#the thief x f!reader

[ladamedusoif]

My Kiss, Only For You

The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader - One Shot

Pairing: The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); theft (I mean, obviously); smut; did I mention theft; strong language

Summary: You've noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on a favourite exhibit.

Notes: I keep on getting sent to horny jail by @lunapascal and @julesonrecord. (P would be very disappointed in you two insisting on incarcerating me all the time.)

This time, for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about, I was sentenced to 'double jail' and have two punishment pieces to write to get myself free. This first one, chosen by @julesonrecord, involves The Thief (from the wine ads) and the prompt "stealing a kiss".

Please enjoy my first foray into writing smut about a (very sexy) man from an ad campaign.

I wrote this at like, 1am and am still worried there are sections I thought I wrote but that were actually happening in a dream. Bear that in mind as you read.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“And we finish with the jewel - if you’ll permit me a little pun - of the collection, the remarkable Katarzyna’s Kiss ruby.”

The afternoon’s tour group is mostly teenagers on a school trip, and they couldn’t be less interested in the bright red gemstone illuminated in the case behind you if they tried. One of them lazily lifts their phone to snap a photo, apparently of the display. It’s only when you see them pouting for a selfie that you realise they’ve had a BeReal notification.

You keep going with the standard tour script, putting your heart into it as always. You notice a familiar face at the back of the group, listening attentively: a handsome, dark-eyed man you guess must be in his mid to late forties, who is a regular attendee of your tours in the museum. He seems to be particularly interested in the gemstones and jewellery collections, always turning up for those tours with a notebook and a random, specialist text on the subject. 

“The story behind this gemstone and its unusual name is that a seventeenth-century Polish princess supposedly fell in love with the apprentice to the court jeweller. Now, as you can imagine, in those days an apprentice jeweller would never be considered an appropriate match for a princess, and their love was doomed from the start.”

The handsome man smiles at you, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. You offer a little smile in return, noticing how the museum lighting catches the attractive patches of grey in his sparse beard.

“The poor young apprentice had never kissed his princess, and not because he didn’t want to - they were afraid they would be caught in the carefully-monitored world of the court.” Your expression turns sad as you move to the next part. 

“One day, the young jeweller heard that his beloved was to be married - the next day, in fact. He was distraught. But when the princess woke on her wedding day, equally heartbroken, she found this ruby - so the story goes - in a gorgeous, handmade silver box, engraved with the words ‘My kiss, only for you’”.

One of the teenagers at the front yawns dramatically, setting the others off into fits of giggles. You sigh. “And that brings our tour to an end, I guess. Gift shop that way, toilets over there, if you want to find out more about the collections you can purchase a guidebook…”

Your voice trails as the group rapidly disperses. Only your handsome regular is left. You hadn’t noticed before how nicely dressed he is - not showy, not in the least, but his clothes have that unmistakable air of quality and expense. Today he’s wearing a dark green, beautifully cut casual jacket with a Nehru collar, combined with dark jeans and a pristine white grandfather shirt. 

“Thank you for a wonderful tour, as usual.” His voice is warm and low, a pleasing sound in the near-empty gallery. 

“Thank you,” you return the compliment. “You’re one of our regulars, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. You notice he’s holding a small green notebook in one hand, and a pen in the other. “I must admit, though, that I prefer to go on your tours. You are a natural - truly, a joy to listen to. So knowledgeable!” He turns and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “And, if you’ll forgive me for being forward, even lovelier to look at than Katarzyna’s Kiss.”

You raise your eyebrows. The closest thing to flirting you’d experienced in your time as a guide was when elderly men would corner you near the military history displays and wax lyrical at you about nineteenth-century battleships.

The man has moved closer, now, to you and to the display case. He appraises the ruby at close range. “I’d like to talk to you a little more about this beautiful thing - I’m fascinated by the story.” He turns and looks at you over the top of his glasses. “Would dinner tonight be a good time to talk about this kiss?”

To your surprise, he’d booked a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city. Dinner had been a delight, swapping stories of rare jewels and favourite galleries and museums around the world. 

He had changed since this afternoon, and arrived dressed in an exquisite green and black check suit with a black shirt and tie. He was attractive, there was no way around it - but you preferred to keep your guard up a little longer.

You were about to order a cab when you realised you didn’t have your phone.

“Shit. I must have left it in the office.” 

“It’s not too far away, is it?” He is the picture of concern. “I’ll gladly accompany you back to the museum.”

So he does, offering you his arm at one point like a man in an old movie. You huff a laugh at the gesture until you realise he’s serious. 

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.”

He keeps his arm out, offered to you, and smiles at you with an eyebrow raised. “Chivalry isn’t quite dead yet, ma chérie.”

Maybe it’s the sneaking into the museum after hours, with its connotations of illicit shenanigans, maybe it’s the whiskey you had after dinner, or maybe it’s just the way his suit sits so perfectly over his broad frame, as if it’s begging to be touched and clung to. 

Whatever it is, you’ve barely entered your small office when you’re pushing him against the wall and kissing him like your life depends on it. He groans into your mouth and it goes straight to your pussy. 

He guides you back onto the desk and sits you on the edge, lowering you down carefully as he stands above you. He trails a long, thick finger across the neckline of your dress, slipping his fingertip under the fabric to trace the outline of your breasts.

You whine in pleasure and frustration as he kisses your body. 

“Tell me more about Katarzyna’s Kiss, beautiful. Do you believe the story?”

He keeps kissing as you talk, through the fabric of your dress down to your thighs, where he hitches up the skirt and encourages you to open your legs a little wider. You moan as you feel his fingers tracing up the inside of your thighs.

“I want to kiss you, mi amor, but I will only do so if you say the word.”

You nod frantically, all thoughts of the bright red ruby forgotten. 

He brings his torso down to meet yours, placing a soft, wet kiss to your lips. You hear the zipper of his pants come down and you know that he has taken his cock in his hand. With the other, he reaches past the top of your head, stretching his hand out along the desk and resting his fingers on the marass of papers and, you judge by the clicks going on behind you, your computer keyboard.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me again?” Your voice is heavy, confused. He’s kept one hand behind you, still resting on the keyboard, as he intersperses caressing and kissing your breasts with giving his cock a quick stroke.

“I am, chérie, be patient. The kiss I plan to steal now is more valuable than any ruby - tastes better, too.”

He drops to his knees and pulls your legs apart, dragging your panties down over your soft thighs and knees. He begins by literally kissing your cunt, placing soft, delicate kisses to the wet folds before his broad tongue strokes its way from your opening all the way to your clit. It elicits a muffled scream from you.

“You can’t be there already, beautiful thing.” You aren’t, but the way he’s ‘kissing’ your pussy, then driving his fingers inside you, is getting you very close.

When he begins to suck your clit you feel the pressure building, and soon your slick is coating his perfect nose, his mouth, his face - and his beard. It glistens in the soft light of your desk lamp. 

“Fuck me,” you murmur quietly. 

“Not tonight, dear one,” he says as he returns to standing, zipping back up his pants. “Stay put, I’ll get something to clean you up. Where are the bathrooms?”

You point him towards them, unable to stand up just yet. He’s made you feel completely boneless, fucked out with just his mouth and fingers on your own desk. It had been a while since anyone made you come at all, let alone like that.

You realise you don’t even know his name.

And soon, you realise he’s been gone a rather long time.

The museum’s back corridors are unsettling at night. You wander up and down, calling quietly into the darkness to see if you can find him.

The wail of the siren is deafening as you race back to your office, frantically trying to log back in to check where the alarm has been triggered. You try to contact the night security team, but there’s no response. The screen eventually lights up and you see it: the Kiss ruby. That’s what they’re after.

Security arrives in the exhibition gallery a few minutes after you, leaving it to you to reveal the carefully opened case and the empty plastic clasp that once held the ruby on display.

Where was he? Did he get stuck in part of the building and panic when the alarm went off?

You reach into your pocket to find your phone before you remember you don’t even have his number. 

You find a crisp, folded piece of paper in your dress pocket. It had definitely not been there earlier.

You sneak off behind another display to open the note, before police arrived to question you. The handwriting is fanciful, rendered in pen and ink:

I have helped myself to Katarzyna’s, I’m afraid, but remember that the kiss I gave you tonight - my kiss - is only for you.

Adieu, chérie!

Your Gentleman Thief

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #the thief smut #the thief #the thief fanfic #the thief fanfiction #the thief x f!reader #the thief x you #the thief x reader #my kiss only for you fic

[musings-of-a-rose]

The Detective and The Thief

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x The Thief x f! reader

Word Count: 4300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I don’t know. I saw the commercial and thought things. Thanks to @vanemando15 for help! I’m not beta’ing this so please excuse any typos.

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❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Tim Rockford Masterlist

The Thief Masterlist

5 years ago…

I’m bored. Surrounded by the finest things money can buy, but I feel alone. My parents always bought me everything I ever desired, and a lot I didn’t. I think it was their way of compensating for the lack of time the spent with me. 

That didn’t stop them from trying to marry me off as soon as possible. 

The second I started to bleed, they started planning, trying to “connect” our family with some other ones just as rich. They couldn’t do it legally until I became of age, but that didn’t stop them from trying to force a connection. 

But I hated all of them. Every. Single. One. 

My parents are at their wits end with me. The time I do see them is spent with them lecturing me about how I’m now 24 and unmarried, how I need to marry this heir or that one for the “good of the family”. 

But they’re all the same, boring and mind numbingly stupid. There’s no way I was going to waste my life being arm candy for some heir who couldn’t hold a basic conversation with me. 

If they weren’t boring, they were mean, saying women were meant to be seen and not heard. Well, I made sure they heard me. 

My parents were out at some weekend event, leaving me alone in this giant mansion. The staff had mostly gone home or retired to their quarters, aside from security, leaving the house feeling empty. I’m feeling bored, deciding to head to the library on the floor below to attempt to find a book I haven’t read already. I pull on my silk robe over my nightgown, sliding my feet into some soft slippers as I make my way out of my room. 

It’s about halfway down the stairs when I realize I’m not alone in the house. 

A shadow moves down the hall, pausing at the door to my parent’s art gallery. Straining, I just barely can make out the small clicks of the lock being picked before the door silently opens, the dark shadow moving inside. I should run, yell for security, but something compels me forward. 

Quietly, I make my way to the gallery, pausing at the door to listen for any signs of the intruder inside. Hearing none, and being impressed with this fact, I push open the door, slinking inside through the gap and closing the door behind me. I tiptoe over 2 isles, where a faint glow was emanating, and pause to see a man, dressed all in black, studying a painting, one I know for a fact is the real deal and not a copy like a lot of these.

“I’m impressed. No one has ever been able to creep up on me before.”

He straightens up and turns to face me, the minimal light casting shadows across his form. But the parts I can see causes my breath to catch in my throat. 

He’s beautiful. Big dark eyes stare through me, his head cocking to the side as he continues to study me and my continued silence.

“Ah. You are the mistress of the house, yes?”

“I-I am. Well, the non conforming daughter, anyway.” Why did I tell him that?

A smirk tugs on his face. “Non conforming, huh? What, did you tell your daddy you didn’t want a black pony but a brown one?”

“More like I don’t want to marry some man who is ignorant, mean, and frankly dull, just to connect our money to theirs.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “A rebel.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to waste my life playing bored arm candy to some heir who will only look at me when he wants to fuck me.”

He chuckles and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard. “That would be a terrible fate for such an interesting woman.”

I nod towards the painting he had been observing. “You’re right. That one’s real. The rest in this section are highly accurate fakes.”

The man glances back at the painting before looking at me. “I am going to take this, you know?”

I nod. “I figured that’s why you were studying it so intently. Don’t want to steal a fake. You should go down about another 2 doors. The stairs there will lead you to the jewel safe room.”

He smirks. “I have already been there.” He shifts and I see a bag, obviously full of items from our house. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns, gently lifting the small painting from the wall and starts to prepare it to be moved, his deft fingers gliding over it so as not to disturb it. Once finished, he gathers up his gear and turns to me, giving me a nod.

“Goodnight, miss. Don’t ever conform.”

He walks past me, barely making a sound. He’s almost to the door before I find my voice.

“Take me.”

He pauses, hand hovering over the doorhandle, his head turning to speak to me over his shoulder. 

“What?”

“You say you’re the greatest thief. What better prize to steal than this billionaire’s daughter?”

He turns to me, smirking. “You would want to come with me? To live your life with a thief?”

I nod. “I cannot stand it here. I was already thinking of ways to get away from this life, and then you broke in, taking my entire attention. Or stealing my attention.”

He chuckles, closing the distance between us. He crooks his finger, gently tipping my chin up to look at him and I swallow hard. 

“I will not force you to do anything you do not want. Think about what you’re saying before choosing this life.”

