificent. It consists of layers upon layers of old spaceship parts, jutting out at odd angles and covered in rust and wires, its massive turrets and spires reaching towards the sky. It has two large legs underneath it, much like a tomas, that the building uses to move across the desert. This is not the first time Vash's fortress has passed by May City, and you think the excitement is unwarranted. Sure, the gunslinger has a reputation, but nothing catastrophic has happened so far. You can't help but wonder why everyone gets so worked up every time the castle passes by; he would surely go to the bank or somewhere else where he can get easy money. You are just a small shop owner; as long as you don't get in his way, it seems unlikely he would take any interest in you. He might be a womanizer, but he only has eyes for pretty girls.

You get quickly ready and close the shop. The streets are decorated with colorful ribbons, and you hear cheers coming from all over town as the annual parade begins. You have chosen a truly awful moment to try and make your way across the city, but you are determined to see Meryl. As you push through the crowded streets, you catch glimpses of the parade. People are showing off their inventions and talents. You see giant hydraulic pants marching down the street. Exo-suits and new kinds of weaponry. On other streets, you see entertainers dancing and singing in colorful costumes. Some are juggling fire, and others are performing daring acrobatics. This world truly is a marvel.

You make it to the gondolas and squeeze into one with some other people. It takes you over the winding roads, and you see the flags and market stalls lining the streets. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts up to you as you take in the sights and sounds of the bustling marketplace. May is filled with all kinds of people; for days, the sandsteamers have brought in travelers from all over, and it shows. The whole city is alive with excitement and energy.

You get off your ride on the slightly calmer side of the town, and you know the familiar route you need to take to get to the doughnut shop. The quiet side streets are nearly empty; just a few people mingle on the sidewalks. You try to avoid them as much as possible and turn to an even smaller ally as a group of drunkards head your way. You hold your breath and hope they don't notice you, looking nervously over your shoulder as you hurry along.

"Hey, it looks like a little mouse lost its way," you suddenly hear, and as you look back ahead, you see you nearly ran into a man who has just come around the corner. He is grinning mischievously, blocking your path. He is a lot taller than you, and you can see his rifle slung across his back. Surely he is a bounty hunter; you see them a lot, and with all the people flowing into town, you would think they have their hands full.

"Oh, no. I'm not lost," you say, shaking your head and recoiling a bit, leaning away from the man.

"This little mouse looks thirsty. We should take her for a cup of tea." The man continues like he didn't hear you at all. You try sidestepping him, but as you do, a second man appears from behind him. He is just as large with a big mustache, and he looks at you curiously as he leans closer, blocking your way further.

"No thanks. My sister's expecting me." You avoid looking directly at them, instead trying to think of a way to escape. They make you very uncomfortable.

"She's pretty cute for a mouse." You try to keep your cool and find a way to politely excuse yourself from the situation, but the mustashed man is leaning even closer, his face level with yours.

"How old are you anyway? You live around here?" The first guy leans toward you too. Neither of them sounds menacing, but they fill you with dread.

"Leave me alone!" you say with as much bravery as you can muster, taking a step backwards.

"You see? Your mustache scares all the girls," the first man nudges his comrade.

"So? I think she's even cuter when she's scared." the other replies, not taking his eyes off you.

"There you are, sweetheart." A different, smooth male voice speaks up behind you, capturing the gaze of the bountyhunters before you. "Sorry, I'm late. I was looking everywhere for you."

He speaks close to your left ear, and a hand gently rests on your right shoulder. It's not a voice you recognize, and his touch makes you stiffen up. Your body had been ready to run for your life, but now you find yourself sandwitched between two unknowns. Yet something about the man behind you is comforting, or maybe it's just that you see the upset glint in the eyes of the men before you.

"Hey! Hey! We're busy here!" The man you had run into first speaks and looks like he is puffing himself up to look more menacing. His companion, too, straightens his back, ready for a violent confrontation.

"Are you really? It looked to me like the two of you were just leaving." The calm voice beside you speaks with a hint of amusement. You feel him shift slightly, but you don't turn your eyes away from the bounty hunters in front of you. You see their gazes move over the man, their eyes widening at something where his left arm would be, and you see them freeze up and then nudge each other. They look very uncomfortable.

"This is not worth it," one of them whispers nervously to the other.

"Yeah, we better get going," the other answers with a whisper, and they start to shuffle away from you, back into the alley they had come from. As they get further away, their step hastens until they take off running. You watch them disappear into the darkness, wondering what caused them to have such a reaction.

"Don't hold it against them," the soft voice next to you says, and you finally turn to look at him. He is a tall young man with a soft smile on his lips. You see his pretty blue eyes behind orange tinted round glasses, and his blonde hair is about shoulder length. A tight golden hoop hangs from his left ear. He is truly very handsome, and his expression is warm and inviting. He wears a pillowy white blouse that flows down to his slender waist. A pendant hangs from his neck, and a red coat covers his shoulders, but his arms are not in the sleeves.

"They aren't actually all that bad," he says, continuing his thought from before, and his eyes capture your gaze again. "Where to? I'll be your escort this evening."

"Oh, I'm, um, just going to the doughnut shop." You pull back a little from his closeness, but feel his hand firmly on your shoulder.

"Don't get alarmed, but I'm being followed," he says, leaning closer to you. His hand moves from your shoulder and instead hooks around your arm. "Act normal."

You avert your eyes, but he ignores your awkwardness completely and starts walking along the street with your arm intertwined with his, like it's totally normal. Your body is still stiff, a slight fear lingering in the back of your mind, yet this is exciliating in a way you never expected. You find yourself surprisingly comfortable in his presence, despite the fact that he is a total stranger. His pace is somewhat brisk, but you can easily keep up. The unknown of who could be following him is a bit frightening, and you find yourself pressing into his upper arm for reassurance.

As you walk past some dark and narrow alleys, you start to suddenly hear commotion.

"There he is! Go! Hurry!" You hear shouting, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Yet the man beside you keeps the same pace and, for the moment, seems unbothered.

"Sorry. It looks like you're involved," he says calmly as you try to glance into the alleys where the commotion stems from. You see a mob of gunslingers squeeze themselves hurriedly into the narrow gap between the buildings and start to rush towards you. It is frightening to you, and you grab a tighter hold of the man's arm. Your right hand grasps his shirt, your heart pounds in fear as your body stiffens. More voices start to echo from up ahead, and a few people stumble onto your street.

"This way!" he whispers insistently, and the man pulls you into a side alley, his pace getting faster as he leads you away from the gathering crowd. You struggle to keep up with him so you have to start running, your mind racing with questions, but you hold onto him tightly, and you feel certain that everything will be alright. He keeps going faster and faster, and you can see the main street ahead, but suddenly your view gets blocked by more armed men appearing to block our path. You feel a surge of panic rising in your chest, and the reassuring hand sliters out from your weakened cluth as you have trouble holding on while you run.

"Come on!" The mystery man's voice is soft and insistent, with a hint of amusement as you feel his arm wrap around your waist, both of you running straight towards the angry looking mob. You see that some of them have drawn their guns and have them pointed straight at you, but the thundering footsteps behind you tell you that they are unlikely to shoot here in this narrow alley to avoid hitting anybody else. Your confidence in getting out of here wavers, but suddenly you are tightly pulled against the man's side, and his other hand takes yours. It feels cold and hard; you catch a glimpse of blue, but you are too distracted by the fact that your feet are no longer on the cobbled street. You rush through the air, seemingly kept up by the mysterious blonde.

Instinctively, you curl up, looking around for an explanation. The coat that covered his shoulders before hangs over his left arm, and from his back protrubes a pair of giant feathery wings. You've never seen anything like this. Is this a new invention? Has he come here to present his masterpiece to the masses during the parade? Who is this man? He has to be a brilliant inventor. Your mind is captivated by him; you want to understand his mysterious contraption, and your gaze moves along him, down his left arm, and you see it's not a real arm at all; it is made out of strange blue metal, the hand holding yours is made out of the same material. The forearm is mostly covered by his coat, but you're sure that everything from at least his elbow down is a prosthesis; the rest is hidden by the flowy sleeve. You feel his fingers move so organically that you're sure this must be lost technology. What a strange man! You've never seen anything like this.

"Now, straighten your legs and hold on tight," you hear the man say gently, and you follow his command. You relax your legs and grab tightly onto him. His strong arm around you presses you into his side, and you wrap your legs with one of his to make sure you cannot slip away from his grasp and plummet to your death.

You are still mesmerized by his wings, how large they are as they stretch out behind him, allowing him to fly effortlessly through the air. You feel a rush of adrenaline as you soar higher. The streets beneath you look so small; people are just specs moving around. You let out a gasp of amazement, and it makes the strange man chuckle. He flies you both over some rooftops, and you see the familiar doughnut shop come into view.

"You're a natural." You hear him praise you, but to you, it makes little sense; all you do is hold onto him for dear life. But you can't deny the exhilarating rush of flying through the sky. You have never felt so free. The wind whips through your hair as you soar above the city. You feel like you could touch the clouds. You relax a little bit in his grasp, hearing his feathers rustle in the wind as they allow you to glide through the air. To your surprise, very few people pay any attention to you. Most of them are too focused on the parade passing by. The ones who did notice you stared in awe, not believing their eyes or perhaps mistaking you for a worm.

You get closer and closer to the familiar shop, and you realize he is aiming for the second floor balcony. He lands gracefully on the bannister and gently guides you onto the floor, like you weigh nothing at all. His hand holds onto yours for a little longer as he bows closer.

"I'll make sure to draw them off, but wait a bit before you head back outside." His voice is low and gentle, with a soft smile dancing on his lips and in the glimmer of his eyes.

"Okay," you say, still stunned by what had just happened. Your fingers gently grip his as he straightens up and pulls his hand from you. His wings fold down behind his back and disappear before he takes his coat and drapes it over his shoulders.

"That's my girl," he says with a low and husky voice, a hint of pride in it. He smiles brightly and takes a step back, making you gasp as he falls into nothingness. You rush to peek over the railing, only to find that he has disappeared into the crowd with no hint of anyone noticing him at all, so he must be alright. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that he is safe.

You linger on the balcony for a little while longer. It all seems too incredible to be true—almost magical. Never would you have thought something like this could happen to you; you are so used to your dull life of being the eldest, but then again, that's what it means to be a responsible and reliable older sibling. Or perhaps you have caught some nasty disease and are just imagining all this during a fever dream. Either way, you enjoyed this. The realization prods you in the side as you remember that you didn't even ask the gentleman's name. Perhaps you will get lucky and see him introducing his invention at a parade in the future. Or perhaps this encounter will just remain a peculiar memory in the back of your mind.

You turn to enter the hallway and see a wide-eyed young woman staring back at you. She is frozen, like she has seen a ghost, and she looks at you with a hint of mistrust.

"Hello," you say, trying to strike up a conversation. "I'm here to see Meryl; she's my little sister. I'm sorry to have just barged in to the staff's quarters. Could you tell her I'm here? I'm in no rush; I'll wait till she has time."

She still stares at you and seems too frozen to say anything, only giving you a stiff nod and heading downstairs, where you hear a lot of commotion. You turn back to look out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man again, but he's nowhere to be seen. The sweet smell of doughnuts and jam fills your nose as you patiently wait for your sister.

You fall deep into thought, only to be awoken by some loud running footsteps heading your way and Meryl's voice calling out your name. She rushes to you and grabs your hands, so you turn to face her.

"Meryl!" you say with slight apprehension as you see the surprise in her face.

"What's going on? Someone just told me you flew down into our balcony!" She says it with disbelief. It takes you a moment to process her words before responding.

"So that did happen. That wasn't a dream," you say with a mix of confusion and sadness. You hear a different voice speak to Meryl as you turn your gaze out the window again, not registering what they talk about. You relive everything that has happened to you within the last half hour in your head, trying to commit every detail to memory. Meryl looks at you with concern as you look away so apathetically and then drags you with her to the backrooms of the kitchen to sit down with you on some boxes in the storage room. She presses you until you open up and tell her everything about your track here and the strange man who saved you.

"Wow! He must have been an inventor then!" Meryl exclaims as you finish your story with how he disappeared into the crowd.

"But he was so kind to me. He rescued me, Meryl."

"Of course he did! He was trying to seduce you! You are so lucky! If that inventor was Vash, he would have done much worse right then and there! He is an awful womanizer!"

"No, he wouldn't. Vash only does that to beautiful girls."

"Ah, don't give me that! You need to be more careful! It's dangerous out there! Even the infamous Millions Knives is back on the prowl." She looks at the side of your face and leans closer. "Are you listening?"

But you are so consumed by your thoughts, you barely realize what she is saying. Your gaze had been fixed by a giant tub of custard.

"Huh?" You finally turn to face your sister again.

"Argh!" Meryl lets out a disgruntled sigh. You see it from her face that she's about to start lecturing you, but a young man informing her about a new batch of dougnuts being done saves you from it.

"Okay! I'll be right there!" She turns a touch more cheerfully toward the cook.

"Alright! I better get going then. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay." You stand up, ready to leave, to both avoid getting Meryl into trouble and getting an earful from her about the horrible danger that is lurking outside the city walls.

Meryl sees through you immediately but chooses not to lecture you this time on that topic. She leads you to the backdoor, where a man is carrying bags of flour.

"Now," Meryl comes close to you again. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in that gunshop?"

"The shop was just so important to father, and I'm the eldest! I don't mind." You try to keep your tone cheerful as you look into her concerned face. But deep down, you know her words stir something up.

"I'm not asking what father would have wanted. I want to know what you want," she continues insistently.

"Well," you start to answer, not sure about what to say, but the man who carried in the flour comes back to say goodbye to Meryl, and your sister turns to him to wave goodbye. You take the opportunity to start to walk away and say, "I better get going."

"It's your life! Do something for yourself for once, will you?" she says, hoping that you will finally prioritize your own happiness.

"Bye, Meryl!" you say over your shoulder with a slight smile as you head home. Your head is still filled with a million thoughts, and Meryl only added to them. Yet you are glad she seems happy with her new life after she left your family's gunshop. You can't help but wonder if you'll ever find the same peace and contentment. But it matters little; you're the eldest, and you have a duty.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun manga #trigun 98 #trigun maximum #fanfiction #fanfic #tristamp #plant boi #writing #humanoid typhoon #vash the stampede #x reader #vash x reader #cashxreader #studio ghibli #howl's moving castle

[insertcoolusernamehereee]

The inheriting games (What do the batfamily inherit)

Duke:-

-*Now, who gets Wayne Enterprises? Well the most common (and boring) answer is Tim, which? I understand, it even said in a comic book that his name is on the paper, but if Tim wants to run a company, he can take Drake enterprises!

-*And Duke is so smart! He was solving Riddlers riddles in 7th GRADE! And, he just feels like the type of guy to be able to run a business nicely! He’d be able to separate enough funds for the Justice League easily!

-*At first, the idea of running a company (With Luscious Fox obviously) is daunting, but after a few months, Duke realises how much he loves it. The routine, the ability to help people even without the mask on? It was exhilarating.

Jason:-

-*Jason inherits the Mansion.

-*I hear you! Why in the world would JASON inherit the mansion? Well, Jason was raised in the streets. He knows best what it’s like not to have a proper place to sleep. I feel like, Jason would make the mansion a place for wandering heroes/people to stop by.

-*Like all his friends would come over sometimes, or any hero who needs a break/place to rest. Or it’s just a place for family to hang out. If the family instead hangs out at the Penthouse, then it can also be a place where people who don’t have a place to stay/who need some energy can stay. It’s still there home though. It holds too many memories.

Cassandra:-

-*Obviously shes Batman. Must I even explain?

-*She inherits the BatCave and everything, and it means the world to her that Bruce trusted her with so much.

-*Cass is the one who could have become the evilest, and most dangerous villain of them all, but instead chose to be a hero. One with the most firm no kill rule. The one, who in Bruce’s eyes, could become an even better Batman than himself.

Tim:-

-*So, Tim doesn’t inherit the Business. Dang. Y’know what he does inherit? Bruce’s CAR collection.

-*If you want to tell me Brucie Wayne, one of the richest and dramatic people alive, who built the most iconic car ever, DOESNT have the most EXTRAORDINARY AND EXPENSIVE Car collection known to mankind, argue with the WALL.

-*I don’t know how to explain it, it fits Tim so WELL. He’d love the car collection, he’d pull up to his siblings and friends house everyday in a new car, and it annoys his friends and family SO MUCH. Classic Nepo-Baby behaviour tbh.

-*I feel like Bruce giving him the car collection, instead of anything serious is a sign. Tim was slowly BECOMING more like Batman (whereas Damian was the one who came defaultly as Batman, and his arc was to find his own person), and since at times Bruce didn’t let Tim have fun, it’s a sign from him now to let his teenage, rebellious side kick in. Have some fun.

Dick:-

-*Dick, our favourite Diva, what does he inherit? He inherits all of Bruce’s Jewellery/accessories!

-*Dick, Bruce’s first ward, the one with the most similar past, who became the hope the people needed instead of the fear.

-*Also, Dicks extra and fashion loving self would LOVE the accessories. More ways to somehow make the most fashionable stuff look terrible on anyone else but me!

-*The jewellery and accessories would be a very layered way of Bruce telling Dick to sometimes take some nights off. It’s okay to be human, and do normal things, like taking too much time choosing which watch matches his outfit, or what belt to match with his shoes.

Damian:-

-*ooh~ What does Damian inherit? Damian, the one who used to, in a faraway past, boast about the fact that he was the blood-son to hide his insecurities of never fitting in, or disappointing his father in some way? He’d inherit the albums, and the family heirlooms. Special objects that held not much value financially, but so much sentimental value.

-*The albums with photos of when Bruce was a baby, to pictures when Damian finally outgrew Duke and Tim. The pearl necklace that Martha wore, and the watch that Jason fixed.

-*Damian wouldn’t need money, I feel like he’d either get a very well paying job, or steal money from the league of assassins (‘It’s not stealing Drake, it’s MY inheritance anyways, so stop sticking your nose in other families business-‘)

-*He’d treasure the stuff so much 😭 He’d keep looking at photos of Bruce when he dies :)))

!!!EXTRA!!!