“I don’t need to think. I’m yours.”

—----

Present Day…

The first few years with Mateo, commonly known as The Thief, were amazing. I traveled the world with him, using my knowledge of the world of the wealthy to help him gain access to places he normally wouldn’t. I never directly stole anything, something we were both adamant about, but I would help him unlock societal doors. 

The time he wasn’t spending on thieving or planning his next heist he spent between my legs, pulling sounds from me I never knew I could make. I was utterly in love with Mateo. As corny as it sounds, he had stolen my heart. 

Which makes trying to get away from him the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. 

I was growing tired. My parents had looked for me for about a year before giving up. But once I was spotted by someone who knew me, laughing it up at a party for Mateo to get access to their vaults, my parents resumed their chase. I’m not sure they were at all concerned for my safety, moreso for me to fullfill my familial duty and marry an heir. 

Mateo and I spent more time avoiding my parents reach, starting a rift between us. He was never violent with me, never screamed or yelled, but we definitely had arguments and I could tell he was tiring of the weight of my parents pulling him down. 

I suppose that’s what made him sloppy one night, accidentally leaving behind one of his tools next to a jewel safe. Luckily, he always wears gloves, but that didn’t stop him from being livid, and although he’d never admit it, terrified at being caught.

I can’t back out, can’t leave him. He won’t let me, saying I know too much about him and his process, having never revealed it to anyone. It didn’t matter how much I promised him I would say nothing, that I would make up a story to my parents about searching for an heir on my own without their influence. 

“I told you to think before you left with me that night.”

“I didn’t know it would be like this! You’ve changed, Mateo.”

Anger flashes in Mateo’s eyes. “I am a thief, querida. What did you think this life would be like?”

—----

Somehow, one day I managed to stray from my routine, saying I needed extra time to make the connection to open those societal doors. He had no reason to doubt me, but I still saw slight suspicion in his eyes, a look that had never been there before. 

I stand in front of an office building, several stories tall and set back away from the main streets. I glance back down at the paper I’ve been clutching in my hand to double check the address. Walking up to the intercom, I scan the list of names, pushing the button of the one I needed. The intercom buzzes and a voice comes over the speaker, static nearly cutting out some words.

“Rockford.”

“Uh, hi. I found your name in the paper?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no. I wasn’t able to-”

“You’ll have to make an appointment-”

“Please, sir. I..I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.”

There’s a pause before the door buzzes and I slide inside, heading up a few flights of stairs after seeing the elevator was out of order. I find the door labeled TIM ROCKFORD, PI and knock.

“Come in.”

I enter, taking in the small office space. There’s a small bathroom at the back but otherwise there’s just enough space for a desk, some filing cabinets, a couple chairs, and a couch, which I could tell was doubling as a bed. I couldn’t blame him. I may have money but even I knew rent was ridiculously high, especially in these bigger cities. 

“Tim Rockford.” I look up at the man and have to swallow back a lump in my throat. He looks so like Mateo that for a moment, I thought he was. I tell him my name and we shake hands, Tim motioning towards a chair. 

“Please. Have a seat.”

I sit, nerves lighting up my body. 

“What seems to be the issue, miss? Husband stepping out on you? Lost your favorite necklace to the maid?”

I can’t blame him for the snide tone. I look the part of a bored, rich housewife because that’s what I had been destined to become. I’d hate me too.

I take a deep sigh. “I’m in deep. 3 years ago, I ran off with a man who captured my heart. Everything was great until my parents started following us.”

He nods, taking a note. “And you want me to what, tell your rich parents to stop looking for probably their only child?”

Damn he’s good. “Not..not exactly-”

He sighs. “Listen, I don’t have time to placate you rich elitists while us lower people are having real problems. If you want your parents to stop bothering you, you’ll have to tell them your-”

“I know who The Thief is.”

Silence.

“You what?” His eyes bore into me, trying to detect a lie.

“That’s who I ran off with. The Thief.”

“The Thief. You mean The Thief? The one that’s been plaguing all the major houses across, well across the globe?”

I nod. “Yes. Him.”

“Tell me everything.”

So I do. I tell him how we met, how I’ve been helping him get in social circles, everything except where he is and what his name is. Rockford’s eyes grow wider the more I tell him, scribbling notes furiously. 

“And you just do this for him? Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

His eyes meet mine and he cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

I let out a breath, puffing out over my lips, a sadness in my eyes. “Because I love him.” 

He studies me a few moments longer. “Does he love you back?”

“I…he did at one time. Now? I’m not so sure. It’s hard to reach him.”

“Does he leave you often?”

I nod. “We’re usually together, but often he will leave me.”

“Do you think he’s cheating on you?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so. Not really. But that’s not why I’m here.”

He nods, making more notes. “You’re here because, what? You want out but don’t want to face jail time?”

“I’ve never stolen anything.”

“You were an accomplice.”

“All I did was forge connections. Mateo figured out the rest.”

“He’s an intelligent man.”

I smile. “He’s the smartest man I’ve ever met. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him.”

“So what do you want then, miss?”

I watch Tim’s face for several moments, the way he chews on the inside of his cheek, his shoulders shifting slightly, tugging at the seams of his shirt. 

“I want him to realize who he is and to accept it. His fate.”

Tim nods. “Even if that means putting him behind bars?”

“Whatever it takes to help him realize who he is.”

Tim nods, taking a few more notes. “Ok, well first thing - is there another heist planned?”

I nod. “Tonight at the Wellmen estate. He’s got it all planned already.”

“Do you know what his plans are?”

“Some. He doesn’t always tell me everything. I know he’s going to try and steal the blue diamond necklace that Mr. Wellmen has locked in his 4 layer safe room.”

“How does he plan on getting in?”

“Well, I’ve made the connections with the Wellmen’s so it won’t be odd for me to make plans to have dinner with the family to remove them from the home. After that, I believe he plans on sneaking in through some security holes and doing his magic once inside.”

“So basically, I’m on my own to figure that out once the family is gone.”

I nod. “You’re going in after him?”

“That’s the plan.” He stands, reaching behind him to grab a shoulder holster and starts to loop his arms through it. 

“What will you do if you find him?”

“As you said, miss. Help him realize who he is.”

—----

Tim shows up at the Wellmen estate, parking his car several blocks down and walking the rest of the way. He stays hidden, keeping an eye on the time. He sees the front gates open, a fancy car driving out, gates closing behind it. Another glance at his watch tells him that’s the Wellmen’s on their way to meet you for dinner at the restaurant. 

Tim had pulled the city plans for the estate from his contact in City Hall, finding the hole that The Thief had no doubt found as well. He made his way to the crack in the perimeter, sneaking inside. There were a few guards, but nothing he couldn’t slip past. Once he was inside, he paused, taking in the room and thankful that he’d memorized the blueprints. 

Suddenly, he sees a dark shape move at the end of the hall, going the same direction as the safe room. Tim crouches, following with enough distance so as not to disturb The Thief, but close enough to see him steal the jewel. They continue this cat and mouse game down the hall and down another flight of stairs before the room arrives. Tim has to admit, he’s impressed by The Thief, managing to keep to the shadows this entire time - no easy feat.

Several minutes pass since he’d seen the shadow slip inside the room, but nothing came out. He knew there was only one way in and out of the room. Maybe The Thief had run into some trouble? This would make his job of catching him even easier. 

Tim quietly made his way to the safe room door, checking his gun was ready and loaded before gently pushing open the door a crack. Hearing nothing, he pushes open the door, pointing his gun around the room as he scans it for The Thief. 

To his surprise, the room is empty. No people, and, glancing in the glass case in front of him, no jewel. But how? He had seen The Thief enter the room and not exit, no other way in or out. No secret doors would have been possible with this layout. So where was The Thief? Where was the jewel?

The door opened behind him and Tim spun around, aiming his gun at the doorway. His eyes grow wide and he lowers his weapon as he sees you standing there, hands up. 

“Miss? What are you doing here?”

A sad smile is tugging at her lips. “I’m here to support you.”

Tim shakes his head. “You can’t be here. The Thief, he’s here and I don’t know where. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

She takes a step closer to Tim. “I know where he is.”

Tim is nervous now. Had they been playing him all along? Good thing he left notice with his contact should anything happen to him. 

“Where is he then?”

Another step closer. “He’s here.”

Tim glances around quickly before looking back at her. “The only ones here are us. Unless there’s a secret door?” His eyebrows raise in question at her. 

She shakes her head sadly. “No. No secret door.”

“Secret room? Is he waiting for me to leave?”

She’s only a step or 2 away from Tim now. “No. He’s here.”

Tim shakes his head. “But… I don’t-”

She reaches her hand out, gently cupping his cheek. “Mateo, it’s me. You’re here.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Mateo? Who’s Mateo? I-I don’t…” His head starts to hurt a little, like something tugging at the corner of his mind. 

She smiles sadly again, her thumb gently stroking his cheek. “You. You are Mateo, the greatest thief in the world.” 

Tim grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. “What are you on about?”

“It’s you. You are The Thief.”

His head hurts more, a throbbing starting to build behind his eyes. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Did you see anyone come in here?”

“I did! I saw…I saw…” Playing back the memory, Tim realized he’d only seen a shadowy figure, nothing ever clear or concrete. He’d assumed, based on her time schedule and the shadow’s movements, that it was The Thief. 

“I don’t…I’m not…”

“Check your coat pocket.”

Tim looked at her, trying to hide the fear in his eyes as he starts to pad himself down. His fingers bump against a round lump and his eyes grow wide as he fishes out the blue diamond necklace. He holds it up and studies it, his head now pounding and his vision throbbing. 

“I don’t understand…I…what…what is happening?”

She steps forward, gently taking his hand and placing the other on his cheek, turning his head to look at her. 

“You had an accident, baby. When you took the crown from the Goldman’s?”

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t…I…an accident?”

She nods. “Yes, baby. You…you came back a different person. A detective named Tim Rockford, saying it was inevitable, that The Thief would be caught. That he’d finally left behind a clue and it would all come crashing down.”

Tim looks down at the necklace in his hand before looking into her eyes. “I left behind a tool. My favorite lockpick.”

She nods, smiling warmly now. “Yes! Yes, that’s it, baby!”

The more he stares into her eyes, the more he remembers, but it’s hard to think with the pounding in his head, his vision starting to black out. 

“I…I am Mateo?”

“You are. You’re the greatest Thief the world has ever known.”

“And you…you love me?”

Tears fall from her eyes now and he reaches out to wipe them away. She leans into his touch, nodding. “I love you more than anything, Mateo.”

Her eyes are the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.

—----

After I pulled him from the Wellmen estate, I brought him back to our place, watching over him as he slept, worried that the realization that he’d broken would cause him to never wake, that I’d really, truly, lose him forever. 

He was out for 3 days. On the third day, I heard him muttering in his sleep, his fingers twitching before his eyes blinked open, scanning the room. I rush to him, tossing aside the plate of food I’d been nibbling on. 

“Mateo?” I sit next to him on the bed, placing my hand over his and squeezing gently.

He blinks, turning his head slowly and looking at me, a dawning realization washing over him. 

“You are here?”

I feel tears on my cheeks and I furiously wipe at them. “I am. I would never leave you, Mateo.”

His hand reaches out for me and I lean closer, feeling his hand slide around the back of my head, pulling me close to him. His lips meet mine and the damn in me breaks, all of the tears I’ve held back over the last years bubbling to the surface. He pulls back and looks up at me, concern on his face.

“Querida, no crying. I am here. I think. My head still hurts a little.”

I nod, swallowing back more tears.

“What happened, querida?”

I explain that when he’d left behind his lockpick, he’d had a mental break in reality, so convinced he’d be caught that he made up an entirely different personality, a detective named Tim Rockford. He made up an entirely separate life, even going so far as to secure an office space, where he’d sleep on the couch. I had no clue how to help him, so for a while, I’d just follow him, making sure he was ok. Mateo didn’t know how to handle the fear of being caught, which made him more hostile and distrusting towards me. I knew I could’t bring in anyone official, as he’d have gotten arrested immediately and wouldn’t receive any sort of care. I couldn’t let that happen to the man who rescued me from mediocrity, the man who’s greatest achievement was stealing my heart. 

So I came up with a plan to help Rockford catch the world famous Thief. He’d want the glory of catching the uncatchable, and hopefully I could have him face Mateo, realizing that they were the same person. I’d hoped that this would meld him mind back together. 

I had no clue what I was doing, and I knew there was a strong chance I’d fuck him up for life, but I had read some books and I was desperate, having no other choice.

So I set up a heist with the Wellmen’s. It wasn’t difficult to work my way into their circle, as I apparently reminded them so much of their estranged daughter. It was easy to lure them away with the prospect of dinner at a fancy, hard to get into restaurant across town. 

And then I went to Rockford, telling him everything but The Thief’s name, figuring that hearing his true name too early would’ve messed it up, made him not believe me. So I sent Rockford the blueprints of the house and the timeline, hoping he’d go for it. Which he did, even seeing a “shadow” of The Thief moving about the house, his mind completely convinced he was about to catch the greatest Thief of all time. 

When he felt that stone in his pocket, the 2 minds melded back together and his brain needed time to process what was happening. I took him back to our temporary hideout and cared for him while he was out, terrified that he’d never wake up.

When I finished telling him what happened, he sat up, taking my hands in his and kissing the back of them.

“Marry me, querida.”

“I- what?”

“I should’ve asked you that night in your art gallery. I knew I was in trouble when I saw your eyes and instantly fell for you. Once you started talking and I saw you weren’t just another spoiled rich girl, I was done for. I was relieved when you begged to come with me because I was seconds away from begging you myself. And now? After putting you through hell for years, you come up with this plan to not only avoid putting me behind bars, but to save me from myself? I cannot see my life without you, querida.”

“Are you truly back with me?”

He nods, eyes wide like a puppy. “I am here.”

“Oh, Mateo. I’ve been yours since that night too. I never want to leave you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh- yes!”

“Do me a favor and open that drawer and bring me the striped socks.”

“I- ok?” I cross to the dresser, pulling out the balled up socks he’d requested and handed it to him. He opened them up, pulling out a simple ring that I had made comment about loving only a couple months after I had left with him.

“I kept this in case you ever felt the same about me as I did for you.” He holds it up and takes my hand, sliding it on my ring finger. 

I straddle him, kissing him deeply as he holds me to him, finally being able to tell him how I’ve felt after all these years and finding he feels the same for me. 

We marry at the courthouse the next day, just missing the police by a few hours, smiling at each other as we made our way to the next heist.

—----

General Taglist:

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#Tim rockford #tim rockford x f!reader #The Thief #The thief x f!reader #pedro pascal #the thief x you #tim rockford x reader #the thief fanfic #casillero del diablo #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal characters #tim rockford x you #tim rockford fanfic

[boliv-jenta]

A little Halloween visit to my Pedro Boy motel.

Agent Ortega x f!reader, The Thief x f!reader

(My Ortega and Reader from Trust and my Thief from New Year's Eve.)

WC:3.9k

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected P in V sex. Cum eating. Blow job. Literal magical sex. Blood and gore.

Summary: The motel usually makes dreams come true. On Halloween, things get even more magical.

Part of And It Just Keeps Getting Better

Halloween Weekend

Mrs Lord pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Her eyes were beginning to ache from going over paperwork. It just so happened that Halloween fell on one of their Fantasy Weekends and she was determined to make it memorable. Everything had to be perfect from the themed mocktails to the costumes, oh boy, would there be costumes. The thought of the guys all dressed up was almost too much. The clients would go nuts. Almost entirely lost in her vision she didn't realise that she was being watched. Something was stalked through the house towards her. It took its time, keeping its footsteps slow and gentle so as to not make a sound. It was only when it was right by her paperwork covered bed that she saw it

"I vant to suck your blood. Blah!" The creature announced as it pounced on her.

"Maxwell!" She playfully admonished. "You'll crumple my paperwork!"

"Sorry, Mi Vida. I just can't help it. You look good enough to eat." He managed to get out around his fake fangs.

"To eat, huh?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

That's how Max in his leather posing pouch and little black cape came to be face down between her legs for the next half an hour, thankfully minus the plastic glow in the dark fangs, while she deliberated over the food menu. Once she was satisfied in more ways than one, it was her turn to suck.

"Pathetic fallacy." Ezra mumbled as he looked out of his window.

Gregor lifted his head from the book he was reading. "Huh?"

"Oh nothing. It just seems like the weather has decided to join us in the festive mood. There's a storm coming in."

"I'm going to check the storm shutters just in case those clouds don't blow over. We've got enough food and water if we get cut off. Can you check the radios are all charged and handed out?" Joel asked Dave as he checked his tool box.

"Were you a survivalist in a past life?" Dave ribbed his friend.

"Something like that." Joel muttered heading out.

"Mrs Lord, I took down some of your decorations outside. If the wind picks up it'll rip through them like a tornado in a trailer park." Jack deposited the gathered decorations on the desk.

"Thank you, Jack." Mrs Lord gave him a half smile. It was all she could give him with the stress this weekend on her head.

Everything had been fine, all but one guest had checked in. All the preparations were complete. Then the sky started to darken. The weatherman had called for clear skies, it was unnerving to see anything but. With their location they had prepared for situations like this. They had a backup generator, emergency supplies, they were in a good position should the worst happen.

Mrs Lord let out a steadying breath. "It'll be fine."

Lightning flashed across the sky, it was almost lost against the lights of the reception room. The accompanying thunder was definitely lost against the sounds of the party in full swing. Almost all of the guests were happily paired with a partner for the night. Din, in his Knight costume, had a woman on each arm. Ezra in his best Pirate Captain threads had accepted a client. Oberyn was dressed as a god in golden robes, much to Dieter's delight, who was dressed, fittingly, as a housecat. His 'costume' consisted of a black jumper, black sweats and cat ears. It was almost as half hearted as Jack's Cowboy costume, which consisted of his normal clothing. Even Joel had put in a bit more effort with his pale face paint and neck bolts. He figured Frankenstein's Monster was fitting for him.

As the pairings filed out, ducking under the awning to hide from the driving rain, Maxwell noticed a guest, dressed in old wild west clothing, standing with both the Marcuses.

"Gentlemen." Maxwell greeted them. "What seems to be the problem?"

Pike spoke up "It seems that Mr Ortega here was booked in with Max Phillips but he's nowhere to be found. My client is missing and Moreno's was a no show."

Max thought for a moment. "I know we have one no show. So where is your client? And Phillips?" Max Phillips may be a brash jerk but clients liked him well enough. He always left them in a euphoric daze as they checked out. He didn't mix much with the other employees but he was a busy man. He worked in the city by day and spent his evenings working at the motel. Beyond that no one really knew much about him.

Maxwell did know that Max was very professional and had never missed an appointment. "Let's go look for him."

The short leather skirt creeping up her thighs was definitely out of her comfort zone.

"Come as you aren't night." She reminds herself as she hurries along to the party that she is late for.

Stopping once again to pull down her skirt, a voice from behind you makes her jump. "I think it looks great."

Spinning around, she found the voice's owner leaning in a doorway. His long legs crossed at the ankle as he leans against the frame. Taking in how strikingly handsome he is, she hopes that he's that man she's here to meet.

"Marcus?" She tries.

"And you would be…?" He holds out his hand.

For a second she wondered why he wouldn't already have her name, since the host assured her that he had discussed her desires with Marcus and set everything up for her. Maybe he didn't give him her name to protect her in case she backed out, she reasons. Giving him her name she shakes his hand.

"Come on in." Giving her an easy smile he leads her into his room.

Once inside, Marcus is a little more forward than she expected. His thick fingers dig into her thigh and scalp as he pins her to the wall. His lips don't leave hers until she's breathless. All her insistence on taking things slow was rapidly flying out of the window and into the storm beyond. There was no hesitation left in her when his fingers hooked under her panties to move them to the side. With the first swipe of his fingers across her now throbbing clit, she decides that she wants him now.

Taking a breath to gather her courage she manages to say the word that's been hidden in her fantasies. "Daddy, please make me come."

Marcus lets out a deep chuckle as his fingers breach her, stretching her in the most delicious way. "Don't worry, Sweetness. Daddy will make you come hard."

Marcus made good on his promise, his fingers pumped in and out of her relentlessly until that spot inside her couldn't take anymore. Her walls clenched around him, pulling his fingers in as he pulled her in to kiss her neck. He kisses and suckes on her pulse point so hard that she knows she's going to have marks later. He only stops to lick his fingers clean of her cum before returning to her neck and sucking harder than before. No, not just sucking, biting.

A scream cut through the air. It wasn't unusual to hear screams echoing around the courtyard. It was unusual to hear one so clearly blood curling.

"That came from upstairs!" Pike called before taking the stairs two at a time with Ortega hot on his heels.

The two men had been in the courtyard trying to sort out alternative arrangements if Max Phillips wasn't found. Pike was sure Oberyn wouldn't mind some more company for the evening. Ortega politely entertained the idea but Pike could see he seemed pretty set on Phillips. He thought this odd for a first timer but maybe Mr Ortega was just a man who knew what he wanted.

Pike ran down the narrow balcony zeroing in on the sounds of a struggle.

"You bastard!" A woman screamed before the door to the next room flew open. Out sprinted Max Phillips, the lower half of his face covered with blood. Pike was about to chase him when he saw the woman holding her neck, the red of her tank top darkened.

Ortega ran past "I've got him."

Pike had no other choice than to let the other man handle it as he administered first aid while waiting for Kyle. Joel had given the paramedic a call after hearing the commotion.

Once the woman was safely taken down to the small medical room, Pike tried to make sense of what he'd seen.

"He bit her?!" Moreno was stunned even with the evidence in front of him.

"It looks like." Pike sighed, still in disbelief.

"Was that some sort of kink he had? Did he take it too far?" Moreno mused out loud.

Pero had joined them when he heard the fuss. He muttered something under his breath in Spanish that only Moreno caught.

"You can't be serious." Moreno huffed a laugh. "A vampire?"

"We never saw him in the daytime. Or saw him eat or drink. His clients always checked out acting rather peculiarly. I have travelled to many places with such myths and seen things that I cannot explain."

Before either Marcus could react to Pero, a man approached them from the shadows. "Your well travelled friend is right. You have a vampire in your midst."

The man was very well dressed. He had on a white dress shirt, fastened with an expensive looking pair of cufflinks complimenting the even finer watch on his wrist. He wore a black bow tie that matched his vest in colour. Black dress pants and designer shoes adorned his lower half and the outfit was completed by a leaf pattern embroidered overcoat.

"Forgive me. I am Señor Ladrón. I have been searching for your vampire for a while. He had left quite the trail of victims." The man informed them as casually as if he had just told them to expect rain.

"Well, you found him. What do we do now?" Joel stepped out of the first aid room, closing the door behind him to give the recovering victim some privacy.

"We kill him." Señor Ladrón stated simply.

This seemed to be a good enough answer for Joel who simply nodded. Pero seemed satisfied too. Both Marcus's had seen some weird things during their time in law enforcement but a vampire would be pushing it. Nevertheless there was a bad guy on the loose and it was their job to stop him. The men paired off. Joel with Pero, Pike with Moreno. Señor Ladrón excused himself to gather some equipment from his car.

"Do you think we should be letting him walk around here by himself? The guy thinks vampires are real." Moreno asks Pike as they make their way through the motel.

"Max is my biggest concern. I'll have Din go check on our visitor." Pike edged his way around to the part of the motel that was under development.

The only light was the glow from the well lit side of the motel, the full moon and the occasional flash of lightning. Even Pike had to admit with all the vampire talk and it being Halloween night, the whole setup had him a little rattled. A little. That must be why he could have sworn for a second that he saw a light on in the last room on the block, even when they found it completely empty.

The cloaking spell worked perfectly as you watched the Chef and Superhero take a look around the room before walking off the way they came.

It didn't take much to lure the vampire into a trap. It was thirsty in more ways than one, so with your blood pumping and all that flesh on display, how could he refuse to follow you into one of the rooms that were closed for refurbishment. The spell you had cast on the room took effect almost immediately. The well-dressed vampire swayed on his feet. With a little support from you, he made it to the bed.

"What the fuc…?" Was all he managed before he was out like a light.

Studying his profile in the light of the full moon you thought it was a shame to kill someone so handsome. "Sorry, Gorgeous. I promise it's for a good cause."

Straddling him, you pressed the tip of the cedar stake to his chest lining up it before preparing to raise it. A flash of lightning was followed by the boom of the door being kicked open.

Ortega ran into the room, grabbing the stake in your hand. "Carrying out the ritual without me?"

"Just like you tried the last one without me." You snatch the stake back.

"I was going to include you but you seemed a little preoccupied."

"For the last time. That was a business dinner!"

"He didn't seem to think that. Even when I made it clear to him."

"What? That's why he reneged on the deal!"

"If he couldn't handle a six shooter aimed at his balls, he had no place in business."

A scream of frustration left you. "Aren't you bored of this?! A hundred and fifty years we've been at this. You betray me. I betray you. One hundred and fifty years and we're still both so stubborn that we can't trust each other. We can't love each other." You feel the weight of your words slip from your shoulders.

Ignacio Oretga usually presented an intimidating front unless he needed to turn on the charm. There was exactly one person and one person only who could bring out the soft demeanour he took on now. "Darlin', there hasn't been one second of the last a hundred and fifty years that I haven't loved you. Now trust is another thing entirely…" he grinned.