Stephanie:-

-*Yes, Stephanie gets something. Because while Bruce might not be her father, she’s still part of the family. Somehow.

-*She gets all the….BATMOBILES

-*Yup, you heard me. Cass is Batman, Tim has the cars, but somehow it’s STEPHANIE who ends up with the BatMobile.

-*So, mostly the reason was because of how funny it would be, but it’s also how much Stephanie would LOVE it. And of coarse it’s a layered message here as well.

-*Bruce seemed to have trusted Stephanie the least. He was the worst to her as Robin, and she ended up dead, and after THAT, they’re relationship was far from ‘good’

-*Now, because of the strained relationship, Bruce would NEVER let Steph ride the Batmobile, right? He doesn’t trust her, and, I mean, he doesn’t let DAMIAN ride it with consent- But him giving her the Batmobile is basically him saying ‘I was wrong to not trust you’, and it’s a sort of apology if you will.

-*(Tims ecstatic when he finds out he gets all the cars, but when he finds out Steph got the BATMOBILE?

‘SHE GETS THE BATMOBILE?’ ‘IM ON THE WILL?!’)

Barbara:-

-*Barbara gets all the contingency plans for the Justice league. Cass didn’t. This was Bruce’s way of telling babs how much he trusts her, and how mature she really is now.

-*He didn’t give Cass the contingency plans, not because he doesn’t trust her, but because…He thinks Babs would appreciate it more.

I know what ur thinking; Cass is Batman, Steph has the Batmobile, and Barbara gets the contingency plans? How does that work? Well, it’s basically Bruce encouraging Cass to let people help her, something he struggled with, and one of his biggest flaws.

Selina:-

-*if for some reason (They’re idiots I SWEAR TO GOD), they still weren’t married after he died, she gets the most beautiful diamond, pearl ring known to MANKIND, and a very heartfelt note.

-*If they were engaged/Married, Selina gets all the safe houses that Bruce owns around the world. He would want Selina to travel, and move on.

Commissioner Gordon:-

-*Commisioner gets to know Batmans identity (what it was before), and even if he already knew it, it’s the thought that counts.

-*He also gets a gun…wrapped in a sheet, with a note stuck on it. It had nothing to do with how Joker died, found in an alleyway, shot in the gut. At least, that’s what Barbara claims.

Bruce’s Money in his Bank account:-

-*His kids don’t need the money so.

-*20% goes to Clark (he begrudgingly accepts it, remembering the time Bruce gave him cash on his bday. Bruce always had strange ways of showing love.)

-*Another 20% goes to Dick, another 20% to the Justice League, and the remaining 40% to charity.

#If Alfred was alive #He’d get the Mansion #And Jason the safe houses #but he’s dead so :) #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #selina kyle #alfred pennyworth #commisioner gordon #barbara gordon #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #the joker #stephanie brown #tim drake #duke thomas #damian wayne #dc robin

[nakedcows]

Hello! I gotta request. I love Aemond as many of the girlies do. But I never find fics for the plus size girls. I’m a firm believer that Aemond would like a plus size woman. When you have a moment of time I’d love to see a plus size reader x Aemond type fic. Of course I’d be here for some spice too. I’d just really like to see more representation ☺️ thank you for your time and I hope you have a wonderful day!

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the delay. I had a draft ready that didn't save so my inspiration took a big hit. I haven't thought about it before, but now that you say it I do think Aemond would lean more toward plus sized women. I can't explain why i just feel like it falls inline with his character. Thank you for your request!!

summary: Aemond gifts Y/n new clothes that inspire her to take the lead tonight

warnings: smut p n v, slight degrading (not of the reader), body shaming (it's not very much don't worry), sub Aemond

Word count 1.4k

Y/n was entranced by the stranger staring back at her in the mirror. The woman standing in her mirror resembled the fair ladies from books she had read as a girl. Ones where brave knights fight to the death and love-struck monarchs conquer kingdoms for the chance to embrace their true love.

The emerald green dress she wore had no sleeves and hung off her shoulders. Y/n was not used to dressing in such a manner she had become accustomed to frumpy, loose fitted clothing that hid her figure. Y/n’s mother had insisted that despite the high ranking of their house, it was imperative to hide the plump figure she had inherited from her to guarantee proposals from the lords of the court. However, her dear Aemond had thought otherwise. He began to court Y/n and questioned why a lady of her rank wore such ill-fitting clothing. After Y/n had confided in Aemond about her mother's advice, he disposed of her dresses and commissioned a new wardrobe of custom-made dresses with matching jewelry for his love. Y/n admired her newfound figure and how her bodice hugged her thick waist instead of hanging loosely. Layers of skirt gracefully laid against her wide hips complimented with embroidery. The mousy-looking girl had disappeared under hair tied in intricate braids decorated with rare jewels and a beauteous dress accentuating her curved figure. Y/n always felt as though she was meant to be invisible, to blend into the background unnoticed and unmentioned unless she was needed. But now, with her full body glittering in the open free to be seen, she felt confident.  

“You are enchanting, my love,” Aemond said. He had briefly left for Y/n to dress and retrieve the final piece to her ensemble. Aemond stood behind her, unable to break his gaze from her captivating, newfound appearance.   

Aemond delicately clasped a sapphire necklace cut from the same gem in his eye.   

“What do you think, dear heart?” he asked as his hands drifted from Y/n’s neck to her shoulders  

“I think it’s... perfect,” she said, gliding her hands under her plump chest. “I look perfect.” Y/n smiled brightly at her reflection. The rush of finally recognizing the glowing beauty in her mirror was the same modestly dressed woman that she saw a few hours ago.  Y/n felt invincible at this moment she could do anything, say anything and the surefooted woman in her mirror would protect her from fear and persecution with a glance. She turned to Aemond with a new vigor. It was an unfamiliar feeling that bubbled in her core and climbed up to her chest. Aemond had always taken the lead. He led when they held hands when they kissed, and he led when they were intimate. But tonight, she would take command. Y/n grabbed the back of Aemond’s head greedily, pulling him flush against her body for a languid kiss. Aemond grinned into the kiss, stroking her rounded hips, causing the sensation in her core to swell. Y/n slowly pulled from him. Her whole body felt as though someone had set aflame her from the inside.   

“You promised me once that you would do anything for me. I need only ask. Is that still true? Y/n asked, meeting his eyes.   

“Of course, my dear,” the fingers on his neck glided into his hair to stroke his scalp.   

“Then get on your knees for me,” Y/n’s light stroking turned into a tight grip as she yanked Aemond’s head back by his hair.  Aemond breath hitched from the sudden tension on his scalp. Y/n had never done this before yet as he prostrated himself before her the hand in his hair leading him to kneel, he felt the blood rushing to his cock.  

“What do you wish of me Y/n?”  

“Hmm I don’t think using my name suits you very well my dear,” she said smirking.  

“Oh?”  

“No, you are a proper gentleman are you not? Then you should refer to me like one. I think ‘My lady’ will do for now, don’t you?” Aemond felt his breeches tighten as she leaned in and paused just before their lips met.  

“Answer me Aemond.”  

“Yes, my lady,” Y/n closed the gap between them, devouring his lips. Aemond could hear his heart pounding as his member began to throb. He was used to being in control. There was safety in control letting that part of him slip for even a second led to disaster. Aemond craved rest for someone to ease that unmoving tension in his mind and giving his power to Y/n would do just that. 

“Good boy, strip and lay on the bed for me,” she said releasing his hair. Aemond stood from his spot on the floor in favor of removing his doublet and breeches before laying on the bed desperate to obey. Aemond felt his length harden as Y/n waltzed up to the bed and slowly skipped out of her sleeves pulling her bodice down, exposing her full breast and removed her small clothes, leaving her the remainder of her dress on. His red tip now peaked out from the protection of its fleshy folds at the sight. His shy elegant lady turned dominating temptress. Aemond reached down to stroke himself but was met with a quick slap.   

“Proper gentlemen don’t touch themselves, Aemond. It is quite unseemly,” she said, climbing onto the bed to straddle him.  

“Y-Yes my lady.”   

“You know improper gentlemen believe they are owed the pleasure they crave-” Y/n pulled her skirt up, revealing thick plush thighs coated in slick from her dripping mound, causing Aemond’s breath to quicken and his cock to throb. “But a proper gentleman asks for his desires, doesn’t he, Aemond? Why don’t you ask me for what it is you desire my dear?” Y/n lowered herself a bit allowing Aemond’s tip to just barely graze her entrance. Aemond gasped, trying to hold himself together. Whenever he had coupled with Y/n, Aemond would take her hips and impale her with his length whenever he felt the urge, yet at this moment doing such a thing without her explicit permission felt as though he would be committing an unforgivable sin of the highest caliber.  

“Please my lady, use my cock.” Aemond said, bringing his hands up and sinking his fingers into her soft hips. 

“Hmm I don’t know. You don’t seem to want me enough. Perhaps I should stop,” she said slowly lowering her skirt. The gentle throbbing of Aemonds cock developed into torturous ache.  

“No, my lady, please I need you. Please let me fill your cunny. I need it. I’m throbbing for you. I need to fill you around me my lady,” Y/n grinned and lifted her skirt once more.  

“There you go sweet boy begging for me like a proper gentleman,” Y/n dropped onto his cock taking him all at once. Normally Y/n would ask Aemond to be slow and gentle with her, but here and now, consumed by her newfound vigor, she didn’t want to be gentle. She didn’t want to be delicate. She wanted to take everything for herself. Y/n sank, allowing Aemond to bottom out. He could feel her cunt constrict around his cock as if she wanted to meld him into her insides. Her folds would only briefly release him from their tight grip before clenching around him once again. Y/n could feel Aemond’s cock pulsating inside her. The tip of his cock pressed against the spongy back of her cunt. Y/n rocked her hips, enthralled by how the sensation of absolute control enhanced her pleasure. Aemond felt as though he was unraveling every time Y/n’ hips dropped to meet his. Aemond was consumed with an unrelenting craving that devoured his entire being. He needed her. He needed more.   

“Faster my lady! Please, I need more of you!”   

“Good boy asking so nicely for his lady,” Y/n sped up, bouncing on Aemond’s cock quicker, the heat in her core building to a peak ready to snap at any moment. Y/n reached for Aemond’s hands. She pressed his left hand against her pearl and held onto his right one. Aemond rolled small circles on Y/n’s pearl already covered in her slick and tangled his fingers with hers. Adding pressure to the sensitive bud when their hips met each other. 

“I’m going to cum. Are you ready, Aemond?” she said leaning down, losing herself in his violet eye.  

“Yes please, I need to feel you cum around me my lady!” she couldn’t hold on any longer. Squeezing Aemonds hand Y/n fell apart as her orgasm flooded across her body, causing her legs to shake and her body to fall limp against Aemond. The pleasure of taking Aemond as she pleased pushed Y/n’s high to another plane of existence. One where she was everything and nothing all at once. Unburdened. Unshackled. Untouched. Aemond felt himself burst inside of Y/n his back arching. He had never reached a peak like this before. He could feel tingling all throughout his body that turned into blissful burning reaching to the tips of his toes. They laid together for a moment, their heavy breathing filling the heady air. Y/n sat up a bit and placed a gentle kiss on Aemond’s temple still damp from the excitement.  

“Did I do well for you, my lady?” 

“You were the perfect gentleman.” 

Please reblog and comment

#aemond targaryen x plus sized! reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #plus sized reader #chubby reader #fanfiction requests #request answered #requested #dom reader #submisive aemond #sub aemond targaryen

[the-lonelybarricade]

The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: If you've missed Rhys being dumb and horny, then @separatist-apologist and I have a treat for you!

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter・Masterlist

Chapter 6/10: Hurricane Heat In My Head

The chains returned to Rhysand in his sleep.

He knew, even as he thrashed against them, that they were not real. Suspended in darkness with no beginning and no end, there was only Rhysand and the icy slither of those chains, constricting around him like serpents of black, heavy stone.

They bit into his skin, drawing lacerations across his biceps, his thighs, his chest, and as he screamed into the oblivion that held him, there was no response. Not even the echo of his own pain.

Blood welled and dripped from his wounds. It was the only color he could see—a dark, foreboding red. The same that rippled in wine and glinted jewels. The color of sharp nails and long, draping hair. Where had he seen something like that before? He swore he could hear sinister laughter on the cusp of his memory, a phantom of a woman with a cruel smile.

She was not real. This place, these chains. None of it was real.

Except for the fear. He could feel it pulsing through him—a second, rampant heartbeat, as if he’d swallowed a war drum that rallied every dormant instinct inside him. Their singular cry pumped through his blood until it leaked out through his wounds, whimpering: Run. Run.

RUN.

Rhysand sat up in bed, gasping. Red light leaked over the horizon, spilling onto the sky and snow in both directions, warmer and altogether gentler than the scarlet that invaded his dreams, but… He placed a hand on his thundering chest, calling for it to still the way he might soothe a spooked stallion.

He was reminded of the stories he’d heard in childhood of men who wandered into Prythian only to be driven to madness. Was this how the minds of those men began to deteriorate? It was dreadful to think that a sunset could unnerve his unconscious mind so greatly. But he couldn’t deny he was apprehensive. A new court awaited him, and he could only assume its dangers were more perilous than the last.

This could be my last sunrise, he thought. He rubbed at his naked chest, absently tracing the whorls of ink and the dread he felt roiling beneath them. He wished, not for the first time, that Feyre hadn’t slept in a different room.

At least then, Rhys could have faced death knowing he’d had the chance to wake up beside her without the fear that one of them was dying. He resolved he would survive this next Court just to have that pleasure. He wouldn’t die without kissing her.

If nothing else, the Mother owed him that much.

He bathed and dressed, rueful that Feyre wasn’t there to taunt him all the while. Privacy was all he’d craved at the start of their journey—was one night apart really all it took? It was absurd and yet he was so agitated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Where she was, how she slept, if she was awake… if she had company.

The thought struck him violently, causing Rhys to shut his door with too much force as he slipped out of his room. A servant at the end of the hall gasped and dropped their tray of neatly folded bedding.

“Shit, I’m s—“

Their snow-white hair disappeared around the corner, fleeing the hall before he could finish his apology. That was another strange thing. Faeries wary of a human. Rhys supposed he had killed two of their High Lords, the most powerful fae in their lands. He had the marks to prove it, though they were hidden beneath his layers of fur-trimmed clothing.

He was reminded of his sister’s shrill cry whenever a spider had the misfortune of crossing her path.

Rhys! Kill it! Kill it!

They were such small, feeble creatures compared to the size and might of a human. He used to tease her for it.

What are you afraid it’s going to do? Eat you?

But he would always kill them anyway. Because she was scared, and he loved her, and he knew no matter how meager the threat, he’d quell it to soothe her fear.

Tarquin, Kallias, even Eris. They seemed to love their people.

He might survive Dawn, Day, and Night. He might very well liberate all seven Courts. But he knew, as he kicked the servant’s fallen silver tray aside and watched light streak off its surface, that he would not be returning to the mortal lands. Either a monster would kill him, or…

Feyre. He needed to see Feyre and talk to her about all of this. The need gripped him like a fist around his chest. He couldn’t breathe as it pulled him, some vestige of that infernal chain, begging him to find her, to see her, to ensure she was safe.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt an inexplicable urge to protect her. But it was worse now, after almost losing her. He knew the glaze of her eyes slipping from the world, and he would do anything to never witness that horror again. He also knew that if he revealed any of this to her, she’d gut him for assuming she needed anyone’s protection.

Rhys stopped outside the front hall, taking a moment to compose himself. The corridor was empty, and apart from the faint torrent of wind clawing at the palace’s bastioned exterior, his beating heart was the only sound.

Then, voices. Distant at first. But in the great, open hall, they carried to him easily.

“I just think we should give him more time before the Solar Courts.”

His heart rate quickened. That was Feyre’s voice, tense and limned in such rare candor that he couldn’t resist ducking through one of the many doors lining the hallway.

A deep, rumbling voice drifted through the thin gap Rhys left in the door. “More time for what, exactly?”

Cassian.

“To rest. We almost died in Winter—I almost died. He’s… we’ve both been through a lot. He needs time to restore his strength.”

Cassian’s voice was gentle if a little prying. “Or maybe you need time. What’s troubling you, Fey?”

“Nothing.”

Liar. Rhys could perfectly imagine the stubborn set to her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders and raised her chin in defiance. But there was no hiding the strain in her voice.

“He’s gotten this far,” Cassian reasoned. “I talked to him last night, and I swore I could feel the spirit of Enalius standing over his shoulder. He’s going to make it through all seven Courts. I can feel it.”

Silence hung in the air.

“Unless…” The word rumbled through the corridor. “That’s exactly what you’re afraid of.”

Feyre’s voice was hoarse. “Cass—“

“We need him, Feyre. He’s our only shot at freeing Nes—“Cassian’s voice cracked. He took a moment to clear his throat. “He’s the only one who can free them, Feyre.”

“I know.” She sounded miserable. “And that’s why I just think we should just give him time—“

“I don’t need time.”

They both turned as Rhys pushed through the door. Cassian raised a brow towards the study Rhys departed, looking uncertain whether to be angry or amused that he’d been eavesdropping.

Feyre was staring at him, looking exactly as stubborn and defiant as he’d imagined. He thought the thing lashing in his chest would settle at the sight of her, but it only pulled harder, twining so tightly that he thought he couldn’t breathe as those starry eyes dressed him down and narrowed to crescents. Her pretty, bow-shaped lips were pursed just enough that he thought he could kiss her scowl away if she let him close enough to try.

He mirrored her crossed arms in an attempt to reign himself in, and said with a cocky grin, “That was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I’m ready to take on anything those High Lord bastards throw at us.”

It’s okay, he wanted to tell her. I already know they won’t let me live by the end of this. At least let me save your sisters.

Feyre pressed her lips flat together. Sadness flickered in her eyes, so brief he would have thought he imagined it had his heart not plummeted in tandem. He knew that grief. He still choked on it whenever he passed the ribbons shop in the village, confronted with the unbidden memory of crouching on a lowered stool, braiding satin through his sister’s hair until his back was stiff. The years could muddy the details—the colors of the ribbons and the words they exchanged in those long hours—but never the pain.