"Don't laugh at me." You pout.

Ignacio leans in to kiss your bottom lip poking out. "I'm not laughing at you. I would never!"

"Yes, you would!" You grin back at him, your fingers fiddling with his lapels. "I love you, too."

The first kiss between you in a decade sparks the old fire between you. The reason for you being in this motel is nearly forgotten as Ignacio lifts you as close to his body as he can. He's eager to refresh his memory of your body against his.

"Wait, My Love. We need to finish the ritual or our hundred and fifty years end here."

Ignacio's fingers lace between yours around the stake. "Allow me." He slips the wood from your hand.

Ignacio lines the stake up just as you did and prepares to raise to deliver the killing blow. Just as it had with you, the door bursts open. A familiar figure is back lit by the lighting outside from the worsening storm.

"Thief." You spit in its direction.

"Oh, I'm so much more than that." He laughs. "For example, tonight I'm a trader."

"What is it you want to trade?" Ignacio's eyes narrow on him.

"The vampire and the secret to securing a few more years of life for you both, in exchange for allowing me to feast on the energy from the ritual."

"But we have the…" You trail off as you see that the vampire is gone and all that remains on the bed is a faint mist. The potent tang of magic settles on your tongue.

"When you say 'feast on the energy'...?"

Ignacio presses, keen to get rid of your uninvited guest.

"It's simple. To increase the longevity of the ritual you must make love in the blood of the creature rather than just bathe in it. I simply wish to watch and feed off your passion." The Thief sat himself in a chair at the end of the bed as if the whole thing was a done deal.

"You're an Incubus?" You wonder aloud.

"Among other things." His brown eyes glint red with amusement.

Turning to Ignacio, you could see him weighing up the deal.

"We've done more exotic things in bed." Your lips quirk up at the memory. "Prague."

"Hmm. California in the 70's." Ignacio smiled, stepping closer his hands finding your hips as if he was engaging you in a dance.

"Amsterdam." You swayed to the old melody supplied by your memories.

"So we are in agreement?" The Thief snapped his fingers and the vampire reappeared.

"Yes." You say in unison with Ignacio.

Neither of you so much as glance at The Thief as you let muscle memory take over until the two of you are naked. A wispy tendril of red mist winds its way to you from the hand of The Thief. It licks up your bare skin increasing the sensitivity of every nerve it touches. When it pushes between your legs it almost brings you to orgasm in an instant. Ignacio seems similarly affected as his cock flushes red and weeps.

"Just a little gift from me. For being so gracious in accepting my offer." The Thief undoes his belt as he speaks before cupping the large bulge below it.

Ignacio presses a single kiss to your bare shoulder, it's enough to make your knees weak. With shaking hands the two of you manage to wield the stake. The weight of the two of you tumbling into bed pushes the stake into the vampire's heart. An explosion of thick, crimson blood covers you as you sink down into the bed. Ignacio is inside you before you know it, filling you with his cum as your convulsing body milks it from him.

The Thief moans in contentment as he strokes himself through his clothing. "Again."

The tang of copper rolls over your tongue as Ignacio kisses you. It takes only a fraction longer for the two of you to come this time. Your heels dig into the meat of his pert ass as you draw him deeper. His warm release drips out on the bloodied sheets below. He seems to have even more for you than usual.

"Again." The Thief groans as he starts to stroke his now bare length.

Ignacio fights through the fog of his mystical arousal to position you where he wants you. He now has you on all fours. After all these years there is still something primal about spearing you on his cock from this angle. He manages to last a little longer this time. Enough that he gets to enjoy the arch of your back as he pulls on your hair and the jiggle of your ass as he smacks into it. His cum gushes into you as he stutters out a groan. Each climax feels electric. He wants to fuck you over and over. Not just because of the spell but to make up for lost time. How had he been so stubborn as to miss so much as a day with you?

Gripping the bed frame you try to compose yourself as the last orgasm fades. Each one hits like plunging into the ocean. It hits hard before consuming you in its depths. Making the mistake of looking up you see The Thief with his head thrown back in pleasure. His hips chase his hand as his fucks into his fist. The sight of him so freely chasing his pleasure has you coming again.

Ignacio's hand lands firmly on your ass cheek. "I forgot my naughty girl likes to watch. Thief!"

The Thief still carries on jerking his cock as he acknowledges Ignacio.

"Why don't you join us? My wife has a very talented mouth." Turned on by his own words, Ignacio Jackrabbits into you hard until he comes again.

The Thief moves with inhuman speed pressing the tip of his cock to your lips before you realise he even left his chair. "Would you like a taste?" He strokes your cheek gently until you open up for him.

The precum gathered on his slit is like nothing you've ever tasted before. You find yourself sucking and bobbing your head in earnest just to get more. When Ignacio starts snapping his hips into you from behind, the force causes you to gag on The Thief's swollen head. The sound makes Ignacio throb inside of you. His wife choking on a cock while he fucks her from behind prompts another load of his seed to fill up your warm cunt. The warmth of him triggers another orgasm from you. Whatever this magic is, you want more of it. Not just for the sex but for how your husband feels inside and against you. Ever touch is heightened. You couldn't get any closer to him than you are right now. It soothes the ache in your heart from spending years without him.

The Thief utters something in an unrecognisable language as you swallow around him. He then pulls out with a slick pop. "I will still let you have a taste but I'm afraid I might be too rough while I chase my end."

The Thief proceeds to wrap his hand around his thick girth.The noise of his balls slapping against his fist while he groans deeply is enough to even affect Ignacio. Flipping you over, he mouths at your blood soaked tits. Sucking on each nipple until it aches. Each suck and bit builds another climax it only takes his fingers pressing to your clit for you to achieve it. You watch in fascination as Ignacio's cock spurts another load across your thigh without even being touched. Running your fingers through it, you greedily stuff them in your mouth.

"I've missed you so much." You pull your husband in for a kiss that evolves into a slower pace of love making. Slower, but no less satisfying as you both come twice in each other's arms.

The laguid, comfortable satisfaction that The Thief drinks down reminds him of his own love at home waiting for him. He's almost full and his cock aches for release. He starts to withdraw his magic from them. It's harder than he anticipated as they were already so much in love and lust. He finally does so as Ignacio has his wife's legs spread wide in the air to thrust impossibly deep inside her. Reaching out, he grips her ankle to steady himself as he prepares to finish himself off. He's so close, he can feel the heat in his spine. Looking down, he watches Ignacio's thick cock splitting his wife's tight pussy open. Her folds glisten with both their releases. Her puffy, pink cunt looks throughly fucked still it pulls her husband's cock deeper. He can feel their love and passion fueling the spell. The magic in the air ripples over his skin, his nipples tighten just before his balls do. His fist works incredibly fast to pump his overdue spend over the face of the beautiful woman underneath him. As he covers his face, her husband paints her insides. The scream that rips from her leaves her mouth open to catch The Thief's seed. She rides out her climax on his husband's cock while licking The Thief's cum from around her mouth. The Thief thinks that he got the better end of the deal. As the heavy energy in the room lifts, The Thief prepares to leave.

All the years you'd seen the man as nothing more than an annoyance. Someone who turns up now and again when your agenda's crossed. Now you were seeing just how powerful he was.

"Wait. That was…" All coherent thought leaves your brain as you look up at your husband practically glowing. Your eyes trace a bead of sweat from his forehead down the curve of his beautiful nose before dripping onto your bare chest.

The Thief chuckles. "If you think I know how to celebrate Halloween, wait until you see how I celebrate New Years."

Author's Note: I had a completely different vibe planned for this one but I'm just so happy to have finished something after going through a dry spell.

Tags: @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @manazo @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories @geekrenaissance @its-nebuleuse @sherala007

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #agent ortega #agent ortega x f!reader #the thief #the thief x f!reader #max phillips #maxwell lord #marcus pike #marcus moreno #joel miller #kyle hartley #mojo dojo casa sex house #the motel

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Forbidden Fruit

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: The Thief x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: Public nudity, explicit consent, breast worship, voice kink, fingering (female receiving)

Author’s Note: This story wouldn’t exist without two Kinktober requests! Thank you to @massivecolorspygiant for requesting Table Sex with the Thief, and @nolanell for requesting Voice Kink with him. You are my muses and I’m very grateful.

Thank you also to @radiowallet , who not only betaed this fic and contributed one of my favorite lines (hint: 🎁), but inspired me to attempt the Thief in the first place. If you haven’t read Radiant with Thief!Marcus and his Little Ghost, what are you even doing??

My Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

A richly timbred male voice curls around you like smoke, the subtle smirk sending skitters down your spine. It’s difficult to see him from your prone position on the polished mahogany table, and if you move or lift your head, you run the risk of tipping the artfully arranged forest fruits and delicate pastries laid over you, exposing your naked body to the guests thronging the banquet hall. You steal glimpses through the slits in your exquisitely molded black lace mask: broad shoulders swathed in silk. Softly curling chestnut hair shot through with strands of silver. Plush, smiling lips, made for secrets - although telling or keeping, you can’t quite decide. Dark, hooded eyes amused with what they see, even through a mask.

His is more daring than any you’ve seen so far. Black leather tooled to resemble scales, the features artfully twisted into an amused smirk, the whole piece adorned with two twisting horns, the very picture of a storybook demon.

Your attention drifts to him again and again, drawn unerringly and unbidden like a moth to a jeweled lantern’s flame. You’re forbidden to have any contact with the guests at this party but as you aren’t moving or speaking, surely it won’t hurt to brush your wings against the tinted glass.

By the time the talk is winding down and the guests have begun to take their seats, you are trembling so hard with suppressed desire that the crystal wine glasses begin to rattle. No one seems to notice. No one except the man in the embroidered silk coat. His lips curve behind the single finger he raises to them as you exchange a furtive glance.

Quiet, he seems to urge. Don’t give the game away.

When you give a barely perceptible nod, his eyes light with mischief, sending a thrill straight to your aching center.

After that, the game is well and truly on.

Some of the bolder guests have begun to lift food from the serving platter of your body, but with such tentative giggles that you nearly roll your eyes at them, something not even your shapely mask would disguise.

Not your demon.

While the others count themselves brave for lifting a vol-au-vent from the crook of your elbow, he is far bolder. One by one, the slices of fruit adoring your chest disappear past his lips with evident relish, his fingers lingering longer with every touch. With an upraised eyebrow, his hand pauses over the final two berries capping your nipples. When you flash him a small, secret smile of encouragement, he swipes them both away with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. When your lips part, he slips one into your waiting mouth. Not to be outdone, you wrap your tongue around his fingers before they depart and watch the darkening flicker in his eyes with satisfaction.

Emboldened, the other guests follow his example. A woman in shimmering beetle green delights in feeding you tidbits from her hand. Someone in a plain black tuxedo comments loudly about how he’d prefer you to any of the dishes on display - though you’re more offended at his inability to dress to the evening’s theme (“Forbidden Pleasures: A Fae Feast”) than his remarks.

Your dark-eyed demon is far, far subtler. No one notices the brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, or the way your legs part, just a little, in silent invitation. By the time you’re nearly bare, the delicacies hiding your nakedness snatched away by greedy hands, his eyes are burning coals beneath his mask.

-

You were supposed to leave.

The masquerade ball following the dinner party was not for you. You were supposed to wash away the crushed berry juices from your skin, brush off the clinging flakes of pastry, collect your wages, and go.

Instead, you’ve changed into the ball gown that has valiantly resisted wrinkling despite being crammed into a garment bag. Its pomegranate silk glides over your skin like a caress, seemingly willing to forgive your rough treatment in exchange for a night out. You arrange your hair in an artful twist and slide a new mask over your features. You scarcely recognize yourself in the baroque gilt mirror before you, and it seems impossible that any of the overfed, self-satisfied guests with pockets deep enough to be here will recognize you.

Well, with one possible exception.

Hope thrums in your chest, mothwing soft but heartbeat strong and with a final glance in the mirror for courage, you set out to find your demon.

-

“There you are.”

The velvet tones of his rich voice settle around you like a cloak even before you turn to face him. His eyes dance as he takes you in, from the six garnet drops at your throat to the ruby colored gown shading to black by the time it pools at your fight like liquid darkness. A knowing smile kindles on his features not hidden beneath black leather.

“Hello, Persephone.”

A delighted laugh catches in your throat. “I didn't think anyone would notice.”

“Oh, I noticed.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning across your cheek. The embers you’ve scarcely managed to bank flare to life in your belly and it’s all you can do not to reach out and pull him into a dark alcove then and there. “I haven’t been able to stop noticing. What are you doing, slumming with these people?”

With a jerk of his artfully tousled head, he dismisses the glitterati around you, already half wasted on champagne and designer drugs, utterly blind to the wonders of their own riches. With a thrill, you realize the man standing before you doesn’t count himself as one of them, not even aspirationally.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“I’m working,” you tell him, savoring the vagueness of the explanation.

With a roguish wink, he answers “So am I.”

Intrigued, you arch an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you do, Sir Demon?”

Leaning in so close you’re enveloped in his scent (tobacco and clove, amber and spice), he whispers “I’m a thief.”

Startled, you pull back to search his gaze. There’s humor there, but you don’t think he’s joking, not about this. If anything he’s… waiting. Curious to see how you’ll respond, urging you to play along.

For a moment, you wonder if mingling in crowds like this to steal from them is as lonely as serving them can be.

Coming to a decision, you put your lips almost to his ear and murmur “And what is it you intend to take tonight, Thief?”

Holding out one gloved hand, he says “Let me show you.”

-

He draws you into the hushed stillness of a library, empty aside from the sleeping books lining the walls, their gilt titles all but glowing in the starlight shining through an enormous plate glass window. It’s a massive space, all vaulted ceilings and shadowy stacks, an abundance of a different kind of wealth on full display.

The Thief looks on as you run a hand over the spines of the books in a gentle caress.

“Take one.”

Your fingers falter over a midnight blue spine stamped with silver stars but you shake your head, your throat suddenly thick with longing.

“I’m pretty sure they’d throw me into a literal dungeon for even trying.” The smile you attempt doesn’t quite reach your eyes but you shake it off, not wanting to spoil the magic of this one, stolen night with him.

“Well?” You prompt, the lightness back in your tone once you’ve turned to face him. “You haven’t told me what you’re here to steal. Is there a safe in here, or, ohh, is there treasure in a -“

He muffles your words with a kiss. It’s light at first, the brush of his mouth against yours, one palm cradling your jaw.

“You,” he breathes when you come up for air, starry-eyed and wondering, though not completely surprised. His thumb traces a line down your lower lip and comes to rest at your chin. He holds you in a terribly gentle grasp, his eyes searching yours as he asks “Will you let me?”

“Yes.” You both smile when your answer nearly trips over his questions in your rush to get his mouth back on yours. You’ve been aching for him for hours and oh, his kiss is as deliciously decadent as you’d hoped, rich and heady as rich red wine.

You don’t even try to suppress your moan when his tongue slips past your lips, grazing yours in a hungry glide that sends you gasping for more. He obliges, one broad hand at your hip, the other settling at the nape of your neck, the better to tip your mouth to his so he can drink you down. He licks into your mouth, drawing moans from you with a passion that leaves you trembling.

For all his evident skill, his is a barely controlled hunger and you wonder at his restraint in keeping it leashed this far. You’re not faring much better, truth be told. Your arms are wound around his neck, your chest straining against the confines of your corset. His warmth seeps into you but it isn’t enough. Your body screams to be closer, to press skin to skin and let him ravage you completely.

“I wanted to take you right there on that table,” he groans, the curve of his nose pressed to your cheek. You didn’t even see him remove the mask, it’s simply gone, leaving his face bared to you. “And now I can’t decide if I liked you better naked and on display for me or wrapped up so pretty like a perfect little present.”

His fingers trail down the laces at the back of your gown and drift until he’s cupping your backside, pulling you close enough to feel how badly he wants you. When you hitch one leg up to grind closer, he’s quick to run his palm up your thigh, holding you at his hip and groaning when you roll against him.

“Unwrap me, then.” You barely recognize the sultry sound of your own voice, but the Thief rewards your boldness. With a flick of his wrist, your laces are undone and with a conjuror’s flourish, he tugs your bodice down, exposing your straining breasts to his wicked mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he purrs, laying you down on a solid oak table. With one broad hand splayed across your collarbones, he lowers his head. Already burning for his touch, the scorching heat of his tongue, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, urging him on.

But oh, he makes you wait.

He trails light, teasing kisses over your breasts, chuckling when you whine and clutch at him, greedy for more.

“Patience,” he tuts. “I want you as ravenous for me as I am for you. Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Getting my hands on you, stealing you away - it’s all I’ve been able to think about tonight.”

His low voice throbs between your legs, the throaty purr enough to leave you soaking for him. You score a momentary reprieve when he finally wraps his lips around your peaked nipple and sucks hard, all the while kneading and pinching your other breast beneath his agile fingers. You gasp and shudder for him, your breath hitching when he mirrors the actions on the opposite sides. But as exquisite as his mouth is, you need more.

“I do want you,” you whimper helplessly. “This is all I’ve wanted since I heard you in that banquet hall.”

This earns you an amused glance as he pauses, his chin between the valley of your breasts. “Oh? You like my voice?”

The strangled noise you make at that ridiculous question is enough to give him his answer.

“Alright, treasure,” he soothes, and you can feel him grinning in the dark, his jawline scraping against your heated flesh. He’s already standing between your legs but he nudges them wider, pushing your skirts up around your waist in one smooth motion, the better to stroke one hand up your quivering thigh. He sighs with pleasure when his fingers reach the dampened scrap of silk between your legs and he pushes it aside to cup your wet heat, parting your folds and rubbing circles around and around your swollen clit with practiced ease.

“I’m going to make you come telling you all the filthy things I’ve been going out of my damn mind thinking about.”

He bends over you then, his broad form covering yours, his hand trapped between your bodies as you clutch desperately at his shoulders, his fingers working furiously to drive you to a fevered state of need.

Bringing his lips to your ear, he drops his voice to a subterranean rumble that rolls through you like thunder and says,

“And then… I’m going to do them.”

—

#The Thief x Reader #The Thief x F!Reader #The Thief x Fem!Reader #Casillero del Diablo #if marketing people are seeing this #yes I do indeed buy this wine bc of Pedro and I am not alone 🤣 #but also please look away #Emma does Kinktober 2022 #Fic #My fic

[oonajaeadira]

WINKTOBER DAY 13: Face Sitting (The Thief)

Okay, listen, some of the prompts required a little more crowbarring and invention than others. This is one of them.

“What’s this?” you growl as your thief places a box in your hands.

“I have a little bet going with a friend, but I need you to hide this from me–keep it safe, it’s very valuable.”

Not trusting him, you peel the lid back on the box to reveal a piece of sand-colored linen that looks to be stained…with…something…that looks like–

Glaring sharp daggers of disbelief and panic at him, you slap the lid shut and raise your voice in accusation, “Please do not tell me you are asking me to hide the damned–sorry–the actual Shroud of Turin in my apartment?!”

“Just for the night, Angel, then back to Italy it goes.”

After you breathe a strained count to ten and mumble something about not being his accomplice, his servant, his….his damn face-sitter, he slips away into the night, chuckling, “No, my dear, but if that’s what you want in payment, it can easily be arranged….”

—

WINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST

#winktober #six sentence ficlets #casillero del diablo fanfiction #the thief #the thief x reader #the thief x f!reader

[chaoticgeminate]

Year of Video Game AUs Masterlist

Welcome to my series combining my love of video games and my love of Pedro Pascal. This is my contribution for the Year of Themed Creation, I hope that you enjoy what I've planned for you! These won't necessarily follow exact plots, some of these are in-universe only, but the theme of each game is the primary focus. So sit back, get comfy, and enjoy my stories and the accompanying playlist~

To enjoy all of the amazing "Year Of Themed Creations" head on over to @yearofcreation2023 where every piece of work is going to be put nicely on the library shelf or framed and hung up on the walls for everyone to enjoy.

January: Marcus P x f!Reader - The Saltwater Room (Raft) February: Pero x f!Reader - Black Vultures (The Forest) March: Javi G x f!Reader - Cloud Nine (Pokémon)

April: The Thief x f!Reader - Wicked Ways (Tomb Raider/Uncharted) May: Ezra x f!Reader - Iodine (Alice the Madness Returns) June: Marcus M x f!Reader - Break In (Coral Island/Stardew Valley)

July: Din x f!Reader - Warrior (Legend of Zelda) August: Oberyn x f!Reader - In the Shadows (Assassins Creed) September: Dave x f!Reader - Apocalyptic (Fallout)

October: Javi P x f!Reader - Misguided Ghosts (Phasmophobia) November: Joel x f!Reader - Tidal Wave (Zoo Tycoon) December: Frankie x f!Reader - Bright Eyes (Spiritfarer)

#year of themed creation #mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x f!reader #the great wall fanfic #pero tovar x f!reader #tuwomt fanfic #javi g x f!reader #casillero del diablo fanfic #the thief x f!reader #prospect fanfic #ezra x f!reader #we can be heroes fanfiction #marcus moreno x f!reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x f!reader #game of thrones fanfic #oberyn martell x f!reader #equalizer 2 fanfic #dave york x f!reader #narcos fanfic #javi p x f!reader #tlou fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x f!reader #raft fanfic #the forest fanfic #pokemon fanfic #tomb raider fanfic #uncharted fanfic

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Proposition

Fandom: Casillero del Diablo, The Thief

Word Count: 1520

TW: f!reader, Wagering, Breaking-In, Stealing

Note: Thank you so much to @green-socks for beta reading and giving such great advice on the direction of the story! I really appreciate it! 🥰

Part 1 of Like A Thief in the Night

He smirks to himself as he watches you slip between the displays that line his ground floor. You dart from one to the next, hiding in the shadows and avoiding anything that may alert anyone to your intrusion. He has to admit that you are good. Chances are anyone else would have missed the slight shift in the lighting or the rare tap of your foot. But he is not like everyone else and he sensed your presence the moment you slid through his window.

As you pull yourself flush against the back of a suit of armor, he begins to descend the stairs, purposely making each step thud loudly against the marble floor. “Well, well, well,” you freeze at the sound of his voice booming throughout the room. “It seems as if a sly little fox has found her way into the hen house. There is no point in hiding any longer. I have had my eye on you from the moment you set foot in my home.”

For a moment, the room is completely silent and still as not even a shadow moves within the darkness. But then, you slip out from behind the armor and plant yourself in a sliver of moonlight streaming in through the window. Your dark, stealthy attire still hides most of your features yet as you pull down the hood and black cloth covering your face, your haughty expression beams brightly even from across the room.

“If I am the fox, does that make you the hen?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “I was wondering how far you would let me get before calling me out. It’s not like I really tried to hide my presence.”

He ignores your teasing comment and addresses the second part of your statement. “Not trying to hide, hm? Is that why you were slipping through the shadows?”

“I figured you would be more intrigued that way. But of course, I didn’t want to give away all my secrets straight off the bat. That would make the game no fun.” Your voice is melodic and light with a playful edge to your words, and he notes that it would be a lovely addition to his collection.

As he begins descending the steps once more, he asks, “And what game would that be, my dear?”

You pull yourself up to your full height (which is still much shorter than he is) and declare, “I am here to issue a challenge. A bet, of sorts. From one thief to another.”

He chuckles. “Ah, so you fancy yourself a thief? And what sorts of things have you stolen?”

“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t believe me anyway even if I told you. My specialty is stealing what I want right in front of your face in a way where you will never even realize it is mine until it is too late. And even then, some people will never notice its absence. Unlike you who prefers to wave your accomplishments around and let the whole world know what you have taken. But then again, I am the better thief.”

He scoffs as he stops a few inches from where you are standing. “I regret to inform you, but I am the greatest thief in the world.”

You shrug. “So you say. Which is why I’m here. I’ve been watching you for almost a year now. I was there when you stole the Saxon Crown, the Countess’s diamond necklace, the Starry Night. But I know you never noticed me. That’s okay, you weren’t supposed to.” He starts to protest but you cut him off. “Don’t deny it. I told you, I’m just a better thief than you are, and I only let people see me when I want to be seen. And I decided it was time to reveal myself to you so we can determine once and for all who truly is the greatest thief in the world.”

“And how do you propose we decide that?”

“You are in possession of something that I want. It is the thing you hold most dear in your life, and you guard it more heavily than anything else. And it is my intention to take it from you.”

His eyes narrow as his mind quickly flashes through his many possessions to determine what you are after. While he quickly eliminates most options, there are still a few items you may be alluding to depending on how closely you have studied him. “And what item is that?”

The same gleam in your eye from before returns. “Where would be the fun in telling you that? I can’t give you all the advantages now, can I?”

He purses his lips in annoyance but continues on, “That hardly seems fair given the sheer magnitude of items you could be referring to, but what sort of challenge do you have in mind?”

“It’s simple. I move in here with you for six months and attempt to take the item. At the end of that time, the winner will be whoever then possesses the item, and they will be given the title of the greatest thief in the world. In addition, if I win, I get to keep it and do with it whatever I please. But if you win, I leave, and you’ll never see or hear from me again. The title will be yours forevermore.”