Rhysand dropped his arms, intending to comfort her, but whatever sadness had been in her eyes vanished. Only cold, glittering calm remained.

“If you’re ready, then there’s no sense wasting time.”

In reality, he would have very much liked that time with Feyre. Even just a day to know her without the threat of dying. But he would not be the one responsible for losing her sisters. He would do anything in his power if she could escape that grief.

“Let’s go,” he agreed.

Cassian punched a hand into his palm. “I hope it’s another beast,” he said, with an excitement neither of the humans in his company shared. “I’ve been itching to get back in action.”

-

They stayed long enough to have breakfast, a bountiful spread of hot and cold dishes presented to them in the High Lord’s personal dining room. Cassian helped himself to a sizable portion of each dish: smoked fish, pickled vegetables, fresh bread, and a collection of cheeses, each more potent than the last.

Rhysand ate a bit of the fish and bread in the interest of keeping up his strength, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. The gods knew what horrors he would face in Dawn and whether he’d even be able to hang on to his breakfast by the end of it. Feyre seemed in an equally sullen mood, pushing her food around her plate without saying much of anything to anyone.

Kallias seemed relieved to see them go and consequently was more than happy to winnow them to the door to Winter. The blizzarding snow had carried away any evidence of the creature they’d disemboweled. But Rhys could still hear Feyre’s scream against the wind, and he remembered the way her body crumpled against the pine tree, how the beast’s blood warmed his clothes.

She was fine now, squinting against the winter onslaught, her cheeks a bright, healthy color thanks to the benefit of warm clothes and fae healers. Even so, Rhys prompted her to enter the tunnel first, prepared to withstand the blow of any winter beast that wandered by.

There was only Kallias, his fair skin and lighter hair nearly blending into the Winter landscape at his back.

“Thank you for helping my Court,” he said, fisting a hand over his heart. He bowed low enough to make Rhys feel unsettled.

“Thanks for hosting us.”

It didn’t feel like an equivalent debt, but Rhys was unsure what else to say.

Kallias raised to his full height. “Good luck in the Solar Courts.”

You will need it was an unspoken addition, though expressed nonetheless in his grim smile. He nodded farewell to each of them, then vanished in a flurry of ice crystals.

“Shut the door,” Cassian complained. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Rhysand didn’t need to be told twice. He was happy to say goodbye to this Hell-sent Court and never look back.

“What were you doing in Winter, anyway?” He asked with a grunt as he hauled the stone door shut.

The howling wind immediately seized. Rhys blinked against the sudden darkness, taking in the vague, hulking shape of Cassian and Feyre’s much slighter shadow just a step away. It was a ridiculous impulse, but he found himself reaching out to press his palm to the small of her back. He considered it a victory that she didn’t immediately flinch away.

It was cold enough that Cassian’s sigh expelled a cloud of air in front of him. “Azriel and I were on reconnaissance, searching for… a cure. We got trapped in Winter when the borders closed.”

Rhysand frowned. “A cure for what?”

Against his palm, he could feel Feyre tense.

Cassian stared hard down the tunnel. At his side, his hands turned into fists so tight that the brown skin over his knuckles turned pale. “These seals you’re destroying, it’s true that their magic impacts the wellbeing of each of the Courts, but their true purpose was precautionary; to prevent us from lifting the curse placed on the Night Court.”

“And the curse—”

“Enough.” Feyre’s voice sliced through the tunnel. Cold and authoritarian in a way that sent a perverse thrill down Rhysand’s spine.

He didn’t have time to linger in the fantasy of how Feyre might use that voice in the bedroom before she was striding down the hall, each step reverberating against the stone walls.

Cassian winced before pitching his voice in a whisper, “Tread carefully bringing the curse up around her. Tamlin’s the bastard who betrayed all of us, but Feyre… She feels responsible for what happened to the Night Court. To her sisters.”

“I wish she told me,” Rhys said, watching her retreating figure with open dismay. Cassian offered a wry smile, clapping a sympathetic hand on Rhysand’s shoulder before he turned to catch up with Feyre.

Every time Rhys was starting to feel like he knew her, he uncovered a new layer of secrecy. He felt as if he were perpetually wiping the fog away from a mirror and it was beginning to feel doubtful that he would ever see a clear image of who Feyre Archeron was.

He only gave himself a moment to dwell on it. Then he was jogging to catch up with Feyre and Cassian, determined to be the first to step through the Cauldron-damned door this time.

In an effort to return to some sort of normalcy, he asked, “No Eris to wave us off before the next Court?”

Cassian snickered. “I doubt Eris will be leaving his quarters for at least a week.”

“A week?” Feyre snorted. “If Az has any say, it will be months before we see Eris again.”

“Doesn’t he have a court to run?”

Cassian and Feyre shared a look. It was the sort of mutual understanding that could only be found through years of knowing another person. Rhys resisted the urge to ask, but the question burned his tongue. How long has Feyre’s life been intertwined with Prythian?

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Cassian said, finally. A shadow passed over his features. “To be separated from your mate for that long… it’s enough to drive even someone like Eris Vanserra to extremes.”

“Mate?”

Rhysand could guess what that meant. The way that animals found mates. But there was a reverence to the way Cassian said the word that gave him pause.

“A mating bond is the deepest connection you can have with another living soul. They’re your perfect match, your equal in every way. A bond more significant than any vow, even marriage.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “You think you understand it, but…” He shook his head, a far-off look in his eyes. “It’s not until you feel it snap. Until one look at them brings you to your knees. Your entire world, reoriented to their gravity.”

Rhysand was putting everything together too slowly. “Nesta’s your mate.”

There was a strange mixture of grief and pride on his face as Cassian nodded. Rhysand didn’t have the courage to ask if that meant Feyre had a mate, too. Had it been Tamlin? He knew his glance towards her was anything but subtle.

Feyre was glaring ahead, the door to the Dawn Court now in view. It was carved from bright red stone, light spilling from its gaps as though it were single-handedly holding back the might of the sun.

“Are you ready?” Feyre asked, to no one in particular.

Rhys stepped forward, placing his palms against the smooth stone. It was surprisingly warm to the touch. He heaved the stone forward, exposing the tunnel to the torrent of red light waiting impatiently on the other side.

Squinting against the brightness, Rhysand’s hand fell to his sword, readying for another beast. There weren’t any tell-tale signs. No distant roaring or eerie quiet. He expected they would find themselves in another isolated area separate from the rest of the Court. But in fact, as Rhysand’s eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the deck of a lowered drawbridge. Two guards stood on either side of the gatehouse, wearing royal red and gold livery.

The doors were open on the other side of the iron gate, revealing the fae milling about their day through the gaps in the latticework. The first thing he noticed was the flood of warm, humid air. Not quite as smothering as it had been in the Summer Court, but oppressive enough that he was already sweating in his fur-lined clothes.

After enduring the extreme weather in each of the seasonal courts, Rhysand had nearly forgotten that the Mortal Lands were in the peak of summer when he and Feyre left. Was Dawn also in summer eternal, or was it aligned with the changing seasons of the human realm?

Rhys angled his head toward the sky, marveling at the scarlet clouds that domed over the land in every direction, betraying not a single sliver of blue. Rhys was certain it had been midday when they left Winter, but he couldn’t discern if the sun was somewhere behind the glowing red haze or if it was still nestled beyond the horizon. He supposed that if seasons were eternal in the previous courts, then in the Dawn Court, it must always be sunrise.

Feyre was frowning at the sky, too. He might have studied the oddity longer had his interest not fixed on the way the red light painted her skin the most alluring shade of pink. Like him, she must have been overheating in the Winter clothes. He could see sweat shining at her temple, giving the impression she was glowing. And with her neck arched upwards, practically in invitation, he thought it would be all too easy to lean forward and trace the column of her throat with his tongue.

The only thing stopping him was the pair of guards quickly moving towards them. The blade strapped to her hip might have also been a deterrent, but he found he minded the idea of Feyre pulling a knife on him less and less.

She cast him a quick glance as the guards approached, one that read, Step away and keep your mouth shut.

As the guards stumbled to a halt midway across the bridge, Rhysand noticed they seemed a bit… frazzled. With the borders newly opened, he imagined they were among the first visitors that Dawn had received in years. Humans, no less.

“Feyre Archeron,” one of them said, with what Rhys thought might have been awe.

They ought to be awed at the sight of her. A firestorm of a human woman swallowed in white furs and staring down two armed faeries as though she had nothing to fear.

She tipped her chin. “Tell Thesan that the Cursebreaker is here.”

“The High Lord is expecting you already,” the guard answered. He shouted over his shoulder at the guards in the gatehouse.

A small commotion flitted through the slit windows of the barbican above the gateway, followed by the clink and drag of chains. The metal grating lurched, and Rhysand flinched at the screeching sound of stone scraping together as the golden gate ascended into the tower above. How the guardsmen could stand the noise with their fae hearing was a mystery.

The guard gestured them forward with a jerk of his chin. “The captain will escort you to the palace.”

Great, Rhysand thought upon seeing the male in golden armor, already waiting for them on the other side of the gatehouse. Another handsome faerie staring at Feyre like she was his next meal. Rhys found himself drifting closer to her as they walked through the gates, prepared to draw his sword if the faerie’s smile proved deceitful. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cassian hide a smirk.

“Oryn,” Feyre said with a smile that erred closer to politeness than familiarity. This wasn’t someone she knew well, at least. “Thank you for coming to meet us.”

The male’s wings shifted, tucking closer to his body. Unlike the wings Cassian and Azriel bore, Oryn’s were more avian in nature, feathered and shaped like a white dove’s. “I wish we were meeting under better terms, Cursebreaker.”

Feyre’s eyes drifted back toward the red clouds above. “The sky—”

“We’ll discuss it once we’re in the palace.”

Rhysand wanted to snap at the male for interrupting her, but Feyre chose to simply nod her head and press her lips together. She kept her eyes on the red mist above, cautious. As if she suspected a rift would open at any moment and present some horrible creature for them to slay. Rhys flexed his fingers above his sword. He trusted Feyre’s instincts. If she sensed something was wrong, he knew better than to question it.

The captain led them through a series of narrow pink-stoned streets. They were built on a steep incline and boarded on either side by red-roofed buildings. Some billowed smoke into the sky from their chimneys, and Rhys watched as the white clouds rose into the sky above, only to turn a foreboding scarlet color the moment it breached the layer of mist.

He stepped closer to Feyre and murmured to her, “I take it the sky isn’t usually red.”

“The Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature,” Feyre said back, a certain tightness to her voice that sent warning bells blaring in his head. “The High Lords can’t control the sun’s path or strength. The Courts observe day and night the same as the human realm.”

Rhys exhaled a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me we have to fight something in the sky.”

Cassian, who had clearly been listening in, cut them a wolfish grin and flexed the batlike wings towering over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought me along. Illyrians specialize in aerial combat.”

It was difficult to feel soothed by that fact when all Rhys could picture was needing to be cradled by one of the winged fae while he battled some beast on wings. Hardly the dashing heroics he’d want to recount to an audience once this was all over.

Feyre pursed her lips. She was scanning the city as they passed, tracking each of the fae that quickly moved aside, giving their retinue a wide berth. He noticed some High Fae, like Eris and Tarquin, but the far majority of them were lesser fae, sporting the same feathered wings as Oryn. Feyre didn’t say anything, but he practically heard the observation she was making—for a city filled with winged people, it was strange that there was not a single person in the sky.

Especially when the route to the palace proved to be rather… intensive.

“You’re kidding me.”

They stopped at the entryway to the palace: a double set of doors with stairs that spiraled up, up, up into the towering mountainside. Rhys craned his head to trace the towers and spires that rose high into the mountain, so tall that their peaks disappeared into the red mist.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “And I thought the steps to the House of Wind were brutal.”

“The great Illyrian warrior, felled by a few thousand stairs?” Feyre teased.

A few thousand was putting it lightly. Suddenly, Rhys missed Eris’s abrasive winnowing tactics.

Oryn grimaced. “We are a flying people, and as such, we have built a great deal of architecture above the clouds.”

Cassian eyed the captain’s wings, “And we can’t fly them up because…?”

The captain made no effort to hide his grief as he answered, “Because flying is forbidden.”

The red stones on Cassian’s gloves sparked and flickered, a mirror to the outrage blazing in his eyes. His chest puffed, and he took a deep breath as though he were about to demand an explanation when Feyre pressed a palm to his shoulder. It was remarkable to watch—how that small, simple touch from a human girl somehow managed to reign in the fury of an ancient fae warrior. Again, Cassian looked at her, a million things exchanged between them in that short glance.

He huffed, tucking in his wings as he strode towards the staircase. “Good thing I had a big breakfast.”

Rhysand supposed now was as good a time as any to begin disrobing. Perhaps it made him incivil as a visitor to this court, but if he was going to climb up an entire damned mountain, there was no way he was doing it covered in heavy fur. He was coated in sweat from just the walk.

“Really?” Feyre placed her hands on her hips as he pulled the parka over his head and discarded it on the ground. “You’re doing that here?”

“Were you hoping I would wait until I was in your bedroom?”

Over her shoulder, Cassian placed a hand over his mouth from where he’d turned to wait for them.

The blue in Feyre’s eyes was muted under the red light, turning them more gray than usual, but just as piercing. Rhysand held his breath as her gaze raked over his exposed skin, from the planes of his muscular chest, down his corded abdomen, to the slant of his hips, where he noticed her eyes track the path of hair that disappeared under his waistband. And lingered.

Rhys wanted to make a joke, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was still overwarm from the Winter clothes, and it wasn’t helping that Feyre was staring at him that way—as if she were debating dragging him into the nearest dark alcove to put her lips where her eyes were. It wasn’t a bad idea. He wouldn’t mind pushing Feyre against the stone wall and tangling her hair around his fist. Heat itched up his skin at the fantasy. It felt keenly as though he were back in the Autumn Court, confronting the firebreath of a dragon. Except then, his trousers hadn’t been so tight.

Finally, Feyre composed herself enough to twist her face into a scowl. He knew it was all for show. Her irritation didn’t pass any deeper than the surface of her features, and beneath it… beneath it, he thought she might have felt a kernel of the desperate, burning wanting that was flooding through him.

She said cooly, “I think I’ll save my bedroom invitations for men who know how to conduct themselves appropriately.”

“And you’re determined to climb all those stairs dressed like that?”

He eyed the fur trim of her parka, the excessive padding insulating her thighs and hips. It was impossible. She would overheat and leave one of them dragging her the rest of the way. Feyre crossed her arms, determined to make this as difficult as possible.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood to spend another day hauling you over my shoulder.”

“And here I thought you came to my gallant rescue,” she mocked. “No wonder you’re chasing after a bedroom invitation. It seems you can only undress women when clothing is an obstacle to survival.”

Rhysand cocked his head. “Do you want to wager on that, Feyre?”

He would bet there were a decent number of women in this Court who would be interested in the novelty of bedding a human male. And if catching their attention could make Feyre jealous, even better.

“Are you two done bickering?” Cassian was leaning against the archway to the great stairwell, a slit brow raised. “Or should I do this savior of Prythian thing on my own?”

A few steps away, Oryn muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, my thoughts exactly.

With a glare in Rhsand’s direction, Feyre stripped to her underlayers. He was used to the chemises and stays of the mortal realm—tight, restrictive underclothing that anticipated women wouldn’t be completing feats much more exciting than having children and keeping a nice household. Clearly, things were different in Prythian. Feyre wore a panel of fabric that wound around her chest, encapsulating and binding her breasts. The fabric knotted at the back of her neck, tight enough to keep her breasts slightly suspended. It was an effort not to stare, particularly as he noticed the sweat gleaming on her collarbone.

“Satisfied?” She demanded.

Not nearly. Not until he had the chance to run his mouth over every inch of her bare skin.

The hunger must have been plain on Rhysand’s face because Cassian warned him, “I wouldn’t answer that truthfully.”

Feyre only scowled and brushed past both of them, the first to take the stairs behind Oryn. Rhysand’s intention for darting in front of Cassian was hardly subtle; he wanted to be the one directly behind Feyre. Partly in case something happened and she truly did need his help, but also because it meant her ass was directly in his field of vision and he had a penchant for torturing himself.

The novelty only lasted until his muscles started groaning. Up and up, around and around. The stairway spiraled on and on, its monotony broken only by the colorful medley of arched windows through which he could see the city they’d emerged from, growing smaller and smaller as they ascended. The constant circles were beginning to make his head spin. Never mind the sweat he could feel collecting in every crevice of his body.

Through it all, Feyre carried herself as composed and seemingly unbothered as ever. Except Rhys could see the way her braid clung to her neck, and if he held his panting back long enough, he could hear her sharp little breaths that said she was winded, too. He was fascinated, and he passed the time thinking how much he would enjoy the sound of that breathing while she lay under him. What other sounds could he draw out of her?

They climbed on like that, no one wasting breath on talking, for what felt like hours. The scarlet mist obscured the sun and any chance of telling the time, but soon, the sounds and sights of the city disappeared entirely. They were high enough, now, that Rhys could see the adjacent wilted countryside and the long, winding river coaxing through it. Should one of them grow clumsy and tumble out one of the rose-tinted windows, at least they’d have quite the sight to behold while they fell to their death.

Above them, the dark red sky drew larger and nearer.

Finally, they reached an open-air chamber full of fat, silk pillows and plush carpets. A large fountain gurgled at its center, pushing out clear water that arched and fell into the pool below, sending ripples across the red sky reflected on its surface. At that moment, all Rhys wanted was to cup the precious liquid into his hands and douse it over his head.

A High Fae male stepped through the large door on the other side of the chamber. The wisteria draping the doorway swayed as the male glided past on soft embroidered shoes. His tunic was tight-fitting around his slender chest, but his pants were loose and flowing. He bore a smile that crinkled the brown skin around his upswept eyes.

Warm, Rhys thought as he looked at the male. He had the warmest eyes he thought he’d ever seen, the kind that begged him to trust the stranger, though he hadn’t spoken a single word.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice as rich and deep as his brown eyes. “I am Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court. Though most of you are already familiar.”

Oryn immediately detached from their group to join Thesan at his side. If the male was winded from their ascent, he hardly showed it. Thesan’s gaze slanted towards the captain for only a moment, but Rhys caught the open affection in the High Lord’s eyes. Thesan reached out his hand, the tension in his body loosening the slightest bit when Oryn threaded their fingers together.

Not just the captain of the guard, then, but also the High Lord’s consort. Mate, perhaps, though Rhys wasn’t certain how to identify such things.

“Thank you for receiving us,” Feyre said. Behind them, Cassian bowed his head respectfully at the High Lord, though Rhys noted that Feyre did not. So in turn, neither did he.

Thesan raised his brows at the impertinence. Rhysand saw no reason why he and Feyre should bow and scrape to adhere to their customs. If they were going to be made to climb up a whole damn mountain to free Thesan’s Court, they at least deserved equal respect. Equal footing.

Even if their current state of dress was admittedly pitiful.

“Thanks,” Rhysand echoed. His breath was still ragged from the climb, and he resisted the urge to wipe away a bead of sweat as he felt it trail down his chest. “Your home is lovely. It’s a shame so few can behold its grandeur, what with the deterrent of those stairs. Or is their ascent a pleasure you save uniquely for your most favored guests?”

He expected Feyre might have thrown an elbow in his side for being uncouth, but she merely turned her head to look at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Her braid was damp from sweat, and the short cropping of hair she wore across her forehead was mussed, the pieces clumped and sticking in places that he knew must be driving her mad, though he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. The observation struck him so acutely that he quickly glanced away, before he was tempted to do something foolish.

Thesan, on the other hand, looked distinctly amused. “This is my private residence,” he said, his voice betraying none of the usual guardedness of the fae. He seemed earnest, this High Lord. A bit like Tarquin but… wiser, Rhys sensed. Someone who had walked on this earth far, far longer than Rhysand’s twenty-odd years and saw no reason to rise to a human’s barbed words. “The deterrent of those stairs is intentional, as it were. I find it limits the risk of surprise visitors.”

There was a story behind that knowing smile, of the times when surprise visitors might have attempted to enter the palace without explicit invitation. Maybe there were a thousand stories, some humorous and some grim. The High Lord of Dawn looked as though he were reflecting on them all as he turned his brown eyes towards the sight of the sprawling Court below, peaking between the marble arches of the open chamber.

And above it all, the red sky loomed like the most peculiar storm cloud. Thesan assessed that, too, and then released an aggrieved sigh. “I do apologize for the exertion. My invited guests do not usually need to climb so many stairs—most can winnow or fly, and my palace boasts the most remarkable moving platform for those who can do neither. However, it’s operated in one of my highest towers, which has become… inaccessible, of late.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

“I’m certain the red sky hasn’t escaped your notice,” Thesan said with a frown. “It originates from this palace. From an enchanted lotus, gifted to me by a friend. Or who I once regarded as one. It sits in our highest tower and is responsible for this fog that has plagued our sky.”

“And this… fog,” Feyre ventured. Rhys was trying very hard not to look at her. “Is it dangerous?”

“Yes,” Oryn answered. He was standing at Thesan’s shoulder, still holding his lover’s hand. His expression darkened with a grief that Rhys felt he had no right to be witnessing. “Peregryns have been dropping from the sky since the day it arrived.” He tucked his wings in tighter. “Skilled flyers, suddenly plummeting to their deaths. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Is it poison?” Cassian asked. “If they were incapacitated—”

Oryn shook his head. “We have not ruled out poison. But we know they were conscious as they fell. We could hear them—” his throat bobbed.” We could hear them screaming.”

“There were some we were able to save,” Thesan said. “Our best healers could find no damage to their wings, nor any trace of known poisons. It was their minds that seemed altered—agitated by sights and sounds that no one else could witness. We’ve yet to find a cure.”

Not many people in the mortal realm lived to old age, but some did. Some, like Rhysand’s grandfather, who had reached such a state of mental frailty that he could be in the same room and occupy a completely different reality. Often, it was one of a past life, from a time before the plague had taken Rhysand’s mother and sister. His grandfather would relive the grief of that discovery almost every day, before Rhysand and his father decided it was better to play along, to claim that his mother and sister were simply out in the village and would be returning soon.

Rhysand had long thought he’d prefer to die young on one of his beast-slaying adventures than to live to an age when his mind deteriorated so much that he could no longer remember the people he loved.

He was thinking of his grandfather and the ever-distant glaze in his eyes, as he asked, “It turns you mad?”

Thesan nodded, expression grim. “We believe it’s inhalation that causes the illness. Contact of the skin does not appear to trigger the same symptoms, or at least not immediately.”

And there was no cure.

Rhysand’s head spun, trying to think of a way to reach the seal without compromising his mind to do it.

It was Feyre who cut in, voice surprisingly rigid, “Thesan, I would appreciate if you allowed us some rest before we ponder this subject any further. Rhysand and I could do with a bath and a change of clothes.”

It was as though Thesan had only just noticed that they were both half-naked and coated in sweat. He tore his eyes away from the skyline and blinked, before scraping them over Feyre from head to toe. Rhysand tried not to twitch at the scrutiny.

“Of course,” Thesan said. He lifted a hand in the air and a small bell appeared, pinched between his fingers. He needed to only flick his wrist and ring it twice before a flock of attendants flooded in, each dressed in similar loose clothing of blushing pink and orange and gold. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

Even Cassian breathed out a sigh of relief at the promise of a bath.

They were led through the lavish, winding halls of the palace, all of it carved from golden stone and boasting open views of the valleys and villages below. It was a beautiful, well-decorated maze. Rhysand did his best to track every turn they made past urns filled with flowers, pillow-bedecked alcoves, and elevated courtyards with roaming peacocks, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to navigate through them on his own.

Eventually they came to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it was carved from the same golden stone, identical in color to the first rays of the sun bursting across the horizon. He surveyed the jewel-toned fabrics and cushions, the thick carpets, and the golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes. He was begrudged to admit that this was the nicest Court he’d seen so far.

The attendants directed each of them to their allotted rooms. When Cassian eagerly pushed through the door to his, muttering something under his breath about polishing his swords, Rhys suspected Feyre would do the same. But she stayed, hand mired to the doorknob so she might escape at any moment.

But she stayed.

He hadn’t had a moment alone with her since she’d kissed his cheek. A million things ran through his head of what he wanted to—and wished—he could say to her, starting with how badly he wanted to invite her into his room so they could bathe together. With the way she was drinking in his bare chest, her cheeks the most maddening shade of pink, he thought there was a chance she wouldn’t say no.

Rhys opened his mouth to ask, but she interrupted him.

“You don’t need to break the seal today.”

He needed more than a moment to reel in the fantasy of lathering soap over her freckled shoulders. “I… What?”

“It doesn’t need to be today, or tomorrow. You can take your time. Enjoy the luxuries of this court and your freedom before…” She swallowed, unable to finish her thought. But he knew what she was going to say.

Before you go mad.

It was the first time he thought she’d ever truly acted concerned about him. He asked gently, “What about your sisters?”

Feyre angled her head, staring hard at one of the faelights over his shoulder, blinking like she was holding back tears. “My sisters are frozen in time,” she said. “Literally frozen. They can wait. It makes no difference to them.”

Another time, when she didn’t look like she was about to cry, he’d ask her what that meant. Frozen where? How?

“But it does to you,” he said. “And to Cassian.”

She shrugged. “Cassian’s immortal. He has nothing but time.”

Rhysand strode toward her and was grateful to see her hand slip from the doorknob. She pressed it to his chest before he could get too close, keeping him at a distance, but that was perfectly fine by him.

She didn’t act the demure lady about touching his bare chest, and he wouldn’t expect her to. Though he was pleasantly surprised to see the flush climbing up her throat, and to feel the subtle flex of her fingers as though marveling at the firmness of the muscle beneath her palms. He wanted to feel those calluses scrape the entire length of his chest. Fuck. He wanted to feel them against his cock.

But now wasn’t the time. And he tried to shake those thoughts away, even as Feyre’s breath hitched and he watched her next inhale expand the swell of her breasts, that entrancing flush growing a deeper shade.

Her lips parted, their offer so tempting that he reached to grip either side of the doorframe, holding himself back just as much as she was trying to do with that maddening hand on his chest.

Maybe now was the time for honesty.

“I’m not worried about losing my mind,” he said to her, his voice rough and low like he’d never heard it before. “I’ve already been losing my mind for every damn day I’ve spent on this journey. Feyre, I am losing it rapidly by the second.”

Her next breath shuddered out of her.

“It’s happening too fast,” she whispered. “I just want—”

All of his focus, his entire being, narrowed in on those perfect lips and the words she held back.

“You just want what?” He was practically begging now. “What is it that you want, Feyre?”

He knew what he wanted. He wanted it so badly he would give up his mind for it.

Feyre stayed silent. What he would give to be able to see into her mind, to just know one thing that she truly thought about him.

“How about a thought for a thought?” He tried. “You tell me one thing on your mind, and in exchange I’ll tell you something on mine.”

She considered this for a moment before nodding. “You go first.”

A chuckle rasped out of him. How predictable. “I’m thinking,” he said, leaning in as much as her Cauldron-damned hand would allow. For once he had her full attention, and he wondered how any man was meant to endure the force of her gaze without wanting to fall to his knees. “That I have endured utter Hell since the moment I met you. And all of the beasts and riddles and even the fucking stairs weren’t nearly as agonizing as how I feel right now, trying not to kiss you.”

Her eyes fell on his mouth. Rhysand could feel his heart hammering against her fingertips.

Feyre flicked her tongue across her lower lip and he thought that might die right there.

Then she said, “I’m thinking we could both use a bath.”

He practically purred, “Is that an invitation?”

“No.”

It was like slamming face-first into a stone wall. Feyre dropped her hand like he’d scalded her, and before he could scramble for something to say, she yanked on her doorknob and shut the door in his face.

Rhysand blinked, still gripping the doorframe as he reeled from the rejection. Cassian’s door was still shut, but he swore he could hear cackling laughter behind it.

-

Thesan summoned them all to breakfast the next morning.

With the mist blocking any and all sunlight, it was impossible to tell if it was early or late in the morning, but by Rhysand’s account, it was much too soon. He’d stayed up late pacing his lavish bedroom, debating whether to knock on Feyre’s door to apologize for his brazenness or demand that she apologize for being so Gods-damned guarded. Was it really so hard to tell him one thing—just one—about how she truly felt?

Evidently so, if the way she was spearing fruit onto her fork was any indication of her mood. She’d taken supper in her room last night, leaving Cassian and Rhys to eat together in their private dining room. It was another night bonding over their shared exasperation of the stubborn, elusive Archeron women.

It hadn’t made him feel any better, though. Sitting across from Feyre, watching her javelin her fork at a piece of sliced melon, he still felt as though she’d slammed the door in his face moments ago. A night wouldn’t be sufficient time to get over Feyre Archeron. Nor would a year and, he suspected, even a lifetime.

The prospect of losing his mind to the red mist was sounding more and more appealing by the second.

“If the affliction is only caused by inhaling,” Cassian said. “Does that mean Rhys could just hold his breath long enough to destroy it?”

“Theoretically,” Thesan agreed. “Though it’s possible that a human would be more susceptible to contact.”

Feyre dropped her fork. “And there’s no cure?” When Thesan shook his head, her voice raised an octave. “The Dawn Court is best known for its healing abilities, and you haven’t been able to develop any sort of antidote?”

“My magic has not been able to remedy the afflicted. It’s possible that once the seal is destroyed, their condition will stabilize.”

“So,” Rhys said slowly, “I just need to keep a grip on my sanity long enough to destroy a flower?”

Thesan frowned. “Theoretically, yes.”

His voice implied it wouldn’t be so simple. Rhysand wasn’t fool enough to think it would be. None of the trials had been easy thus far, and he knew the lotus flower would be no exception.

Still, he rolled his shoulder and said, “I’ll take a flower over a dragon any day.”

“The lotus sits in the reflection pool at the center of the room,” Thesan said. “It should be easy to locate, provided your mind doesn’t lead you astray.”

Rhysand’s gaze nearly trailed over to Feyre as he mused, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” The pause in the aftermath was uncomfortably heavy. Enough for Rhysand to push his chair away and announce, “Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable. Show me where to get to this tower.”

Cassian nearly choked around his next mouthful of food. “Now?” He gestured with his fork towards Rhysand’s empty plate. “You’re not even going to eat breakfast first?”

It was easy to summon the boastful, unearned confidence to say, “You can all carry on without me. I should be back before the food so much as cools.”

The mask of arrogance was familiar to default back to, though it didn’t fit as comfortably as it once did. The lordling he’d been when he’d entered Prythian believed he had the tenacity to vanquish the fae and reclaim these lands for humankind. And yet with two High Lords slain, he couldn’t summon pride for his triumphs. Not while knowing that Feyre still mourned for one or both of those High Lords—that she might have withdrawn from him last night for that very reason.

Feyre stood from her chair, sending the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor. “I’m coming with you.”

“Why risk the both of you?” Thesan asked, his brows pressed together.

For once, Rhysand didn’t mind the implication that he was the more expendable of the two of them. He agreed. If he failed, there was no point in them both losing their sanity.

Her expression hardened into uncompromising will. “Because,” she said, meeting Rhysand’s eyes. They were the same blue as a churning storm-swept sea. “We can look out for each other.”

“Okay.” Rhys held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”

She wrapped her hand around his, so much softer and smaller than his own. Holding it felt right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And she didn’t drop it, not once, as Thesan led them up the winding spiral staircase on the other end of the palace, where they climbed up the bare face of a tower. Every step had Rhys bracing himself, but Feyre’s grip on his fingers remained unwavering. She did not falter one single step.

The scarlet mist became a deeper, more saturated color the higher they climbed, until they came to the final flight, where Thesan stopped.

“This is where I’ll leave you. The lotus is just through that doorway,” he said, nodding up to the large open doorway at the top of the stairs, where red mist poured out and plateaued in line with the highest step. He assessed them both, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you trust each other?”

Rhysand didn’t need to look at Feyre to answer. “Yes.”

She squeezed his hand in what he interpreted as agreement.

“Don’t.” Thesan’s expression darkened. “Don’t trust anything while you’re in there, not even yourselves. The seal will try to protect itself, and it will use every trick in its arsenal to do so.”

With that inspiring speech, the High Lord nodded his farewell and turned to begin his descent back down the tower. Leaving Feyre and Rhys before the final steps to the open doorway.

“Feyre,” he started. “Just in case I don’t get another chance to say it—”

“Don’t.”

“Feyre—”

“No goodbyes.” She turned those stormy eyes on him, and all at once he was nothing but a helpless sailor succumbing to their pull. “Whatever you want to say to me can wait until after we destroy the seal.”

He didn’t know for certain he’d still remember. But he nodded.

“Don’t let go of my hand. No matter what.”

She raised her chin, staring down the immortal gloom like she might part the mist through sheer force of will. “Take a deep breath,” she said.

It wouldn’t be his last. Rhys knew that with confidence. Even if the fog carried away his conscious mind, his lungs would carry on breathing and his heart would continue pumping. So it wasn’t the gulp of precious air that he savored in that final moment. It was the smattering of freckles across Feyre’s cheekbones. She had more than he could count, but some stood out more than others—the one by the corner of her left eye, sitting in the crease of those rare moments she smiled, was slightly darker and bigger than the others. So was the one on the bridge of her pert little nose. Another, following the perfect arch of her lips.

One day, if she had the patience for it, he would map out every constellation hidden on her body.

He kept hold of that thought as they summited the final steps to the open doorway and plunged into the thicket of the mist. Feyre disappeared entirely from his periphery, shrouded in fog so thick that he could hardly distinguish his own fingers when held in front of his face. The only sign that Feyre was still beside him was the steady pull of her hand, guiding him forward over a long bridge connecting to the other half of the tower, where the lotus flower waited.

They felt their way forward slowly, fingers skimming the cool railing, twined in plants long wilted from the lack of sunlight. His lungs were on fire by the time they emerged into the open chamber, marked by a curved archway—its stone smooth beneath his searching palm.

Straight ahead, he thought. Just get to the pool in the center, crush the flower, and this can all be over.

There was nothing to feel to guide their path. Only empty, open air and Feyre’s hand intertwined firmly in his. Her steps wavered. They were entrenched in a void of red, stretching in every direction. It wasn’t clear which way, exactly, was straight ahead, but they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

His lungs were already seizing, desperate for air. He couldn’t imagine that she was in any better state.

Rhysand chose a direction and strode forward, pulling her deeper into the fog. She tugged back, digging her heels in. They couldn’t speak without wasting air, but he imagined she was telling him, not that way.

He paused, waiting for her to correct his course.

One beat. Two. He was beginning to feel dizzy.

Rhysand squeezed her hand. Which way?

Another beat. And then she began pulling him sideways. He stumbled after her, his vision spotting as his lungs rioted in his chest. He needed to breathe. Needed to soothe the burning before his lungs gave out. He was going to collapse on the floor if he didn’t.

His body betrayed him. He opened his mouth, polluted air flooding in. Feyre paused at the sound of his gasp. His vision swam, whirling from the sudden intake, his head pounding—

And then he blinked. The fog cleared, revealing a pretty chamber of polished marble and golden stone. Outside the open archways, the sky had cleared as well, revealing an expanse of blue sky stretching towards the horizon.

It was like seeing the sun for the very first time. Not because of the light streaming into the chamber. But because Feyre was standing before him, hand in his. Smiling.

The breath whooshed out of him anew. “Do that again,” he whispered.

She did, smiling just for him. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

“We did it,” she said.

Rhysand shook his head. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Look.” She nodded towards the puffy white clouds drifting just outside the tower. “The mist is gone. It was another test.”

“We still need to destroy the seal,” he said, turning to look for the reflection pool.

Feyre stopped him with another insistent tug on his hand. He turned to face her and lost track of all thought when he saw the way she was beaming at him.

“We did,” she said, raising her freehand to his cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning further into her touch. “You absorbed the seal when you inhaled it. That was all it needed.”

“That sounds too easy.”

Those smooth hands glided up his jaw. “The fae underestimated you. They thought a human would be too wary of the risk. Their pride is their greatest weakness.”