“That’s it? You reward me with something which is already mine?” he says with a scoff. “And what if I refuse? I could just tell you to get out of my home right now. How is the result any different if I play and win?”

The corners of your mouth curl up into a sly smile. “It’s not. Not really. However, by playing you gain one thing: peace of mind. You believe you are the best thief in the world. I say you’re not. So, if I walk out that door right now, will you ever be able to stop wondering? Will you ever be able to silence that little voice in the back of your head from whispering those two little words which will continue to grow until they shake you to your very core…. What if?”

He considers for a moment. “I see you’ve prepared well for this meeting. You seem to have the answers to my every question or concern.”

You lift your head proudly. “I don’t ever go in blind. I see what I want, I wait however long it takes, I plan out every last detail, and only when I’m certain I can obtain my goal, do I strike.”

Your left hand shoots out, grabbing for the crown sitting atop his head but his hand is faster, pinning your wrist between his fingers. He smirks at you, but his expression falters as you smirk just as smugly back at him. Silently, you hold up your right hand where his watch now dangles in your grasp. He glances at his now bare wrist before his eyes fly back to you in astonishment.

You grin as you offer the watch back. “Do you still think you’re the best?”

No one had ever stolen from him, not since he had discovered the art of the steal. It was one of the reasons he had considered this entire offer ridiculous. But if you managed to rob him right under his very nose….. This might be more interesting than he originally anticipated. 

Yet, one thing still nags at the back of his mind. “That was quite impressive, and I am intrigued by your offer. But tell me this, how does you not stealing from me make me the better thief?”

Nodding, you explain. “There is more to being a thief than just the act of stealing. There is the planning, the technique, the execution. You have to be aware of any sudden changes or alterations in the environment, in the people around you. So, a truely great thief should be able to spot another thieft in progress. And as the one currently holding the title, it falls on you to protect it by playing defensively.”

Somehow, everything you said made sense in a strange sort of way. So, with a nod, he says, “Fine. I accept your challenge. But six months seems a little excessive, doesn’t it? One month should suffice.”

You laugh. “It will take me an entire month just to visit every room in this place, let alone sort through your thousands of trophies. Four months.”

“Three.” You hesitantly nod in agreement, yet there is something about it that makes him think that you just got what you wanted all along. But he shrugs it off and sticks out his hand. “Three months. And if you haven’t managed to steal what is most precious to me by that time, I never have to see you again. Deal?”

“Deal.” You slide his watch back on his wrist before shaking his hand and sealing both of your fates.

As he runs his thumb lightly over the back of your hand, he asks, “Well, my sly little fox, when do we begin?”

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future parts!

Tag List: @babblydrabbly, @loverhymeswith, @yespolkadotkitty, @kesskirata, @edwardbaldwin, @littlemisspascal, @green-socks, @skvatnavle, @sunshineflowerchild789, @princessxkenobi

#fic #like a thief in the night #the thief #the thief x reader #the thief x f!reader #thief #thief x reader #thief x f!reader #casillero del diablo #pedro pascal

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Like a Thief in the Night Masterlist



Summary: He claims to be the greatest thief in the world. You say otherwise. A challenge is issued to settle the matter once and for all. But in the end, only one thief will come out on top.

Status: In-progress

Part 1: The Proposition

Part 2 (Coming Soon)

#sfw repost #masterlist #like a thief in the night #pedro pascal #casillero del diablo #the thief #thief #the thief x reader #the thief x f!reader #thief x reader #thief x f!reader #f!reader

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 10

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: 10k 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.* Heavy flirting, mention of a safe word, technically public groping/making out, drunkenness, weapon, threats/arguing, accidental injury, character death, blood drinking Summary: An interrupted date and a magical mishap end up with very surprising results. Notes: This chapter has been marked explicit for violence! Please proceed knowing that tags are intentionally vague so as not to give away plot points!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The farm that Max found is two towns over, crawling with families and teenagers and other couples out on similar dates. The little food stand they have open is cranking out fresh doughnuts and corn dogs, and French fries from potatoes grown right there on their land — along with locally pressed apple cider and hot cocoa that is nice and rich but Max is certain just came from a powdered mix. Considering his prowess on the topic, you’re not inclined to disagree with him. Surprised to enjoy yourself so very much that hours fly by without your notice, it isn’t until you shiver in the October chill and Max very dutifully wraps you up in his leather jacket, that you start to think about home again.

Is it possible you’re only thinking that because you want to snuggle up beside him? Very possible. But that’s not such a bad thing to want to do.

“Warm now?” He asks, his arm around your waist and leans in close. He has the opportunity to snuggle close to you and he’s going to take it. The atmosphere is positively sweet and he’s hoping that you are relaxed.

“Much.” Even if he doesn’t radiate body heat, the proximity of him and his bearing makes him into a walking blanket — and his jacket is deceptively warm for being deliberately stylish. “I feel like we’ve done everything but I’m not ready to go home…which seems silly.”

“We can always go through the hayride again.” He offers, thrilled that you want to spend time out with him again.

“You wouldn’t mind that?” The last thing you want to do is bore him, but Max seems to be enjoying himself. Or at least he’s looking at you so softly and happily that you can’t imagine the expression is false — which is really its own sort of miracle.

“I’m out with you.” He hums softly. “I don’t mind at all.” It’s pretty astonishing how soft he has become for you. Managing to have you break through his crusty, self-important exterior to the soft and mushy inside.

“And you’ll really never understand how astonishing I find it that you feel that way.” You lean into his side and sigh, the heavy sound so opposed to the lightness and easiness in your heart. “One more hayride and then we’ll call it a night?”

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” He leans in and nuzzles your cheek. “We can always slip off into the woods to canoodle if you want.”

“Max!” The tone of scandal in your voice is obvious, but not in a way that disagrees by any means. In fact, your pulse jumps up and your cheeks burn hot immediately at the suggestion. “How very scandalous of you.”

With no one looking, Max flashes his fangs at you playfully. “That’s me. Scandalous.”

“Scandalous and sexy.” You huff a little laugh, letting your arm around his waist relax as the two of you walk back toward the start of the hayrides together. “And elegant, of course.”

“Always elegant.” He jokes. “You should see how elegantly I can pin you against a tree.”

Prior to Max, that probably wouldn’t have affected you too much in any particular way, but knowing that Max has never used his strength in any way but to care for you makes that image some even sexier. You know for certain that any way he had you in his arms, you would be protected and cared for — as well as absolutely wrecked. “M—maybe I’d like to see that.”

You manage to shock him. His step falters and the elegantly graceful vampire damn near stumbles. His eyes dart towards your face as he gauges how serious you are. “Give me a safe word.” He demands when he sees you’re serious. “One word that stops anything and everything happening.”

“I—” You’ve never had to have a safe word before, partially because you had a partner who didn’t prioritize your safety, but that is beside the point. Right now all that matters is the hungry way Max is staring at you. “I don’t…” The first word that pops into your head is what comes out of your mouth. “Napkin.”

He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Knowing that you would be embarrassed if he did. Probably interpret it as him laughing at you, rather than the word. Instead, he nods. “Napkin. Okay, sweetheart, if you ever want to stop anything – I mean even holding my hand – you just say ‘napkin’.”

"It was the only word I could think of," you defend, embarrassment hot in your cheeks even as you cuddle closer into Max's side. "But I understand what you mean. And...for the record?" Looking up at him from this close to his shoulder makes you crane your neck as though he was twelve feet tall and that's somehow even sexier. "I can't imagine that I would ever want you to stop holding my hand."

“That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.” A cute little Hallmark perfect date wasn’t the setting he had in mind for discussions about boundaries and safe words, but here you are. “But the second that changes, I want you to tell me. Without being scared I will get mad or it will hurt my feelings. Invalidating your own comfort for mine isn’t something I want.”

"And you'll tell me too?" Somehow you know that he would, but you still feel the need to say it out loud. "Don't be afraid that it will hurt my feelings. I would rather that you always be honest with me."

“You’re my person.” He stresses, tossing you a grin. “My little ketchup packet, my favorite fantasy snack. I would never lie to you.” That part he’s serious about. He doesn’t want you to feel like you can’t trust him, you’re part of his soul. If you can’t trust the person the universe said was your perfect match, can you even trust yourself?

"I'm claiming that as my new pet name," you tell him, practically doubling over and cackling beside him as you wait in line for one more hayride through the farm. "I'm your little ketchup packet from now on. That's the weirdest and cutest thing I've ever heard."

“Then that’s what you’ll be.” He grins, enjoying your amusement and watching you with steadfast affection.

******

Eventually, after another five or ten minutes of waiting, snuggling together like every other couple in line, the tractor pulling the trailer with the bales of hay piled up to make seats arrives. Unloading the last giggling, excitable group before they motion towards you and Max to climb on. He sets a precedent by helping you up onto the trailer with a flourish that makes the other men of your group seemingly follow suit, making him grin as he settles down beside you against a surprisingly comfortable backrest of hay.

“Show off,” you tease under your breath as he puts his arm around you in the back of the truck bed and rest your head on his shoulder. “Forcing them all to up their game.”

He snorts and leans down against your head. “Poor them.” He mocks silently.

“All the girls are probably thanking you, though.” The way your hand creeps into his, fingers threading together and locking into place, is comfortable and practiced now.

“They should have been helping them up anyway.” He muses, smirking at you, “Helps get them laid.”

“Oh yeah?” Your eyes flash mischief and you grin. “Are you hoping it’ll help you, too?”

“Well, I’m always hoping.” He nuzzles your nose with his and chuckles. “But as long as I get to hold you while you sleep, I’m perfectly good.”

“I don’t think it will take too long.” It’s less a promise than a reassurance, because with the way you feel about him you’re just not going to be able to resist very long. And that’s okay.

“We’ll get there.” He’s not concerned about sex, which is amazing considering he was kicked out of the college he was supposed to meet you at because he was thinking with his dick. Maybe it’s because he knows you are his, his soulmate bond stronger than just mere physical attraction.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” The question is soft, and more plaintive than you meant it to be, but it’s honest. Just because he’s stayed beside you for the last two nights doesn’t mean that he is always going to want to. But you want him there. For every possible second that he’ll allow.

“I was hoping you would ask.” He admits, squeezing your hand gently. He wasn’t going to push you for another night beside you while you sleep, but if you want him there, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I always want you there,” you admit quietly. “But I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do.”

"I can do any work I need to get done on my phone." He tells you. "Unless the light would bother you."

“It doesn’t.” That is an easy promise, considering you sleep more deeply in Max’s arms than anywhere else. “You could probably talk to me in my sleep and the most that would happen is I would hear your voice is my dreams.”

"Good." He curls a little closer to you and nudges your ear with his nose. "Maybe we can...sleep together regularly?"

“Honestly?” The closer he gets the more you warm up, the heat of attraction rolling off you in waves. “Stay with me every night. Just screw having different rooms, I don’t even care.”

"Ready to move me in, Queenie?" He grins, not bothered by it at all. "You must really like me." He has zero problem staying in your room from now on. Only going back to his room to dress if you couldn't, or wouldn't, give him closet space.

“You’re my soulmate.” As if it were some kind of all-powerful spell, a brisk breeze sweeps through the cart and nudges you to nuzzle closer to Max as the hayride takes off. “And technically I’m the one who moved in with you. You were already there.”

“Technically.” He hums happily, tightening his hold on you as the ride starts.

The first hayride you took had been full of local teens and one young family all looking to enjoy some seasonal entertainment, but this time it is very obviously all couples. There is no doubt about it when seven pairs of people are all sitting in their own little corners of the truck bed and cuddling without a single care in the world for anyone else present. You and Max are able to just watch the night go by from your perched spot on a bale of hay, and when you approach the tree line again towards the end of the ride you bite back a giggle. He makes you feel giddy, and you have to wonder privately how scandalous it really would be to sneak off into those woods.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Max can move faster than you can. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulls you off the trailer with his inhuman vampiric strength and speed to move you to the trees, out of sight of the continuing hayride.

Clinging to him is sort of an understatement for how tight you hold on, but in just two seconds’ time or less you’re well-hidden with him in the tree line and gasping for air as you try to muffle exuberant giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that!” It feels like breaking the rules and you never break the rules.

He chuckles and leans against you gently, pinning you against the tree “Yeah?” He hums, nuzzling your pulse. “We are breaking the rules and being naughty.”

“Max…” Breathy and plaintive, his name on your lips is as certain as the way your fingers are digging into his sides to keep him close as your eyes flutter shut. He’s like a wall around you, surrounding you and blocking out the world, and somehow that is even sexier than you ever thought it would be.

“What do you want, my Dolly?” He asks, sliding his tongue out to trail lightly along your skin. “What do you need?” His voice dips down low and sensual, caressing you with his words.