Her fingers were in his hair now, winding through the strands. She tugged against them, pulling him closer, and suddenly he couldn’t think straight.

“What now?”

Feyre leaned onto the tips of her toes to close the remaining distance between them. When she whispered, he could feel each syllable ghost across his lips. “What were you going to say to me outside the chamber?”

Something warm and golden unfurled in his chest as he looked at her. His arm slid under her back, holding their chests flush. “Tell me one thing, before I reveal it to you.”

Her smile was more intoxicating than his father’s finest wines. “Anything,” she promised.

“Tell me—” he pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me, truly, if you might want this one day. Want me.”

“I do,” she said without any hesitation. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Rhysand. I want you. Desperately. I need—”

He should have let her finish speaking, especially now that she was saying everything he wanted to hear. But it was impossible. He was just a man and her lips were so close to his they were sharing breath and she finally admitted she wanted him, too.

How could he stop himself from kissing her?

The most delicate noise slipped out of her when their lips met. Like the sigh of a door being opened for the first time in years. Like relief. Finally, finally, relief. After so much pent-up longing, he was kissing her, and her hands were twisting in his hair, and his tongue was skimming her lower lip, and all he could think was:

Maybe salvation was real.

The golden warmth kindling inside him was growing stronger. He felt the first of its tug when they tore their lips apart, both of them gasping.

Feyre’s pupils were wide and wild. She was smiling again, which made it impossible not to keep kissing her. But first, he said, “I was going to tell you that I am yours, Feyre. I’m yours until my dying breath.”

A blush was rising to her cheeks, spreading beneath her freckles. He leaned to kiss her again, but she broke away with a giggle, tugging playfully at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll be yours, too,” she said, eyes shining. “But I won’t make it easy for you. You’re going to have to catch me first.”

The little vixen. She launched into a sprint, fleeing to the other side of the chamber, and he laughed as he raced after her.

“Rhysand!” She called, weaving between the wisteria-twined pillars. Sheer panels of blushing peach fabric drifted behind each of her shoulders, attached to the elegant golden pauldrons she wore on each shoulder. With the light of the skyline beyond haloing her lithe frame, he felt more as though he were chasing a celestial goddess than a human woman.

She called his name again, the second syllable tapering on the most beautiful laughter he’d ever heard. He vaulted through one of the open archways, desperate to get to her, to taste that laughter beneath his tongue. He landed and slid across the smooth stone, nearly carrying him off the ledge were it not for his sharp reflexes. At the last second, he grabbed at one of the marble pillars and hauled himself back into the chamber.

The sight of the jagged cliff face and the sprawling countryside far, far below was enough to sober him.

He felt another tug. This one more insistent. As if the chain connecting him to Feyre had rematerialized. She was still dancing between the pillars, completely undaunted by the risk of falling if it meant taunting him.

But the tug didn’t pull him towards her.

Rhysand!

And that voice… it was hers, but it sounded so far away.

Another tug. Another Feyre calling his name.

Was it a trick?

“Come here, Rhys,” Feyre purred, turning to face him. Light bounced off the glittering panels of her dress, as if Thesan had seen it right to thread her in gold.

He stepped towards her, despite the taut thread pulling him in the opposite direction. “Tell me again,” he said.

“I’m yours.” Her eyes were like stars. Ceding the game, she prowled back to him, teeth gleaming so white in the full vibrancy of the sun. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Rhysand shut his eyes. He pictured Feyre in his mind. The stormy eyes and the withering glare and her beautiful, devastating face. It was an almost identical likeness. But as Rhysand opened his eyes, he searched for that freckle beside her eye, the one which was darker and bigger than the others around it. And it wasn’t there.

He released a heavy sigh. “You’re not real.”

Her soft palm pressed into his chest, void of Feyre’s hard-earned calluses. “I could be,” she said to him. “We could stay up here forever.”

Forever wasn’t tempting to him. Not without Feyre.

The moment he decided, the Feyre in front of him vanished. The scarlet mist returned, as thick and unnavigable as before. He could hear Feyre calling his name, voice raw and panicked. Likewise he could feel a golden tug in his chest, leading him in another direction.

He didn’t know which was real. He supposed they might all be tricks.

Not for the first time, and he suspected not for the last, he thought how much he missed that Cauldron-cursed leash.

Dropping to his knees, Rhysand elected to crawl across the chamber rather than risk taking a wrong step and plummeting to the bottom of the valley. He only hoped that Feyre hadn’t made that mistake, either. Was she also trapped in some blissful vision? A pathetic part of himself hoped he was in it.

Soon, his searching hands found a tiled pool filled with tepid water. He crawled into it, not caring that it would ruin the bright, loose-fitting tunic and trousers that Thesan had lended him. The thin fabric clung to his skin as he waded through the pool and skimmed his arms over the surface in wide, sweeping gestures.

He felt something bob against his elbow and quickly seized it. His fingers met the soft suede of flower petals and a thin, bumpy stem that resisted his initial tug. He yanked until the infernal thing came away with a snap.

Then the lotus flower, as fragile as the minds it twisted, crumpled in his fist.

Rhys had never imagined what it would be like to sit at the center of a stormcloud, but he imagined the experience would not be so different from the violent release of energy that swept through the chamber with a deafening thunder clap, Rhys at its epicenter. The water rippled through the pool and spread beyond it, dissipating the fog in a great sweep of wind that he imagined would carry through the whole of Prythian.

The skin on his chest and shoulder itched terribly. If he looked down, he would likely be able to see through the translucent fabric of his tunic that the tattoo was spreading. But Rhysand didn’t care about his tattoo, nor his wet shirt, nor the entire gods-forsaken Court he’d just liberated.

He only cared about Feyre. He could see she was curled up just a small distance away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were moving, over and over, shaping words he couldn’t make out.

“Feyre?” He leapt out of the pool with an urgency that sent a wave of water spilling over the sides of the reflection pool. Water dripped from his clothes, splattering haphazardly in his wake as he slid across the stone floor to reach her.

It occurred to him, as he delicately placed his hands on her shoulders, that this could be another mind trick. He had no way of knowing that he’d truly destroyed the fifth seal or that this was truly his Feyre in front of him, besides the inclination in his gut and the warm, inexplicable pull he felt to her.

Her entire body was trembling.

“Feyre?” He said again, softer.

“No,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. “No, no, no, no. Not again. Not again, please.”

Her voice was scraped raw, as if she’d been screaming. This was the same woman he’d witnessed slay beasts and stare down High Lords twice her size. For whatever she’s seen to have terrified so greatly…

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe now, Feyre. It’s over.”

Those blue eyes focused just enough to register that he was crouched before her. And then her lower lip started trembling, and she shook her head violently, scrambling back as she whimpered, “No, Rhys. Not again. Please.”

He floundered at the fear in her eyes. Whatever she’d been shown in the lotus mist, clearly, he had been part of the vision. And his heart shattered to think he’d been the one hurting her.

“It’s just me, Feyre.” He held up his open palms. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I destroyed the lotus. It’s done.”

Her gaze drifted from his open palms to the markings visible through his translucent tunic. A sob hitched her throat. “It’s over?”

Rhys nodded, extending his hand so that he might help her up. She stared at it a moment, perhaps sharing his earlier doubt that this was another trick. Then she looked at him, studying his dripping clothes and wet hair and what he hoped to be an earnest expression.

Then she launched herself at him.

The momentum barrelled into him was such force that he was sent sprawling onto his back, a surprise grunt pushing out his chest. He didn’t have time to reorient himself, or make sense of what was happening, before Feyre gripped his face between both of her callused hands and kissed him so hard he forgot there was a reason why people needed important things like breath.

He could taste the salt of her tears and the melon juice that was still on her lips from breakfast. Every ounce of rationality dissipated at that revelation, and all he could think was that he’d never had a favorite fruit until that moment.

With a groan, Rhys slid his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head while also angling her closer, so he could lick into her mouth and commit the taste to memory. He no longer cared if it was real or only a vision. He would gladly surrender to the madness if this was his eternity.

He might very well have flipped her over and made love to her right there. She would have looked beautiful flushed in the low light of the morning as dawn finally greeted its namesake. But towards the far entrance, someone cleared their throat.

That was how Rhysand knew this was real. If this had been a vision from the lotus, he would have continued kissing Feyre for eternity, and they certainly wouldn’t have been interrupted by Thesan standing beside an apprehensive-looking Oryn. Over their shoulders, Cassian was grinning like a fiend.

“Celebrating your victory?” He said with a suggestive quirk of his brows.

Rhysand never hated the fae as much as he did in that moment, when Feyre hastily scrambled to her feet. He already missed the weight of her body and her sweet lilac and pear scent. He took his time rising to his feet, and when he reached his full height, he offered her a heated look that said, This isn’t over.

She looked away, heat blooming on her cheeks.

That made it the first trial that actually did feel like a victory. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, and no amount of his cocky grin was forced as he looked to Thesan and asked, “Is breakfast still warm?”

#The Other Side of the Apocalpyse #TOSOTA #Feysand #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feysand fic #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand

[absurdthirst]

A Life Together {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explict

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: First love, mentions of childbirth, mentions of death during childbirth, fear of childbirth, anxiety, handjobs, loss of virginity, mentions of brothels/prostitution, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, threats of death, promise of forced breeding, non-con due to no protection, forced pregnancy, anger, vomiting, blood, childbirth

Comments: You have waited for Pero Tovar to come home since you were 17 years old. Now that he is back, your father has a demand. A grandchild to live off his land - despite knowing your very real fear of childbirth.

🚨🚨 DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - This story contains elements of forced pregnancy, non-con elements due to that. Do not proceed if you object 🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“You’ve waited long enough, the boy is either dead or moved on.” Your father doesn’t rage at you, doesn’t raise his voice, but his eyes are flat - far used to beating this dead horse with you. “It’s time you do the same. It is your duty to marry, have children who can inherit my lands.”

Swallowing down the fear, you shake your head. Knowing that it would do no good to tell your father you had no intention of ever having children. You would not die screaming in childbirth from exhaustion like your mother. Having no desire to nurse a babe at your breast or waddle like a fat cow as one grows under your skirts. “Pero Tovar is the only man I have ever considered being my husband.” You remind him like you have countless times before. “You promised my mother that I could choose who I wed.” Thankfully, your father had loved your mother and would never risk her wrath in the afterlife to go against her wishes, leaving you free to pine for the boy who had left so many years ago to sell his sword in hopes of have the coin to properly pay the dowry that is now considerably less than it had been when you were seventeen.

**** 

“Pero!” You gasp when he kisses along your neck, fumbling like a seventeen year old does from lack of experience. 

“Mi amor.” Pero murmurs, caressing your waist. It’s more than he should be able to touch but you are in the woods, hidden from view, and he finds himself struggling to control his need for you. 

“Pero. Stop. We need to wait until the wedding!” You remind him and his hands fall from your waist. 

“There will be no wedding.” He declares and you spin around to face him, a frown on your beautiful face. 

“Wh-why?” You ask, lower lip trembling and he reaches out to caress it with his thumb. 

“I have no coin. My parents…they left me with nothing when they died. I am unworthy of you, hermosa. I must leave the village, earn enough coin to pay your dowry. I won’t be gone long, just long enough to be able to provide for you.” He promises and you shake your head. 

“I do not care about the coin. My father will waive the dowry. Please do not go. I love you.” You beg, gripping his tunic but he gently pries your fingers from him. 

“I must. What man would I be if I remained and was unable to provide for my wife?” He knows about you not wanting children and he’s content to grow old with you. Just you. 

“You’d be my husband.” You counter and he smiles, “one day soon.” His promise makes you surge forward to press your lips to his, who knows how long he would be gone for, you want to give him something to return to. You want him to take your innocence before he goes.

Pero groans when you reach down and cup his aching cock through the thin layer of his breeches, straining at them because of your beauty and his love for you. “Amor- no, I-” 

“Touch me, Pero.” You beg quietly. “I want to know what it feels like to have the man I love touch my bare skin, to - to deflower me.” The women in the village had taken it upon themselves to talk about what you would expect when you are married since your own mother is long gone. Some of it had horrified you, especially the part of them spilling their seed inside you. “Just- just do not spill inside me.” You beg. “I do not wish to - to grow a child.” 

“I can’t. I can’t take your innocence before I leave. I cannot leave your soul tarnished in case I do not return.” He murmurs, caressing your arms. “It would be more than I could handle to leave you here, deflowered, and reputation tarnished. Do not ask this of me. I would be the devil himself, amor. I will return to you.” He promises, leaning in to press his lips to yours again.

You whimper, pressing your lips to his but you know he will not change his mind. “I will wait for you, amor.” You promise breathlessly. “Until you return. I am yours, always.” There is no one else for you beyond Pero. You have loved him since you were children playing together. “Father will not force me to marry another, but please hurry. I wish to be your wife.”

****

Pero is exhausted. Fifteen years later and he's finally returning to the village he lived in as a child. He finally has enough coins after traveling east and he is tired. He prays to God that you are here but he doubts you waited for him. He would understand if you were married and have forgotten him. He has taken too long to return to you.

Washing clothes is never an easy chore but the cool breeze and bright sunshine makes for a happier time spent at the scrub board. The kettle boils over the outside fire, smoke curling up and you hear a horse neigh in the distance, making you look up from where you are stirring the dresses and shirts mixed with lye. Frowning when you see a large man on an even larger war horse. A soldier. Making you put down the paddle and warily watch as he makes his way down the lane towards your father’s home.

Pero sees you outside of your home and he inhales deeply. Fifteen years later and you’re still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “Amor.” He shouts out, kicking the horse’s side to speed up until he’s in front of the cottage. Once he’s near you, he’s swinging his leg over his stead in an effort to get closer to you and he rushes towards you, abandoning the horse. “Amor!” He shouts and pants as he stands in front of you, dragging you into his arms.

“P-Pero!” You cry out, astonished that the man in front of you is the same boy who had left your village fifteen years ago. You don’t recognize him, his features are hard, dark hair covering his face and there is a large, ugly scar that covers his left eye and cheek. You grasp his arms as he pulls you to him and tears slide down your cheeks. “You are alive! You are home!” You cry out, nearly sobbing with happiness that he is not dead like you had secretly feared. 

He feels like he’s home, finally. After so many years of fighting for his life and for coins, he has finally returned home to you. “I’m sorry I took so long to return to you. Are you- have you been wed?” He asks, terrified of the answer but he had already told himself that if you were married, he would leave and find another settlement.

Shaking your head, you don’t care that he is filthy from the road or that it’s been years since you’ve kissed him - fifteen to be exact - you lunge forward and press your lips to his quickly. “No, no I am not.” You promise breathlessly between kisses. “I said I would marry no other than you. Now father will be happy.” You giggle, tears still falling and your arms are around his neck and holding him close as if you are afraid he will slip away. 

His hands cup your cheeks, pulling back to look at you, and he shifts to kneel, fumbling for his coin purse. He takes out the gold ring he had crafted and kneels in front of you, reaching for your hand. “I have traveled to the far east and back and no one could compare to you, mi amor. Will you marry me?” He asks, knowing he isn’t one for grand gestures but this has been fifteen years in the making, the gold ring in his hand.

“Yes! Yes!” You cry out, launching yourself at him again and it’s only because of Pero’s strength that you don’t knock both of you down to the ground. Kissing him excitedly as you imagine marrying him and finally having the man you love touch you like you have dreamed of for years. “You -  you need to talk to my father. He will be happy that you have come back to take me off his hands.” 

He grins, “I’m sure he will be.” Pero pulls back so he can slide the ring onto your finger, thanking God that everything had worked out despite taking fourteen years too long. He’s killed, he’s fucked, he’s no longer innocent and he knows he needs to disclose that prior to your union. “Let me stable my horse and I would like to speak to your father. I have your dowry and enough to provide for our life together.”

You nod. “I will get some food for you and father while you talk.” You know that he must be weary, it looks like he has traveled a long way and after you get some bread, meat and cheese together, you will start heating water for him to bathe. Your chores have most likely doubled, but you can’t stop grinning as you kiss him again once more and rush off to tell your father that Pero has come home. 

**** 

Your father chews the bread as he stares at Pero. “You’re back.” He states the obvious and Pero nods, “señor, it took me too long to return to your daughter. I understand if you are angry but I still love her and wish to marry her.” 

Your father snorts, “she refused to marry anyone else and she is now an old maid so I pray you are prepared to marry her.” Your father leans closer, watching you through the window as you gather the water for a bath. “I have one condition.” Your father says and Pero nods, “name it.” 

Your father sighs, “I have no other children. Her mother, bless her soul, died during childbirth and I could never marry again. I wish for my daughter to have a family to raise on this land. That once I am dead, the land will pass to you and then onto your son. I do not want to end the family line.” Pero hesitates, knowing that you did not wish to have a child. Unless your opinion has changed. 

“She does not wish to have a child.” Pero answers and your father shakes his head, “it’s required. You cannot marry her unless you promise me she will bear a child.” He says and Pero nods, “very well.” He will have to speak to you and he will stand by his wife, no matter what your father says.

Leaning back, your father’s eyes narrow, knowing that the younger man has given in too easily. “If she is not carrying a child within months of you bedding her, I will make sure that she remarries someone who will plant a child in her belly.” 

Pero frowns, “but we will be married.” He argues, knowing the church would never allow you to marry another. 

Your father shrugs, “You will be met with an unfortunate hunting accident in the woods. She will mourn and then I will have her married to a man who will fulfill my wishes to have our family remain on this land.” He threatens softly. 

Pero stares at his soon to be father in law, knowing that the man isn’t bluffing. He would have Pero killed if it meant protecting his bloodline. He nods, “very well. Give me six months and if she is not with child….” He trails off, not letting the older man break his gaze.

Your father nods after a moment and picks up his mug of ale. “We understand each other then.” He grunts before he takes a long drink from his cup. “After you eat, bathe.” He huffs. “You stink and I am sure that my daughter would prefer you to be sweet smelling when you bed her tonight.” He glances over at the boy he had known who is now a man. “You didn’t get the rot, did you? Cock still works?” He knows there is no way the boy saved himself for his daughter, it’s not the way that world worked for men. 

Pero snorts, staring at your father for a moment, “it still works.” He promises and your father nods, pleased that Pero had taken care of himself. 

“I will order the priest to come here to wed you tonight. No time to lose, my daughter has spent too long yearning for you.” Your father stands, readying himself to head into the village to fetch the priest. 

Pero watches him go and sees you struggling with the pail of hot water. “Amor.” He tuts, taking the bucket to pour it into the tub you have sitting in the main area of the cottage. He pours the water in and follows you to fill it from the fire you set up outside for boiling water. “I shall do this.” He tells you, working fast to fill the tub and he has no qualms about stripping down in front of you to sink into the tub. You are to be married, you shall see him naked at some point.

Your soft gasp isn’t because you are shocked that Pero stripped down in front of you. It’s due to the fact that you are seeing every inch of his skin for the first time. You see every scar and mole, freckle and imperfection. His cock is flaccid, hanging between his legs as he walks over to climb into the tub and you wonder if it grows larger or just gets hard. You’ve been privy to many conversations with the other women to not know that cocks are different. “Let me…” you rush over to grab the crock of soap and a rag, as well as another bucket to rinse him off. 

Pero feels your eyes on him and he sinks down into the warm water, groaning after so many days on horseback. “Do you have any scissors, hermosa? I need to cut my hair.” He gestures to the long locks he was unable to cut prior to arriving on your doorstep. He would’ve stopped off to clean up but he was too eager to finish the journey home.

“I do.” You nod and set down the items next to the tub before you rush off to get your shears. It’s thrilling to have him home again and you have butterflies in your stomach. Plucking them out of the basket and hurrying back over to the tub and Pero. “What did my father say? Did he thank God you were home so his daughter will no longer be a spinster?”

Pero chuckles as he uses the soap to clean off the dirt. “He is fetching the priest for us now. I think he is eager to have you married off, mi amor.” Pero looks up at you as you kneel beside him. He stays still so you can start to cut his tangled locks. “Te amo.” Pero murmurs, watching you with awe, unable to believe he gets to have you after so many years away.

“I love you.” You promise, using your fingers to comb through his hair. “I- I have not let another touch me.” You reveal, wanting him to know you had kept your word and waited for him. “But I - I think that you will have experience, yes?” You ask softly. “That is the way of men. To learn how to please their woman in the beds of others?”

Pero nods, reaching for your hand, “I will not pretend that I have not spent a night in a woman’s bed but I want you to know that no one else has possessed my heart. Even if a woman had my body, for one night, it has always been you who owns my heart, my soul. I was always planning to return to you and if I returned to find you with another, you would have kept my heart in your hands.” He vows, caressing your hand with his thumb.

You bite your lip, knowing that you are luckier than most, he returned to you. His dark gaze bores into yours and you nod. “I would never have married another.” You kneel down next to the tub and your hand slides out of his to drift over your chest. “I want-“ your hand slides down, eager to learn your betrothed’s body. Slipping under the water to touch his cock like you had when you were seventeen, except this time there is no cloth between your hand and his manhood.

Pero hisses when your fingers wrap around his cock. He immediately starts to harden and he is well versed in intimacy now. He doesn’t need to push you away, but he still feels guilty about seeking pleasure before you are wed. “Amor. You don’t - I don’t require you to do this.” He promises you, groaning when you squeeze him and he tilts his head back against the tub. It’s been so long since he’s been touched, not wanting to spend his coins, wanting to come home with as much as possible for you.

“I want to touch you.” You promise him breathlessly, marveling at how he is growing your hand. Wanting to give him pleasure since he kept his word to you. “Wanted to since I was fifteen. Let your wife pleasure you.”

He groans when you squeeze him again and how can he possibly deny you after you’ve waited so long for him? He reaches down to cover your hand with his, slowly squeezing and he starts to pump, his cock hardening fully in your grip. Hearing you call yourself his wife has him on edge already and he hisses when you squeeze and start to pump him. “That’s it, amor. That feels so good.”

Your brows knit together, watching his face as you stroke him just like he’s directing you too. Moaning softly when his cock pulses in your hand and you realize he’s enjoying this. “I want you to fuck me tonight.” Your language is much coarser over the years, few believing you are pure and not holding their tongue around you like they would a younger maiden. “Take my innocence and show me pleasure.”

He groans, letting go of your hand so you can explore his cock. He wants you to touch his body and get to know it as well as your own. Pero grunts when you twist your wrist and your blouse gets wet from the way the water splashes. “I’m going to make you feel good, hermosa.” He promises, “I will make it worth the years you’ve waited for me.”

“I touch myself some nights.” You confess, eyes sliding away so you don’t see his surprise or disapproval. “In the dark and under the covers, thinking of you.” He is still as handsome as you remember, maybe more so with age. You look back down at your hand. “It’s so big now.” You murmur. “You grew even more.”

Pero’s stomach twists at your words, “you will need to show me how you touch yourself, hermosa. I want to know how to pleasure you, to make sure you enjoy yourself.” He reaches up to cup your cheek, bringing your gaze back to his. Your hand squeezes his cock and he groans softly, “this cock is yours now. Yours until I die.”

“Mine.” You love the sound of that and you twist your wrist, pumping his cock faster. “Pero, I love you.” Leaning in, you press your lips to his, wanting him to reach his peak as you work his pulsing length in your hand.

He pants into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours as you twist your wrist just right and it sends him over the edge. “Fuck. Fuck. Amor. Fuck.” He groans against your chin as his cock starts to pulse in your hand, spurts of hot seed mixing with the water and he presses his lips to yours.

You hum, the lips of your sex dripping with arousal as you watch your fiancé cum. Slowing your hand down to let him bask in the pleasure and letting him go when he starts to soften. “Now.” You peck his lips again and smirk. “It’s time to finish cleaning you up so we can get married.” You murmur.

Pero chuckles, realizing how much he’s missed your bossy nature, remembering the way you’d order him around as children. “Sí, señora.” He winks and he allows you to finish cutting his hair. After he’s washed, he cuts the scruffy beard to shave into a neat mustache. “Am I suitable for marriage?” He asks you once he’s dressed.

“You look….different.” You admit softly. “More handsome, but fierce.” Your fingers brush over his scar and you lean in to kiss the marred skin. “I will be happy to exchange vows with you, but….” You sigh softly. “I still never wish to have children, Pero. I know you were agreeable to that when we were children, but if you have decided that you need sons..” you step away. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me.”

Pero stares at you, your father’s warning in his mind, but he reaches for your hands, taking your hands in his. “Amor. I am not marrying you for children. I am marrying you because I love you. I love you. I have fought tooth and nail to return to you. I would have crawled back if I had to. I love you. For you. I’m marrying you.” He says, squeezing your hands.

Sighing in relief, you smile at him. “Thank you.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You had been a little worried that he had changed over the past fifteen years, wanting things that you weren’t going to give him. It would be better to know that now than to find out after he was bound to you and there was nothing to be done to free yourselves. You won’t die like your mother and countless other women in your village. “I should bathe and get ready for the priest as well.”

“I shall leave you to get ready, mi amor.” Pero murmurs, kissing the back of your hands, one after the other. He lets go of you and steps away, deciding to go for a walk so he can reacquaint himself with your father’s land. He must consider his actions. Your father is demanding children, you do not wish to have children. He is torn, wishing he could honor your wishes but he hasn’t come this far to die at the hands of some farmers. When he sees your father walking down the path with the priest, he walks up to greet the priest, glad to see it’s the same man who baptized him as a babe.

“Pero Tovar.” The priest smiles as he comes close, reaching out to clasp the younger man on the shoulders. “You have returned home to your love.” He hums, aware of your stubbornness to move on from your childhood love. While some would have concern about the willfulness of a woman, the priest had borne witness to the love between the two youths before Pero had left to sell his sword and earn coin to be worthy of marrying you. “Do you need to have confession before you wed your bride?” He asks, knowing that Pero might not have spoken to a priest on the road home. 

Pero knows he would spend a week telling the priest all of the sins he’s committed prior to marrying you, but he cannot tell the priest that. “I already visited a church on my way home, wanting to offload my soul prior to marrying.” He adds another sin to the list but he will confess privately, his relationship with God is still intact. 

“Very well. Is your bride ready?” The priest asks and your father slaps Pero on the shoulder, “I shall fetch her.” Pero nods and guides the priest over to the tree that Pero used to spend hours underneath with you, talking of your future together. A future that is finally happening.

Your hands are shaking when your father comes into the house, staring at you for a moment. “your Pero is waiting.” He tells you gruffly, reaching out and brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles in a rare moment of gentleness. “You look like your mother.” He praises, patting your shoulder and turning to walk out of the house, knowing you will follow him. Your steps are quick, and you nearly rush forward when you see Pero and the priest standing under the tree. 

Pero wipes his hands on his breeches, watching you as you walk towards him, the sun shining down on you and you’re like a gift from God. Despite the blood on his hands, he has returned home to find you waiting for him. A wish he doubted would come true. He takes your hand in his, squeezing as you come to stand beside him.

You can barely hear a word the priest is saying, your heart is pounding so hard. The blood rushing through your ears and unable to do anything else but sneak glances at Pero as he stands tall beside you. You are finally marrying your love, becoming Pero’s wife. Something you have dreamed of since you were a child. 

He squeezes your hands, watching you and barely listening to what the priest says, words about the sanctity of marriage. Pero knows he has waited his entire life for this moment. He knows the weight of becoming your husband, and he knows he is ready to be by your side until the day he dies. After repeating the vows, he leans in to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet in front of the priest and your father who looks relieved that you are finally wed.

Melting against Pero, you sigh into the kiss and close your eyes. Happy that you have not been proclaimed to be Pero’s wife. You smile happily when you pull away and stare at him with stars in your eyes. “Husband.” You murmur softly, squeezing your husband’s hand. You turn to your father and grin at him. “I told you I would marry Pero.” 

Your father chuckles, “you did.” His eyes drift over to Pero who nods his silent thanks to your father for letting him marry you. 

“Mi esposa.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek, and the priest smiles, “congratulations.” He tells you and Pero who thanks him. 

“Come on, father. I’ll be spending the night at the inn to give them some privacy. Let us walk back.” He pats the father on the shoulder and guides him down the path back to the village after telling Pero “look after her.” 

He nods and watches the older men walk away before he turns to look at you, “come, mi amor. Let’s go home.” He takes your hand to guide you back to the cottage.

You know you shouldn’t be nervous, you know what to expect and Pero would never hurt you. Still, your stomach jitters and your skin is covered with goosebumps as he leads you back to the cottage. Back to the bed that had been yours alone for so long but now that you would be sharing with your husband.

Pero is nervous, not nervous for sex. He’s had sex plenty of times, but he’s never had sex with you. With his wife. He exhales shakily and reaches for you, pulling you close so he can softly kiss you. He takes his time, in no rush, and he pecks your lips several times before deepening the kiss, his hands trailing over your body. “Hermosa, you are - you are exquisite.” He declares, kissing down your neck.

Panting slightly, you close your eyes and let him touch you however he wants. While you wish you had both lost your innocence together, you trust him with everything you are. Knowing that he would never hurt you. “I want you.” You whimper. “More than I did fifteen years ago.”

“I have always wanted you. Even when I was sleeping on the hard ground, when I was in an inn, when I was beside another woman…you were on my mind. I’ve missed you.” He admits, gently turning you around so he can work on untying your bodice. He desperately wants to see you bare before him for the first time. “Te amo.” He murmurs, kissing your back as he makes quick work of your clothes.

“Te amo.” You moan softly, shivering despite the warm fire in the grate of the hearth. One the laces are loose, you feel him start to pull up your dress to remove it. Happy you had bathed quickly after he had left earlier, you know you are ready to spend your wedding night in your husband’s arms.

Pero kneels down to remove your shoes, placing them on the side and he stands up when the dress falls from your body to let his eyes drink in the sight of your form figure. “Fuck. Hermosa. Mi esposa.” He groans, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth after he cups your breasts.

“Pero!” You cry out, knowing that you will never experience this again. Not like the first time. The exquisite feeling of his mouth suckling at your breast. “Oh god, husband, it’s so good.” You moan, tangling your fingers into his hair.

He loves your praise, sucking on your breast and biting down on your nipple. He’s determined to make this good for you. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses when you reach down to squeeze his cock but he doesn’t want you to touch him yet. This is all about you. He groans your name and switches over to your other tit, biting and sucking.

You whimper his name again and tug on his hair. Loving how he is making you feel bursts of pleasure as he toys with your breasts. “I want-“ you whine, not sure what you want. You just know you need him. The ache between your thighs grows stronger as every minute passes.

He knows what you want, what you need, and he’s going to give it to you. He lets go of your breast and grips your waist, guiding you backwards towards your bed until the back of your knees hit it. He lays you down and when you fall back, he kneels at the foot of the bed. “I want to see you.” He orders and caresses your calf, his thumb rubbing your skin until he’s spreading your legs to expose your cunt to his hungry gaze. “Bonita.” He gasps softly, shifting to lay on his stomach and he presses kisses along your inner thighs.

“Pero.” You whimper, having been told this type of pleasure is extremely rare, most men not wanting to put their mouths on a woman’s mound because of her monthly. Instinctively, your legs try to close, preventing him from doing anything he would regret.

He tuts and grabs your thighs, pushing them open again and he shakes his head at you. “I want to taste my wife’s cunt. Do not deny me.” He demands and leans in to slide his tongue through your folds with a groan when your slick hits his taste buds.

You cry out, squeezing your eyes closed in embarrassment and arousal. Unable to believe that the same tongue that had been in your month is now licking your cunt like he was trying to learn how you taste from the inside. Making you gasp as you wonder if he had done this to all the women he had been with while he was selling his sword.

He learned about oral pleasure from a whore he paid for the night. For some reason, he told her about his quest to return back to you and she taught him how to properly pleasure with his tongue, making him promise to do it to you upon his return. He recalls every move, sliding his tongue up to flick over your bundle of nerves and licking deep inside of you.

Gasping, your hips jerk up but your husband throws his arm over your hips to keep you pinned to the bed. Making you stay still so he can continue his delicious assault on your cunt, especially the little button that you rub when you touch yourself in the dark. It feels so much better when he flicks his tongue against it and you babble his name repeatedly with calls to God, unable to stop yourself from getting louder the more pleasure builds in your stomach. 

Pero is aching, cock pressed against the bedding despite you touching him prior to the wedding. He’s waited fifteen years to have you and the need is steadily rising. He needs to stretch you out, prepare you, so he pushes two fingers inside of you slowly while he sucks on your clit with a groan.

You whimper, eyes closing and your fingers twist in the sheets of your bed. Feeling fuller than you ever could with the one finger you had slipped inside of you in shame as you imagined your Pero taking you. “Oh, oh Pero.” You whine, unconsciously rolling your hips down. “I don’t- what is happening?” This is more than anything you had ever managed to make yourself feel. 

“You’re going to cum for me, hermosa.” He says, continuing to push his fingers deep and he watches you writhe with pleasure he’s giving you. “I want you to soak my fingers and then I’m going to take what’s mine. My beautiful esposa. Mi amor. It’s been too long. Cum for me.” He orders, resuming his licks over your clit while he curls his fingers deep inside of you.

It takes some time, the pressure abating before coming back and making your entire body lock up. Your cunt bottoms out around his fingers, sucking them in tight and washing them with a flood of your juices. Making you lurch up off the bed when you scream his name. “Perooooooo!”

He groans into your flesh, loving the way you clamp down on his digits, and he works you through your orgasm with small, kitten licks to your clit, and he scissors his fingers to try and stretch you out. He withdraws them after a few moments and shifts off of the bed to begin pulling his tunic off.

There is zero shame in your eyes as you watch your husband strip. You’ve seen him naked and are eager to feel his body against yours. Biting your lip as he shucks his breeches, you watch the heavy swaying of his hard cock. “That’s what it looks like when you’re standing?” Your eyes widen and you giggle slightly. “It looks painful.”

Pero chuckles at your wide eyes and he shakes his head, “it’s painful when it’s left too long. It aches. Like I have a deep need to be inside of you.” He explains, shifting to kneel on the bed, and he watches you as he grips his cock. “Do you wish to have me inside of you?” He asks, wanting you to be sure even though you are bound by marriage.

You moan, spreading your legs wider. “I’ve wanted you inside me since I was fifteen.” You promise him. “Please, take me. Claim your wife and show me how it feels to have my innocence taken by the man I love.” You beg, reaching for him.

Hearing you announce that you want him inside of you, has Pero twitching in anticipation of being inside of you. “Amor.” He murmurs, shifting closer and he caresses your thigh before he moves to his elbows so he can press his lips to yours. Shifting his weight, he grips his cock and positions it at your entrance, his eyes open and on your face as he starts to push inside of you.

It doesn’t hurt like you had imagined it. All the young brides talked about the pain that felt like they were being ripped apart. It’s different, you’ve never felt like this before, but it doesn’t hurt that bad. More of a dull ache as he pushes into the hilt. “Pero.” You moan, lifting a leg and wrapping it around his waist on instinct. “God, amor, you fill me up.” You pant quietly.

He slides his arms underneath you, pulling you closer as he is fully inside of you. Kissing along your jaw, he’s struggling to control himself after so many years of yearning, dreaming of this moment. “So good.” He murmurs, loving how wet and hot and tight you are. The fact that you’re the woman he loves makes it even sweeter. “Are you okay, amor?” He asks, wanting to check before he starts to move inside of you.

“Yes.” You whine softly, smiling even though your eyes are closed. “So good.” It feels perfect, like you are finally completed. When Pero pulls his hips back, you huff, wanting him to stay buried in you the entire time but you know he cannot. Not if you want to experience more pleasure. “Please, Pero.” You beg, opening your eyes and looking up at him hovering over you. “Make love to your wife.”

He can’t deny you anymore, he has to move. Slowly rocking his hips, he pushes inside of you again and withdraws. Slow, unhurried thrusts that have him pushing deep and your moans make his stomach clench. There were times that he didn’t think he’d get to have this, that he wouldn’t return to you, that you wouldn’t have waited for him. It’s intoxicating to know that you sacrificed so much time to wait for his return, not even knowing if he would. “Te amo, amor. Te amo.” He groans, kissing along your neck to your lips.