It’s the most fantastic thing in your mind when he does this, lips and tongue and just the gentlest nip of his teeth on your skin making you forget everything in the world besides him. Far from any feeling you’ve had before, it is intoxicating and all-encompassing and you have to wonder how much it is the soulmate connection and how much is just your physical attraction to him. “Drive me crazy—” you gasp and it drops to a low moan when his hand spreads out over your hip and he presses in closer.

“Good.” He huffs against your skin and grins. He wants to drive you crazy, to make you forget about everything but him and the moment. He presses against you a little more and continues to kiss along your throat. “Wanna drive you crazy.”

Everything else around the two of you truly dissolves and the only thought in your head is how long you can possibly make your neck to give Max more and more skin to kiss. One of your hands finds its way under the hem of his sweater with such ease that you don’t even realize you’re touching him at first. It’s like an unconscious effort to crawl inside the strength of his embrace and just stay there forever.

“Do you know how good it feels to have you touch me?” Max growls against your skin, shivering slightly. Not from the chilly weather, but from the exquisite feeling of your touch. The feel of someone who was meant for him.

“Tell me.” Your hands seek out skin like a magnet, grazing Max’s sides and dipping delicately under the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s— it’s electric.” Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, his voice falters, nearly losing track of what he was saying. “Tingling. Like waking up Christmas morning.”

“Ooo, a fan of Christmas?” The giggle that bubbles out of you is throaty and you find yourself pressing back against the tree to give him maximum leverage while your hands retrace familiar routes. “I’ll remember that.”

“Only when there are presents under the tree.” He teases, his own hand sliding under your shirt at your back. Loving how hot you are as he caresses your skin.

“I’ll put a ribbon on my forehead,” you tease, rolling your hips forward in an effort to connect every possible part of your bodies.

“Yeah? You gonna be my present?” He groans at the thought and imagines unwrapping you from the most delicate lingerie you can buy.

“I’d like to be.” The idea that he could be bored of you by then flickers across your mind but you don’t let it stay. Max has never given a single indication that that could happen. He didn’t even spook when your abuela’s letter mentioned a husband, which would have sent any previous boyfriend running for the hills.

“You’re—” There’s a crack of a branch, one that doesn’t sound like it’s from an animal. A scent that is definitely human. Making Max groan as he pulls away from you, putting his finger to his lips to tell you to be quiet.

Being seen is mortifying enough, but the look on Max’s face is seriously displeased and you clam up instantly. A nod of your head is your promise to obey, and you’re instantly pulling your clothes back into place.

“Well, what do we have here?” The condescending tone isn’t one of a displeased hayride worker, it’s more of someone looking for trouble. Max can smell the booze from here he knows that you won’t like being accosted by a drunkard, especially this drunkard.

It should say something that you recognize his slur as easily as his voice, and you know that Max just heard the way your heartbeat jumped into your throat in fear rather than arousal. Still, you stay silent like Max ordered. “Whaddaya got there?” In the dark he can’t see details very well, but he wobbles forward another step with unearned certainty. “Little lady like her hayride?”

“Funny running into you here.” Max keeps his voice slightly jovial with a tinge of warning in it. No need to start hostile. He’s sure that will come later.  “Didn’t take you for the pumpkin patch type.”

Derek reels back slightly when he recognizes Max, his mocking smile dipping down to a frown. “You.” He huffs, craning his neck to look behind the younger man’s large frame. “I’m just out with some new friends,” Derek insists, waving his arm vaguely in back of him as though fifty people should have appeared out of the trees there. “Trying to get to know my girl’s new home a little.”

“Not your girl.” Max reminds him. “You are done. Best thing you can do is leave.”

“Not gonna happen.” Derek informs him with an amused shake of his head. The arrogance rolling off him in waves is different from Max’s breed of cockiness. It’s downright sinister. “And what do you even care, man? You’ve had her, what…a month?” He scoffs at that and takes a swig out of the brown bottle in his hand. “Just go find somebody else. No harm, no foul. No problem between us.”

“There is a problem between us.” Max turns, shielding you from your ex and acting as a barrier between you. “There’s no one else for me. She’s it. So I suggest you find another punching bag to break in. She’s done taking your abuse.”

“That little mouse?” The doubtful expression on Derek’s face is all for show. He hears the resolve in the other man’s voice and sees the set of his shoulders. The only reason he’s certain he could survive going toe-to-toe with this guy is because Derek knows his own speed. “C’mon man,” he takes another step forward, adopting a friendly posture. “I’m doing you a favor here. Trust me.”

“Trust me, pal.” Max snorts and grins evilly. “You don’t want to push me. She is the only reason you are still breathing.”

The habitual haze of alcohol has Derek interpreting that statement entirely backwards, and he moves toward you with all the confidence of a swaggering buffoon. “I knew my girl could never give me up that easily.” After ten fucking years of training you, you had better not.

“Queenie.” Max snarls your nickname, ready to pounce on this piece of shit and tear him apart if he so much as touches a hair on your body. “Leave.”

“Not without you.” As much as you want to get the hell out of here, there’s no way. If Max is still here then you’re staying, and you’re not sure how foolish that deep loyalty is in your decision making but the decision has been made.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking throat out and shit down your neck if you don’t get the fuck out of here.” Max warns. “Don’t fucking bother staying around.”

“Baby.” The way Derek turns his eyes to you in the dark is practiced. Measured. And more than a little demanding. “Are you gonna let him threaten me like that, little girl?”

Once upon a time it was baby girl. Crooned and sweet and sighed in your ear to make you feel completely complacent and like he was where you belonged. It was a trick. A nasty, dirty one, and you’re ashamed of yourself for ever falling for such an obvious act. “He can threaten you however he likes,” you tell Derek, though your voice isn’t as strong as the words are. “The second I give him permission, he’ll kill you.”

Derek scoffs and shakes his head. “No he won’t, because he isn’t gonna go to jail for you.”

Max chuckles. “Wanna bet, fuckface?” He growls. “Besides, they would never find you after I’m done with you.”

“They wouldn’t.” You know that. Hell, considering who Max’s sire — your own grandfather is — you doubt there would even be a body left to find. “You should go, Derek.” The kindest thing you can possibly do for this piece of shit is warn him off, but you know that he won’t listen to you. Not now. He never even did when he was pretending to love you.

“I’m not leaving without what is mine.” His face twists into one of pure rage and he reaches into the pocket of the thin jacket he is wearing. The gun in his hand was not what Max had been expecting. Nothing in your few stories about the bastard had ever indicated that he had a penchant for brandishing a weapon. His fangs instantly descend and he’s clenching his fists together as his nails elongate into claws.

The world seems to go into slow motion all at once. As soon as you see the flash of steel in Derek’s hand your mind goes into high gear. You barely register Max’s growl or Derek’s shouting, or even the unsteady pounding of blood in your own ears. All you can think in this split second of terrified panic is that Max is about to be shot. If ever there was a time for your magic to manifest itself, let it be with this moment of intense emotion.

According to all of your grandmother’s letters — and the memories that have begun to spill back into your mind from their locked away place — you have more magic in your little finger than you do strength in your body. And that means something when it’s said about a dancer. Your body propels itself forward, voice calling out to Max to be careful, but all your thoughts are on all the things that will never happen if Derek pulls that trigger. No more dances. No more feeling Max’s heartbeat when you kiss him. No more reading aloud to him. No more dreaming. You’ll never get to spend innumerable lifetimes with this man that you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. That you want to marry. And hadn’t Yayo said his line could even have children? Without Max you would never have the strength and support to try going back in time to see your mother and grandmother again.

“Stop!” Your hand connects with Derek’s wrist at the same moment your other touches Max’s chest, and you push yourself between them with purpose. Only to feel the world turn upside down a moment later.

Max is furious when you move in front of him, knowing that it’s him that can handle whatever this little shit can throw at him. “Noooooo—” his angry yell rips out and he grabs your arm just as something happens and suddenly he feels like he’s being tossed in a tornado.

Rougher than Dorothy getting tossed into Oz, you find yourself face down in the dirt with one hand still clinging to Max just seconds later. It’s darker, somehow — the glow of festive lights from the nearby farm deadens so the moon and stars seem brighter but only from the loss of competition. There’s panting to your other side, and you scramble to your feet to grab the gun that has fallen out of Derek’s hands. Your desire to never touch a weapon in your life is far outweighed by your desire to protect your soulmate.

It takes Max a second to orient himself again, whatever you had just done had fucked with his equilibrium. Taking him longer than normal to situate himself and immediately zooms over to you as soon as you reach the gun.

“Are you okay?” Nothing else matters, and the moment Max is at your side you are wrapping one arm around him tightly and clinging carefully to the butt of the gun with the other. “I-I—I don’t think— I mean I tried to cast a protection spell,” you blurt out, rushing and stammering through the words.

“Are you insane?” Max huffs, shaking his head and his own hands slide over your body to check you for any injuries. “How could you step between me and a gun?”

“He was going to shoot you!” It was instinct, pure and simple, and the grumbling moan that comes from a few feet away signals your entire system to flood with adrenaline all over again. Derek is on his knees in the grass, shaking his head as you raise the weapon with shaky hands. “Was I supposed to just let him hurt you?”

“He wouldn’t have hurt me unless it was a wooden bullet to the heart.” Max huffs, still shaken by how you could have been killed. “Don’t ever do that for me again.”

It isn’t until he spells it out for you that you even realize the stupid mistake you made, and your eyes grow even wider looking at the weapon in your hand before you drop it to your side and instantly look around for a way to get rid of it.

“Goddamn fucking idiot—” As he starts to clamor back to his feet, Derek is cradling his head on one side and practically snarling at you. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing charging at me like that you stupid bitch? I should kill both of you!”

Max’s fangs come down again, beautiful and deadly as he grins. Hoping the bastard keeps coming. Even if you don’t want him to kill Derek, he’s going to.

“What is the meaning of this!” a scandalized voice rings out, and Max pauses, turning to see none other than Mrs. Taylor.

“Mrs. Taylor!” The surprise of seeing her out here outweighs anything else and you jump back, dropping the gun into the grass in the process but Max steps forward immediately to cover half of it with his foot and discourage Derek from trying to grab the thing. “What are you doing here?” In the dark of night, it is difficult to see that her outfit is nothing like what you are used to seeing her in, and clothing certainly isn’t where your mind’s focus is right now.

“I could ask you the same, dear girl.” Her voice is more prim, accent a little crisper, and she surveys your group with the air of a captain on deck of his ship. “Alone with two men unchaperoned. And dressed as a boy! You will be lucky if I do not inform your family. And what could you gentlemen possibly mean, cornering a young lady in the dark woods like this? Anyone would think you had no breeding at all.”

Max relaxes slightly, smirking because he knows that Mrs. Taylor won’t put up with any nonsense out of Derek. Even if she doesn’t quite know who you are yet. There’s a little bit of a reckless history in her past and he flashes her his fangs. “The lady is my wife.” He tells her. “The man is a delusional ex-beau who refuses to believe that we are honeymooning.”

“I see.” The honorable vampire draws herself up to her full height and sets her eyes on each of you carefully. “Then you will attend to the matter yourself? There is nothing but privacy, of course, this late into the night.”

Max hears you inhale roughly and he sighs. Rolling his eyes at the inability to tear the rat apart. “My wife is tenderhearted.” He tells the older vampire. “She does not wish for me to take his life.”

“Why are you being so weird?” Nothing about anything makes sense right now but maybe you’re just missing some kind of vampiric social intricacy.

“You have clearly been unsettled by this intrusion, ma’am.” Mrs. Taylor never seems to break her poise, and as she steps forward into a shaft of moonlight you see that the thing you missed isn’t an intricacy, but something very obvious. The dress she has on is one that you saw in the attic of the mansion barely a week ago. One she said was one hundred and fifty years old. “Allow your husband to escort you home. This gentleman will trouble you no further.” She assures you with a demure, polite smile.

“Come, my dear.” Max turns towards you and even though you are in modern clothing, he offers his elbow to you like he’d seen his sire do with Cookie hundreds of times before. Mrs. Taylor is about to dispose of his problem and while he would love to stay and watch, you shouldn’t. “You don’t want to see this.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” Derek spits, finally pushing himself up on his feet. He must have hit his head on a rock because his hair is matted with blood. “What’s some middle-aged bitch in a Halloween costume gonna do? Scold me?”

She’ll do a hell of a lot more than that if you so much as say the word, but for a moment you truly consider amnesty. But he was going to kill Max. That was his intention, anyway. And while you have taken endless worlds of abuse from him for yourself, you can’t let that intention against your soulmate stand. There is anger brewing in you from that intention. There is so much anger, and a decade of frustrations, fears, and failings to cap it off with. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lean over and pick the gun up again to hand it to Max before you turn back to Mrs. Taylor with eyes of stone. “No one will miss him,” you tell her with certainty. “But he still should not be found.”