You don’t know when the tears start, but they slide down your temples as he works himself in and out of your body. Joyous tears because you are finally experiencing Pero’s touch. As your husband. There had been times where you wondered if he had died, that he was never coming home to you. But now he is here, putting down his sword and you can spend the rest of your lives together.

Pero frowns when he sees your tears, “are you okay, amor? Am I hurting you?” He asks, caressing your cheek to wipe away your tears and when you shake your head, he’s relieved. 

“I am so happy you’re here.” You admit and he smiles, stopping his movement inside of you so he can bring your gaze to his. 

“Me too. I thought of you every damn day I was away from your side. I dreamed of you, of being with you. I would’ve crawled back on my knees to be with you.” He vows, kissing your cheek when another tear falls.

You don’t think that it could be any more perfect, Pero takes his time and slowly builds up a rhythm that takes your breath away and makes you hold him tight. “I- I feel- it’s so good.” You babble quietly. “More- I just- I need-“ you aren’t sure what you need but you know he will take care of you, like he always had before he left.

He knows what you need. He rocks into you a little faster, groaning your name and he lifts your leg up onto his hip so he can sink deeper inside of you. “Amor. So - so - perfecta.” He murmurs, shifting his weight so he can rub your clit. It’s been too long since he was inside of a woman and he can feel his balls pulling up. He wants you to cum first.

“Pero!” The pressure against your clit is perfect, giving you exactly what you need to fall over the edge. Your body shakes and your hoarse cry fills the room as your walls clench down around him.

The way you clench down around his cock and soak him has him gritting his teeth to control himself. He knows he should cum inside of you, fulfill your father’s request, but he can’t betray you like that. He pumps inside of you three more times until he’s pulling out, gripping his cock and jerking himself before his hot seed paints your belly.

“Oh….oh god.” You pant, watching him fall apart is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. “That’s so good. So good.” You give a happy little giggle. “Can we do that again?”

Pero chuckles breathlessly, chest heaving as he looks down at you covered in his seed. “You’ll have to wait, amor. I’m not a young man anymore. I - it takes time for my cock to harden again but we have all night. I want you to be worn out with pleasure come sunrise.” He promises, reaching for his tunic to clean his cum off of you before he lays down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Sleep and I’ll wake you up once I’m ready for you.”

****

“Oh Pero.” You moan softly, eyes closed and fingers tangled into his hair. It’s been a month since he has returned to you and your world is nothing but complete bliss. Tangled up in his arms every morning and night, you have gotten to know how good love making is. Even if you don’t know what it feels like to have your husband finish inside you, always pulling out to spend his seed on your belly due to your wishes. Now his tongue flutters over your cunt before the cock even crows outside. “Make me cum before I must start breakfast.” You beg breathlessly.

He smiles against your folds, loving how eager you are for him. Not a day goes by without you wanting him to give you pleasure. He has been working on building a cottage for you, a wedding gift he keeps secret when he leaves the home to go tend to the land with your father. Your father has been boarding in the nearly complete cottage to afford you privacy as a newly married couple but Pero can feel the pressure from your father to breed you. Especially when you announced your monthly bleed, Pero felt the weight growing heavier. “Amor. I want you to cum on my tongue.” He demands, sliding his tongue inside of you and curling it deep, his nose pressed against your clit.

It’s so easy to give in, especially when he orders you to in that sexy, gruff manner of his. His voice is even more gravelly with sleep. His tongue flicks and you fall over the edge, legs shamelessly draped over his shoulders and your hips lifting to push his tongue even deeper into your gushing cunt.

When you clamp down on his tongue, he groans and works you through your orgasm, loving how you whine his name into the dawn. “Fuck.” You curse and Pero grins, kissing your thighs as your chest heaves. 

“I have a surprise for you today, amor.” He murmurs, his dark eyes focusing on you.

“What?” You grin as you imagine some new position or trick in bed. It has been an experience learning everything Pero knows from the brothels he had spent time in. He had told you about some of it, not wanting to hide it from you and while you wish he had never had to seek out pleasure elsewhere, you are grateful to the women who had taught him about pleasure. “Do I have to get dressed?”

Pero nods, shifting to lay down beside you. “Yes. You have to get dressed. It’s outside.” He strokes your arm, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it until he presses his lips on the gold band on your finger. “Get dressed. Put your shoes on.” He demands and shuffles off of the bed so he can get dressed and wash up quickly.

It must be exciting if Pero isn’t going to fuck you. Sliding out of the bed, you grab the shift that you had stopped wearing altogether. Every night when you tried to put it on, Pero would just strip you out of it. It was easier, and cooler, to just sleep naked. Washing up quickly, you dress and smile when he is done. “Do you want to have breakfast or wait until after your surprise?”

"Let's take it with us." He says, knowing you can gather some bread and cheese and jams to take on your journey. You nod and work fast to put together a basket. Once you're ready, you walk hand in hand, Pero guiding you through the woods to the cottage he has lovingly built for you. Your father is there, smiling at you and he is proud of the work Pero has put in.

“Pero-“ the scent of fresh wood shavings and the plaster between the stones fills the small clearing. The new cottage is shining like a diamond and you gasp when you see glass in the windows. “You- you built this?” You demand, unable to believe it, although you know these woods and it was not here the last time you were out here. “This is for us? We are not living with father?”

Pero nods, squeezing your hand. "I still need to finish making some pieces of furniture but I thought you would like to see our home. Your father deserves his privacy and this way, he's close but not too close." Pero tells you and your father nods, "plus I would still like to be close to see my grandchildren."

You swallow harshly, panicked at the thought and shake your head. “No- grandchildren? No, I’m sorry, we aren’t having-“ you let go of Pero’s hand, your breathing suddenly shakes and your heart pounds. “No children. I won’t be like them.”

Your father glares at Pero who avoids his gaze and wraps his arm around you. “Amor. Let me show you the inside.” He guides you over to the door, opening it to show you the interior of the cottage he lovingly built, avoiding the glare of your father.

“I can’t, Pero I can’t have children.” You panic, shaking your head as you look at him frantically. “I can’t, I - I can’t.” You beg him to understand as you turn towards him in the little living space of the cottage. “I thought you understood, that you accepted that.” Tears start falling down your cheeks.

Pero looks over at your father who is standing at the door, “can we have a moment?” Your father nods and leaves the cottage, shutting the door behind him. “Amor. I- I have never asked you for a child. I wouldn’t - I know you did not wish to have children and I will honor that wish. Your father…he has his own idea of our future. Let’s indulge him and know that between us, the decision has been made.” He grips your arms, a little frantic at the way you are panicking.

It takes a few moments for you to calm down, sucking in heavy breaths. Watching his eyes and finding comfort in the assurance you find in their dark depths. “I- yes.” You nod finally. “We will say we will try for a child,” you murmur softly, stepping closer and curling up against his chest. “We- I just don’t want to - Pero, it’s so terrifying.” You sob. “My friend, Awone, she passed in childbirth two years ago. It was slow. She lingered in pain for two days. Her and the babe died.”

Pero pulls you close, seeing how traumatized you are. “Mi amor. I would never force you. If you do not wish to have a baby, then we won’t have children. I would never require It of you. I married you. Only you. Not for a child.” He caresses your back while you sob, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually calm down, sighing softly and pulling away from him. “Thank you, amor.” You lean in and kiss his cheek. “If- if you ever found out that you had sired a bastard and needed to raise the child, I wouldn’t have any issue.” You promise him.

He shakes his head, knowing that he was so careful for so many years to not breed a bastard, wanting to dedicate himself wholly to you. “We shall spend our lives together.” He vows, kissing your forehead. “Set up the breakfast, mi amor. I need to speak with your father.” He murmurs, stepping out of the cottage to find your father pacing. 

“She is still not with child.” He hisses, “and now I hear that she does not want one at all. You have failed, Tovar. If she bleeds again, I shall have your head.” He promises.

Pero growls, “can you not see she is terrified? How could I force her? She will be devastated. She is terrified of ending up like her mother. The mother she never met.” Pero growls, annoyed that your father would be so selfish.

“Women have been birthing babies since Adam and Eve.” Your father huffs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing more than childish fears. My blood will work this land.” He vows, narrowing his eyes as his son by marriage. “If you will not do what is necessary to see it so, I will find a man who will.” He promises. “Your precious wife will bear children who are not yours from her womb and raise them in the cottage you built.

Pero knows your father is not messing around and he thinks of himself as capable to defend himself until your father says “there are many men in the village who would wed even an old maid like her to ensure they inherit this land. Do not waste another moment. She must be with child as soon as possible…otherwise I’ll have you killed.” Your father promises and Pero knows he isn’t just threatening, the unhinged look in his eyes makes him certain that he will follow through. Pero is a gifted fighter but against a village of men? He’d be killed in seconds and leaving you to an unknown fate. He cannot allow that. 

“Very well. It will be done.” He vows and your father nods, “I’ll leave you be. Do not disappoint me, boy.”  He orders and stomps off to his own cottage - the one he has vacated during your early months of marriage. 

“Amor.” Pero sighs as he walks back into the cottage to find you waiting for him.

You frown and look past him to see if your father is coming in. “Is he not hungry?” You ask and Pero just shakes his head, “no, he wanted to go back to his cottage and let us enjoy this time together.” You nod, knowing that your father will be irritable later on so you will plan a hearty meal for dinner. “I love that you have built this for us.” You grin and spin around the large space. “There is even a bedroom for us and another if your friend William comes to visit.”

Pero smiles, although it’s a little tight. He listens to you ramble about what you want to add to the cottage but all he can think about is your father’s threat. “Amor.” He reaches for the piece of bread you have in your hand and he tosses it aside, reaching up to cup your cheek so he can press his lips to yours. “Hermosa, I want to have you in our new home.”

“That is why you did not slide into me earlier.” You giggle happily as you pull away from him and move over to the door to set the bar. Despite knowing your father was going back to the main house, you wanted to ensure privacy for you and Pero in your new home. “Fuck me.” You challenge him with a smirk. “Work up an appetite filling me with your cock and then we will eat.”

He’s nervous but eager to have you in the home he has poured his blood, sweat, and tears into. He groans and pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours and he’s immediately sliding his tongue between your lips. He’s half hard from tasting you earlier and he desperately wants you to cum again before he does what he’s certain God will punish him for.

Your response to your husband is just like it always is, immediate. Relaxing against him and reaching for the laces of his breeches. He had taught you that there is no shame in wanting him, always eager for you to touch him and you waste no time now. “Pull out to spill your seed.” You caution him again, still shaken from the idea of having children before. It is not necessary because you know Pero will honor your wishes.

Pero nods, not wanting to say anything else. This is your future on the line. His life is on the line. He lets you push his breeches down to expose his hard cock and he pulls his tunic over his head. He reaches for your dress, pulling it over your head to expose your body. “Hermosa.” He groans, pulling you up against his body.

“Te amo, I love you.” You murmur, wanting to show him how grateful you are that he has come home to you, providing you with the life that you have always dreamed of. “Do you wish for me to suck your cock?” You ask, pressing kissing along a scar on his shoulder. He had told you that a sword had nearly taken his head but he had managed to deflect it with his ax so it had just sliced along the length of his shoulder.

Pero shakes his head, not wanting you to pleasure him with your mouth. He gently lays you down on the blanket you had brought and he shifts to kneel between your thighs, “are you ready for me, amor?” He asks and leans in to kiss along your neck.

“Always.” You promise him, closing your eyes and moaning softly when his teeth nip your skin. Your hands roam over his warm back and you shift to drape your legs over his hips. “Make love to me, husband.” You beg, always loving how you get to call him that now.

He grips his cock, pushing inside of you, and he presses his lips to yours. “Te amo.” He murmurs against your mouth, letting you adjust to his cock before he starts to move inside of you.

Pero always makes you feel good but today it’s like he’s driven by some need to overwhelm you. His hips slap against yours and his thumb circles your clit as soon as he had built up a rhythm that took your breath away and makes your back arch every time he hits deep inside you.

He tries to lose himself inside of you, to not think about how he’s about to betray you, so he pushes deep and tries to make you cum before he does. “Hermosa, esposa, cum for me.” He begs, shifting closer to you and he pushes your leg further back with his shoulder so he can get deeper inside of you.

You’ve already cum twice, moaning as he pushes you towards another release. “Greedy.” You gasp out, grinning at him as your body starts to feel overwhelmed at all the pleasure and attention you are getting. Another few harsh thrusts and you are careening over the edge, crying out his name as your entire world explodes in pleasure.

Pero grits his teeth, working you through your orgasm and he knows he should pull out, you even remind him. “Amor. You have to - pull out. You need to pull out.” You say and he shakes his head, continuing to push inside of you as his balls pull tight. 

“I can’t.” He gasps and you shift beneath him, “you have to. Please. Pull out.” You beg and he shakes his head. You shriek, pushing on his chest, trying to get him off of you, but all he sees is you married to another from the village and he grabs your wrists, pinning you down with his body. 

“I have to.” He growls, thrusting two more times before he buries his cock and paints your walls with his hot seed.

Screaming, you thrash under him, hot, frantic tears pouring down your cheeks while you feel the wet stickiness of his seed fill you. “You bastard! You bastard!” One of your hands manages to wiggle free and you start to hit him, crying and screaming in horror as he grunts, still working his seed into your womb with a fierce scowl on his face, an expression you’ve never seen directed towards you.

Pero slumps over you, your hits to his chest not enough for what he deserves. He deserves to burn in hell for violating your trust like that. He knows you’ll never look at him the same way but he couldn’t let you go, he can’t give up what he fought so hard for. Not for something silly like spilling his seed inside of you. Your tears, each one is a knife to the heart, and he fumbles off of you, shifting to stand and you sob on the floor, pushing your fingers inside of you to try and get his cum out like the damage isn’t done. “Amor. I- I'm sorry. I had to.” He chokes out, knowing you won’t understand.

“Had to?” You shriek, panicking and trying to push the cum out of your cunt but all you are doing is getting it all over your fingers. “You know how - you bastard!” You start sobbing, crying so hard that you can’t breath as you kneel down on the blanket to grab your shift and start wiping at the cum dribbling out of your sex. “I-I, y-you p-p-promised m-me!” You stutter, gagging and starting to dry heave when you think about his seed taking root and you carrying a baby. A baby that makes you scream and cry and wear yourself out pushing them into the world only to bleed to death. Struggling to your feet, you rush over to a bucket and start to vomit in it.

Pero feels ill himself at your reaction, knowing that he has violated your body and your trust. He hates himself for it. He never wanted you to look at him with hate. “Hermosa. I- your father said he would kill me if I didn’t - he required a child - children. If I didn’t fulfill that, he was going to have me killed. You’d be married the next day to a villager who would violate you until his seed took. I- I couldn’t risk- I’ve waited so long for you. Mierda. Amor, please, forgive me. I did this to save us.” He kneels down beside you, eyes wide as he watches you dry heave.

What little is in your stomach ends up in the bucket, although you continue to heave until your stomach aches and you feel weak. “Fuck you.” You hiss, turning and glaring at him with bloodshot eyes, hating how he has betrayed you. Hating him for filling you with his seed. Hating that your father had made the man you love do such a horrible thing to you to survive. Pero reaches out and you jerk away from him. “Do not touch me!” You scream. “Do not touch me ever again!” 

Pero lowers his hand, his heart breaking at the way you're looking at him with utter detest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He chokes, "lo siento, amor." He stumbles as he shifts away from you. "Amor. Forgive me. Please." He begs, sinking to his knees, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. The guilt threatens to overwhelm him.

Grabbing your clothes, you start to redress, feeling betrayed and horrified by the fact that he had spent his seed inside you. Flinging open the door, you rush outside, running towards the river to bath and hopefully prevent his seed from taking root.

**** 

It's been four months since he spilled his seed inside of you. The day you found out you were with child, Pero was certain you were going to throw yourself off of a cliff. You were devastated, praying for your bleed and Pero wanted to hold you as you screamed in agony. He has slept on the floor since that fateful day, knowing that he needs to stay close to you as your husband despite you hating him. You barely talk to him, not unless it's necessary, and you've retreated into a shell of yourself.

The bump under your dress makes you nauseous, drains your energy and there are days you don’t even want to leave your bed. You can’t look at Pero, angry with him for planting his seed inside you and taking the anger you deal him with nothing but acceptance. Rolling over, you see him asleep next to the bed you had meant to share with him in the house he had built for you. Groaning as you struggle out of the bed to rush over to the chamber pot again, the child making you sick once more.

Pero wakes when he hears you vomiting again. The guilt he feels makes him want to find the nearest enemy to kill him but he can’t do that. He vowed to look after you, he vowed to be there for you. He cannot abandon you even if you haven’t said a word to him for days. He gets up, walking over to you and he wants to rub your back, ensure your hair isn’t getting in the way. “I’m so sorry, hermosa.” He murmurs, having long lost count of the amount of times he has apologized to you.

“Leave me.” You groan, wiping your mouth and looking up at him. Tears in your eyes from being sick and from the fear. Every day you worry about what this will do to you. Unable to shake the feeling that you are going to die screaming and not even hear your child’s cry of life. “Go spread your seed somewhere else, since you have no place in my bed.” You struggle to your feet and turn away from him. “I wish you had never come back.”

Pero stumbles back from you, your words like a knife to his heart, and even though he knows he deserves them, it kills him inside. “As you wish.” He murmurs, hurrying to get dressed so he can leave you be. He’s terrified of losing everything and he wants to kill your father for causing your unhappiness. Pulling his boots on, he leaves and stalks into the woods, no path in mind, and he’s hoping someone will put him out of his misery, self induced as it is.

****

You shouldn’t have said those words to Pero so many months ago. The silent pall over your cottage has continued. He remains, silent and helpful in any way he can but still, you cry yourself to sleep every night. Sobbing into your pillow as your time draws closer. Now you’re screaming, panicking as the pains have started and you know you’re going to die.

Pero watches you, his nails digging into his palm and he struggles with his need to comfort you and the knowledge that you want nothing to do with him right now. He sighs and shakes his head, “we need to call for a midwife.” He says, knowing you will need help with your pains as you prepare to give birth.

“No!” You cry out, eyes widening in horror. “Don’t leave me, please, please don’t leave me here alone!” You have been having dreams of dying alone while trying to birth the child and it could be a reality if he leaves. Lord knows you have done everything to push him away and he would be right to leave you. “Please Pero.” Tears stream down your face and you reach for him, laying in the bed where you will either give him a child or die trying.

He shifts to kneel on the bed, pulling you into his arms as much as he can now that you are begging him to stay. “Amor. I have to go. I have to get help. I cannot deliver the babe alone. You need a midwife. I promise you, I will return as soon as I can. I will not leave you from that moment onwards, I’ll be by your side as long as you’ll have me. Amor, I beg of you. Let me get help.” He pleads, cupping your cheeks so he can look into your eyes.

Your chin trembles and you are gasping for breath as the pain eases slightly. “Go.” You choke out, reaching up and covering his hands with your own. “Hurry, Pero. Something is wrong. I feel it.” Your panic is in your eyes and you search his face.

He nods, scrambling to pull his boots on so he can ride into the village to fetch the midwife, his heart pounding. He is terrified but he knows you have to have this child. He gets the midwife and rides back to the cottage, bursting in the door to find you on the bed screaming. “Amor. I'm back. She’s here. It’s going to be okay.” He vows, shifting to sit beside you and he pulls you back into his chest, wiping your sweaty forehead.

“Pero!” You are already exhausted, feeling yourself get weaker every time the pains rush over you. The blood has already started to leak from between your legs and yet the baby is not coming. “I’m scared.” You cry, grabbing onto his tunic and screaming against his bicep as another pain rips through you.

He turns to the midwife, “do something! She is bleeding!” He begs and the midwife rushes over to inspect you. 

“You need to push for me, dear.” She orders, knowing you are in danger and she needs to get the baby out of you before she can ensure your safety. 

“Push, amor.” Pero orders, letting you squeeze his hand.

“I-I’m trying!” You grit out between your teeth, bearing down as hard as you can as an inhuman cry comes out. Panting and slumping back against the sheet. “I can’t- Pero, it hurts so bad. I can’t.” You whimper, knowing that something is wrong and there is nothing you can do.

“You can. You can do this, hermosa. You’re so strong. I know you can do this. Just push for me. I love you, I love you so much. I will be here. Every second until the day I die for you and our child. Just push.” He pleads, kissing your sweaty forehead.

You try, again and again, to push with nothing happening, the hours ticking by and you’re so tired you can’t even be panicked anymore. Seeing the frantic way Pero clings to you, urging you on, you squeeze his hand limply. “I- it’s not as bad as I thought.” Your voice has gotten quieter over the hours, unable to scream anymore and you are drenched in sweat. “Dying.” You close your eyes and sniffle before you look at the midwife. “Cut the babe out.” You order her weakly. “Save one of us.”

Pero shakes his head, “no. No. This isn’t - Amor. You can do this. Is there nothing - you must save her!” He shouts at the midwife who is exhausted herself. 

“I’m sorry. She - the only way is the cut her open.” 

Pero shakes his head, tears stinging in his eyes. “No. No. I won’t allow it. You will continue pushing. Amor, please. Do not do this. You can survive. The babe will survive. I cannot live without you.” He chokes, pressing his forehead against yours.

“It is fate, amor.” You whisper quietly. “At least I will get to meet my mother.” Tears slip down your cheeks and you reach up to take his hand. “Hold me down so I do not hurt the babe from the pain.” You request, accepting your fate and trying to do what you need to for the child you had resented the entire time you carried them. The least you could do is make sure they lived.

“No. No. Mierda. No! You cannot do this. Please. I can’t lose you.” Pero sobs, burying his face in your neck and the midwife prepares her tools to cut you open. “Please, amor. I cannot be without you.” He sobs, holding you impossibly tight.

“It will be fine, amor.” You whisper. “I am sorry I was so angry with you. I wasted so much time.” Now that you are staring death in the face, you are calmer. Closing your eyes, you sigh softly. “I love you. Marry again. Give our child a good life.”

Pero shakes his head, hot tears falling but he knows how close to death you are. He’s seen it far too many times. He chokes and presses his forehead against yours, knowing that he will have to accept this fate. The fate he brought into reality. 

The midwife looks at him and he inhales shakily, nodding. When she grips the knife to make the cut, Pero strokes your hair. “The first time we met, I thought you were so annoying. Some silly girl following me around on my way to the barn but you started to ramble on about your father’s farm and how he does this or does that. I- I knew then that you were meant to be mine. That I was yours. Growing together, I wish I could go back and be with you, not wasted fifteen years away from you. I love you, mi esposa. It’s always been you.”

The scream at the first cut sounds like a wounded animal. Hoarse and probably the loudest you’ve been in hours. Agony rips through your stomach as Pero clings to you. “Perooooooooo!” You sob out, crying for your husband, for your fate, for the baby that was fighting to live. Gasping for air and screeching as another cut is made, you fall silent, eyes rolling back as you pass out from the pain.

Pero holds you down, tears streaming down his cheeks until you go limp and he hears the child cry. “No! No! No!” He screams, willing you to come back to him. 

“Amor! Amor!” He cries and sits up straight as his chest heaves. 

“Pero. It’s okay!” You promise, cupping his cheek as you lean over the bed to your husband who is sleeping on the floor. 

He scrambles to reach for your hand, gripping it like it’s a life line. “Amor. You- you’re okay.” He pants, dark eyes wide as he looks at you looking above him like an angel.

His eyes are haunted and you wonder what has tears streaming down his face like he had just had his entire world crumble. Did he have the same terrifying dreams you do? It’s been so long since Pero had touched you, by your own wishes, but you can’t push him away when he is climbing up into the bed and pulling you into his arms. “You are - oh God, amor.” Pero sighs and you gasp in pain again. The same pains that had awoken you an hour before Pero had started screaming. 

“Pero-“ you grunt, digging your nails into your husband’s arms. “The babe- it’s coming.”

“No. No. It can’t be.” He chokes, curling around you, pulling you close. “I can’t - it’s not time. Please. I can’t lose you, amor.” He chokes, burying his face in your neck. His vivid dream keeps replaying over and over and he can’t take it.

“Pero.” You whimper, the pain ebbing and you can finally take a breath again. “The midwife. I need the midwife here.” You beg, scared but you know you would be even more terrified if there was only Pero here for the birth. “Please, Pero, it hurts.”

He is terrified to let go of you in case you somehow disappear but he knows he must seek help. He kisses your forehead and quickly dresses, making his way out to the stable to saddle his horse. His hands shake as he mounts his stead and makes his way to the village to get the midwife. His heart pounds when he brings her back to the cottage, terrified that you’ve somehow disappeared.

You are out of the bed, pacing the floor of the cottage as the pains come, making you grab onto the bed post for support. Groaning in relief when the sounds of Pero and the midwife can be heard outside. “It’s okay.” You promise yourself, whimpering when you feel another pain start. “Ahhhhhhh!”

Pero is immediately by your side, helping you stand and the midwife is telling you to get on the bed, asking how long you’ve been having these pains for. “Amor.” Pero tuts when you reveal it’s been at least the eve and the night. “You should’ve told me.” He sighs and rubs your back as you settle on the bed.

“We-we weren’t talking.” You hiss, wincing in pain and sighing when the pain fades for a few moments. It’s your fault you’ve frozen him out, but you didn’t know how to breach the gap between you. Sure that he was only staying now for the child he had planted in your belly.

Pero shakes his head, "you might not have wanted to speak to me as your lover but you should've talked to me as your friend, your childhood friend who still wants the best for you." He tuts and the midwife checks you over. 

"Not long. You will be needing to push soon." The words make Pero choke and he remembers his vivid dream. 

"I am so sorry, amor. I know you did not want this but - but I am a bastard. I pursued your father's wish at the dismissal of yours and I - I am a monster for that." He murmurs, hating himself a little more.

You are still upset at him but it’s not as visceral as it had been in the beginning. “It is no matter now, it is done and the babe is coming.” You choke out, clinging to him. You are still scared but what happens will be in God’s hands now. “Stay with me.” You beg quietly.

"Always." Pero promises, squeezing your hand and the midwife gathers what she needs for the babe, boiling some water, and soon enough, it's time for you to push. Pero is almost shaking, terrified of losing you like he did in his dream. He has faced armies of men, of mythical beasts, but to face losing you is almost too much to bear.

There isn’t as much screaming as you thought there would be. The pain is incredible, but mostly it steals your breath and voice. Pero holding you close and allowing you to crush his hand when the pain is too intense and you do cry out, bathing the sweat from your face. For the first time since he had spilled his seed inside you, you aren’t worried about the baby coming.

Pero silently prays to God that you and the babe are okay. Despite your hatred of him getting you pregnant, he has allowed himself brief moments to imagine you as a mother and he knows you would be incredible. The fear of dying during childbirth preventing you from dreaming of a family. He lets you curse him while the midwife guides you through the pushes and breathing until a wail fills the air.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, hearing your baby’s cry for the first time and tears spill down your cheeks. Overwhelmed by the emotions and the relief that you’ve managed to give birth. You struggle to sit up, looking down at where the midwife is wrapping your baby up. “I- we have a child.” You look up at Pero and you can’t help but give a small laugh. “We have a child.”

Pero takes the babe from the woman’s arms, cradling the child and he hands them over to you, letting you see the babe you’ve carried in your body for 9 months. “Hermosa.” Pero chokes, kissing your forehead as the baby cries in your arms, angry at being forced into the world.

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but light up at the sight of the angry little baby. Howling and shaking it’s fist at the world. “I know, I know, baby.” Uncovering the child, you gasp. “A little boy.” You murmur in wonder, looking up at Pero. “You have a son.” You choke out, reaching for his hand as you stare back down at the child. 

“Put him to your breast.” The midwife orders, still working between your thighs. She needs to deliver the birthing sack and starts to push on your stomach, but you are too busy admiring your son to care. “Like your husband sucked on them.”

Pero flusters at her words but is soon in awe of your son taking root on your breast, sucking, and he leans in to rest his head against yours. His hand looks huge compared to the babe and he murmurs “thank you” over and over again. To you or to God, Pero hasn’t decided that yet. He’s just so thankful that you are okay. “Amor. He’s perfect. You did it. My brave, beautiful esposa.” He murmurs, kissing your hair.

“I- I’m sorry.” You whisper quietly, exhausted and ready to stop fighting with your husband. You have missed him beside you in bed and shift towards his body as you let your son suckle. “I- am glad you are here and that our son is here.” You choke out softly.

He leans in to softly kiss you, “I’m sorry for - for everything. I love you. I’ve missed you.” He admits and nudges his nose against yours. His hand caressing the dark locks of his son. The midwife announces you need to push and you do, wincing and grunting as you push out the afterbirth. “You are incredible.” Pero murmurs, kissing your forehead.

Once the afterbirth is expelled, you lean back, the baby asleep at your breast as you pant. “That was exhausting.” You admit sleepily. “I haven’t slept well without you beside me.” You roll your head over to look at Pero. “Will you come back to our bed?”

Pero nods, “of course, amor. As you wish.” He shifts to lay down beside you. “Sleep. I will take care of everything else.” He promises and kisses you softly. He knows you hated him for getting you pregnant but he is so happy at this moment. To have his family in his arms. 

****

“Pero, when are you coming to bed?” You call out to your husband. Thirty years later and you are tired, body aching. After two more children, you and Pero have lived a full and happy life together. 

“I’m coming, amor.” He promises, grunting as he hobbles into the bedroom, his back aching and he groans as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I was trying to fix something.” He tells you, knowing you’ve wondered why he’s been out in the barn all day. 

“What took all day?” You huff, looking at him and he smiles, telling you to hold out your hand and close your eyes. You follow his order and he smiles as he slides the gold hand he put on your finger all those years ago. You had grown thinner in your old age, the ring slipping off, and Pero had wanted to fix it for you.

“Thank you amor.” You whisper, smiling at him and slowly moving forward to press a soft kiss to his chapped lips. “I love you.” You promise him. “I will always love you.” Both of you are tired, bones ache, children grown and it won’t be long until you leave this earth. Your only hope is that you go together. “Lay down, husband.” You order, wanting to feel him next to you. Since the day your first son was born, there hasn't been a night where you’ve slept apart since.

Pero grunts as he lays down, curling his body around you and pulling you close. He kisses your neck and closes his eyes, “te amo, mi esposa. Buenas noches.” He murmurs, breathing you in, and he closes his eyes. 

“I love you.” You exhale, snuggling against him and you close your eyes. The next morning, your eldest son finds his parents holding each other close, both had passed during their sleep. A testament to their love that lasted a lifetime. The story of Tovar and his esposa is passed down through the generations, a love story that echoes through the years.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar the great wall #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #dddne

[fulcrum-art-fox]

You know how Ahsoka tells Din she won’t train Grogu because he’s already attached and she’s seen “what such feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi knight” etc etc obviously Anakin but she also says something like, “I will not start another down that path”, which suddenly hits differently because that’s exactly what she feared was happening with Sabine. She was worried that Sabine’s grief over loosing her loved ones was setting her down a dark path. That’s why she left, why she didn’t continue Sabine’s training, and when she meets Din and Grogu it’s in the gap between leaving Sabine and reuniting with her, and she’s still got all this unresolved stuff between her relationship with Sabine, her apprentice, Anakin, her master, and all the teachings she inherited from the Jedi. It adds an interesting extra layer to that scene

#ahsoka show #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka tano #sabine wren #the mandalorian #just typing out my thoughts

[mr-miss-anonymous]

Of all mechs, Starscream found himself dreading any and all interactions with Optimus the most.

Much like Soundwave, the Prime had a way of slipping past his defenses, peeling away at the many layers Starscream put up. Optimus was much gentler compared to the communications officer, however, and knew when and where to draw the line. But given his authority, his role as a Prime, the inherit role model for their planet, Starscream couldn’t deny the resentment he felt.

For a mech with such unlimited power and access to the laws of their land, Optimus should have been taking advantage of it all. He should have sucked their world dry of freedom and rights just like all of Cybertron’s former rulers. He should have struck fear into the hearts of everyone beneath him, taken what now belonged to him, made a show of humbling the rest of his kind.

Had Optimus done any of this, Starscream would have felt justified in his hatred of the mech. As it stood, he was merely another victim of war, desperately searching for meaning in the ruins that had become his day-to-day life.

Optimus—such a kind-hearted mech, too kind for his own good—seemed to catch onto Starscream’s inner dilemma. Unlike Megatron, who would have beaten the truth out of him by now, Optimus remained quiet and non-threatening.

“Ratchet has been a close friend of mine for a very long time now,” he began, scooting his chair closer ever so slightly. “But he sometimes becomes blinded by his own experiences in this war. You can believe me when I tell you, Starscream, that while you reside here in this base, you are safe.”

“Safe,” Starscream echoed, his lips curling into a sneer. “I’m afraid I don’t know the meaning of the word, Prime.”

*****

This is just a small snippet from my story, Your Memory Lives On. If you’re interested in reading more, you can find me on Ao3 under Earth_2_Cinnamon_Roll, or on Quotev under Timberheart. I’ve got lots of Starscream angst to share if anyone’s interested. Making Star suffer is basically my hobby.

#tfp #transformers prime #writing #tf fanfic #tfp starscream #tfp optimus prime #angst #what would a starscream fic be without angst #skystar #story recs

[khalixvitae]

@katabaesis No but you’re right. Like granted Idia does have a pretty broad stroke hatred/dislike for the world at large but that’s more of a personal issue than something he takes out on others. While I would argue that he can be petty and bitchy and vindictive, he’s not innately cruel. when he does do cruel things (because he has an impressive capacity to do so, let’s be real) it’s not a demographically targeted thing nor is it driven by a particular ideology. He may be a very calculated and deliberate person who people should take more seriously, but hes the one who undermines himself socially and does so with the intent of being alone.

Also I don’t think he’d gain anything from the incel “community” anyway, mostly because his personal philosophy is fundamentally different. Incels blame their perceived loneliness on others (primarily women), but Idia’s adversary is something way more personal. Idia’s isolationism is insular- he doesn’t blame any particular demographic for his condition, but instead blames something in his literal blood. I mean he also pins his fate on his ancestors, but again that’s way more internal than the outward projecting incel think pieces rely on. Idia doesn’t think anyone besides Ortho is capable of understanding him anyway (both the original and the android, but for different reasons). Idia is the one who believes he can’t/shouldn’t make personal connections and that he is ultimately the root of the issue. He’s sparing himself the trouble and inevitable pain of cutting social ties when he returns to STYX, and he’s sparing the people around him. He doesn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess he was born to inherit. In short, Idia’s personal philosophy is diametrically opposed to incel behavior. He’s the one that has decided he must be alone, and he doesn’t pin that on his peers. He’s lost enough already, so in his mind there’s no point in subjecting himself to the awkwardness of socializing with anyone face to face. Not to mention the ABYSMAL socialization he received growing up at STYX, like holy shit. Being offputting to people by nature doesn’t help his situation and definitely contributes to his built in self loathing. Also it’s insinuated at multiple points that his physical appearances are picked at in the twst universe, so like. He’s got several complexes going on there that he ultimately blames himself for.

Anyway yes I hate the incel Idia trope because it totally washes out the layers of nuance built into his character. It obliterates his self awareness and his open distaste at his ancestors, as well as his fear of being let down. Idia is his own worst enemy, and frankly his isolationist tendencies are what reflect his worst traits back at the audience ten fold. His lack of socialization during his upbringing only makes it worse- I mean he was literally born and bred for a life of secrecy and scheming in the shadows. There are plenty of things wrong with him as a person, but misogyny isn’t one of them???

And on a personal note, I think he’s too intelligent to pin the blame on anyone else. I think the incel trope dumbs him down to an almost unrecognizable point. Idia is way smarter than that.

#anyway sorry for the long ass response #I just hate the incel trope a lot man. like there are plenty of reasons to dislike him #you don’t have to go making shit up #I say this as an Idia lover #anyway he’s way too intelligent and self aware for incel culture #twst #Idia shroud #idia post （ ; ; ）<3