And understanding passes through her eyes and she nods once. “I assure you, he will never be found.” She says before she turns back to the man who is stumbling forward.

“You stupid bitch, you think you’re through with me? You aren’t done until I say you’re done.” He yells, balling his hand up into a fist.

Despite having an inclination of how poorly your magic obeyed you when you tried to protect Max, your hand shoots out to stop Derek’s just as his juts out. His fist collides with your palm, but instead of hurting you, he yelps in pain and recoils in shock. “I am through with you.” You tell him steadily, though you’re disappointed to find that your palm produced no flames when you look down at it. You had intended to burn him with fire but it seems like your hand only temporarily turned to a lava-like texture. It still did the job though, if the way he’s cradling his hand is any indication. “The whole world is through with you. And history will completely forget your name, just like I will.”

His hand is injured but his ego more so. “He will be bored with you in a week.” He spits. “I was. But I just let you hang around like that unwanted stray.” He wants to lash out at you, feel that hurt rolling off you again. It feeds his need to push around someone else, props him up.

“You wanted someone around to pay your bills.” It hurts to admit, but they say the truth will set you free. In a way, as distorted as it is, it feels a little true. “Go to hell, Derek. And make sure you let the Devil know who sent you when you get there. He’s a friend of the family.”

Max doesn’t allow the shit stain to say another word, whisking you away so you can’t see what Mrs. Taylor does, but within seconds, a panicked, tormented scream starts to echo in the woods. Stopping a few seconds later, nearly five hundred yards from where you had last seen your ex, Max keeps you close.

You shudder visibly, leaning into Max’s side and burying your face in his chest. “Tell me I did the right thing?” You beg quietly, knowing that he deserved worse but not feeling good at all about being the one to deliver it.

“You did the right thing.” He promises sincerely, turning into you and pulling you closer. “He’s— he would have continued until he hurt you again, or worse.”

"He was going to hurt you." Or he thought he was. He intended to. And that matters far more to you than anything else. "And I couldn't—" Your voice cracks a little and you sigh, eyes closing against the weighty truth of the moment. "I couldn't let that happen."

“Sweetheart,” Max sighs softly, pressing his face to your hair and inhaling your mouth-watering scent. “At the risk of sounding completely sexist, I’m supposed to protect you.” He hums. “You are so much braver than you give yourself credit for.”

"It's not about being brave." He said he would protect you and you believe him, but if he's focused on you then he's likely not protecting himself as well as he could. It's a vicious cycle that flashed in your mind and left doubt there, which you are not fond of. "It's..." You sigh into his sweater. "It's that I love you. And I can't stomach the thought of losing you."

“You won’t lose me.” It’s a hollow promise since he’s been brought back once before, but he still kisses your forehead. “You’re stuck with me.” He stares into your eyes and cups your cheeks, making sure you are looking at him. “I love you, Queenie, my queen, my soulmate.”

“And…apparently…your wife?” You do have to crack a smile over it, even as dower as this moment might be otherwise. “That was a surprise, I admit.”

“You will be.” He predicts with certainty. “But…sweetheart, we – whatever you did – we have time traveled back to your letters.”

“No we did not.” There is no way. It’s just not something you’re capable of. “I couldn’t even cast a Protection spell when I tried to. Or conjure a simple flame. There’s no way.”

“Did you see the way that Mrs. Taylor was dressed? The lights have changed and it smells different.” Max insists. “We are back in time.”

The fact that you noticed two of those things doesn’t quite deter your stubborn incredulousness. But it doesn’t stop you from burying yourself against his chest again and shaking with anxious fear. “What—” You blow out a long breath. “What if I can’t get us home again?”

“Obviously you do.” Max reminds you quietly. “Because the letters continued.”

“This is insane.” It feels like a trick. Like the twist of some Halloween film you turned in on Netflix out of boredom. But it is as real as the grass under your feet or Max’s arms around you.

“We need to find Mr. Taylor.” Max huffs. “If she is here, I know he is also around. The best thing we can do is get to the house.”

“What do we even tell them?” You look up at him with doubtful eyes. “We can’t just spew out that I’m family. Who knows when we are? My mother might not even be alive yet.” To make this remarkable journey and not see her would feel awful, but it isn’t as though you simply set a destination in your GPS and drove back in time. This all happened by accident.

“My sire will know that he has made me.” Max promises. “He can smell blood. He will be able to smell your blood as well.”

“I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not,” you admit with a weak smile. But there isn’t time to protest more, as Mrs. Taylor walks out of the woods looking as put-together as ever. Not so much as a hair is out of place.

“That was an unfortunate tasting gentleman.” She huffs and smooths down her dress. “Now, wherever did you come from?” She asks as she looks up and down at your clothing. “Obviously not from around here.”

“It is…a very long story, I think.” Looking over her now, in the clear moonlight, there is no denying it. Mrs. Taylor may look exactly the same as she did this morning in the dining room of your house, but she is also a much different version of herself. And her appearance is undeniably old fashioned. “Unfortunately, it seems that we are without a place to stay or any of our luggage. And…as you will understand…my husband,” calling him that is so odd and yet feels so right. “He is not everyone’s ideal guest.”

“You will come back to the estate with me.” She decides with a jut of her chin. “My mistress will sort everything out and her soulmate has the same inclinations as your husband.”

“We…know of your mistress,” you murmur, looking around to make truly sure there is no one to overhear you. “As her husband shares the inclinations of my own…so, so I share with your mistress’.”

Her brow furrows and she is curious about how you know about Cookie Brown. “A vampire and a witch… interesting.” She looks past you to where her own soulmate is pulling into the clearing with a cart. “And our ride.”

“I suppose it behooves you both to get work done at night.” The cart is full of barrels and things stacked up under oilcloth, and you accept help from both Max and Mr. Taylor in getting you up onto the bench of the cart.

“Our skin is sensitive to the sun. We cannot be out for many hours during daylight.” She explains. “But your husband should experience the same issue.”

“He does.” You reach for Max and squeeze his hand once he’s seated behind you. “Our…carriage…has darkened windows. To allow him comfortable travel.”

“That is good. Modern conveniences have made our existence easier.” She nods as the four of you start to move. “What brings you to our area?” She asks. “There has been no request for a coven transfer.”

“I am afraid it is not an easy matter.” And you have no idea if you’re even talking the right way, let alone explaining yourself well, but so far just pretending you’re in a Jane Austen novel or an episode of Downton Abbey seems to be working. “But my husband and I had thought to take a house here in town.”

“I am afraid that you will find that houses here are few.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “My mistress and her soulmate built their estate.”

The carriage ride takes far longer than the little ride in Max’s sports car did to get out here, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It will help you to get a handle on the situation, if nothing else, because the situation is a very big one. “We have heard it is very grand.” You commend, nodding at the mention of the house you’ve come to think of as home. “With forty acres and a view of the sea, they say? It must be very grand.”

“People love to talk.” She’s suspicious, but you look familiar in some way although she cannot pinpoint how. Something about your eyes.

“They do.” Sensing you might be overstepping; you walk back your interest and squeeze Max’s hand gently. “Thank you again, ma’am. For helping us.”

“My mistress would be very upset if I did not help someone of her kind in need.” She tells you.

“But you did not yet know that your mistress and I were alike when you stepped in.” The smile you offer her is sincere and deeply felt, and you practically bow your head. “We are most grateful.”

“I heard the shouting and the vile curses.” Her placid expression turns into a fierce frown. “Disgusting man. Were you really entangled with him before?”

"I cannot deny it." Though you dearly wish you could. Although...none of that matters now. It is over, done with, and truly a thing of the past. An irony which does not escape you at all. "Before I met my husband, of course." You add quickly.

“Meeting one’s soulmate has a way of making the past fade from memory, does it not?” Mr. Taylor is the one who speaks up, looking fondly as his own.

There is no way to deny that, and you turn back to Max again with the sort of honest smile that seems specifically reserved these days to be just for him. "More than I ever could have expected."

“Again, we thank you for your hospitality.” Max murmurs. His fingers slide under your shirt to caress your skin reassuringly.

"The master will be about when we arrive, no doubt, and he will see to any arrangements for you after I have explained how we have all come to be acquainted." Mrs. Taylor tells you both. "And, of course, your lady wife will require rest."

“She will.” Max acknowledges with a nod of his head. He’s drained after whatever magic spell you used so he knows that you are probably even more tired due to still being human.

Conversation is polite but not overly familiar as the ride drags on, and by the time the horses are pulling the four of you down Bellevue Avenue with Chateau-sur-Mer in sight, you're practically asleep on Max's shoulder. It's only the sight of the house that perks you up again, realizing that you've come back in time far enough that the landscaping is drastically different. The huge weeping beech outside your front door is nowhere to be seen and neither is the hedge maze in the north garden. For the first time you realize that your beloved teahouse might not be here, either.

“Wow.” Max whistles and shakes his head. “Those hedges can hide so many bodies.”

Mr. Taylor chuckles, glancing over at their passenger in amusement. "The upper class like to play at a bit of mystery. Keeping the house half hidden is a game the mistress likes to play."

“I like the idea of privacy.” He admits. “They should have kept them. It complements the gothic vibe of the house.”

"Should have?" Mrs. Taylor raises one eyebrow in question as her own soulmate steers the horses and cart toward the service door of the house on the other side of the east wing.

“An estate we were close to, back home.” Max supplies quickly, with a shrug. “They tore out their maze.”

"A shame." That has the vampiric housekeeper nodding in understanding. "Such a feature is a talking point, at the very least. One that humans seem to enjoy very much." When the carriage comes to a halt, Mrs. Taylor lifts herself out with ease and dusts her hands on her skirt. "Come inside," she beckons toward the service door. "I will have you wait below stairs while I inform the master of your circumstances."

Max helps you down and immediately takes your hand. “It will be alright.” He assures you softly, aware that Mrs. Taylor can still hear every word he says. “We are safe and together.”

"This is where I feel safest," you tell him honestly, holding onto his one hand with both of yours. Whether the assembled vampires take that to mean this house or with Max is up to them. "It's all just...so much has happened the last few days. And now this?"

“At least now, you completely understand that the visit was a joy. You can relax.” He smirks, squeezing your hand. “And we can still sleep in the same bed. Or…you can sleep.”

"I will return momentarily," Mrs. Taylor tells you with a polite smile before she disappears up the stairs faster than any human housekeeper would ever be able to manage.

“At least we know the layout.” He jokes quietly as he pulls you closer to cuddle against him. Knowing that despite the letter, you are anxious.

“I guess that’s true.” Despite it, though, the nerves running through you are heavy and stinging. What was once a perfectly beautiful date night has spiraled out of control. “I just hope you’re right and he lets us stay.”

“He will let us stay.” Max is confident in that. He might not understand the connection quite yet, but the blood running through your veins is his and he will smell it.

“I hope so.” The house might be the same but all the mechanisms are different. The Viking appliances that outfit the current kitchen are obviously nowhere to be seen, and the great, coal burning, cast iron monstrosity that sits against the wall here looks more complicated to use than you could ever wrap your head around. Mr. Taylor pops in and out of the delivery door toting things off the cart from the farm with his immense strength but does not use his uncanny speed, and you wonder if he is trying to be discreet around a mortal. That sounds just like him.

“This is like living in the twilight zone.” Max snorts and shakes his head and looks around the vastly different kitchen. “I wonder what the bathrooms will look like.”

“Rene said the master bathroom on the second floor was the only bathroom on the second floor until the renovations they did in 1872.” Leaning into his side, a layer of anxiety and tension eases away when Max’s arms come around you and hold you tightly against him. “From the look of the house, it’s after that. But I saw the formal entrance on our way in, and that was closed off in 1893, so we’re somewhere in that twenty-year span between renovations.”

"So how old was your mother during that time?" Max frowns slightly, trying to keep the timeline in order in his mind.

“Yayo said they built the house when abuela Cookie was pregnant, so…at the youngest maybe around twenty? Or as old as forty, depending on what end of that spectrum of time we’ve arrived in.” It’s mind boggling, but the idea of seeing your mother again makes you feel infinitely less dreary about the entire prospect.

"We should not say anything about our true origins until we speak to him." Max tells you. He knows that you would never affect the future on purpose, but you might slip up and greet her as your mother and you can't do that. Not when you haven't been born yet. "We will see what your grandfather says."

“Believe me, I’ve read enough time travel stories and seen enough movies to know that you don’t fuck with the timeline.” The prospect of it terrifies you, if you’re honest, and you have to shake it off quickly. “I’m done with changing anything. But…what’s done is done.”

"Absolutely." He nods quickly and his fingers squeeze your reassuringly. "Do not even think about that unfortunate episode at the farm. "We know it was successful because she had written to you about it."

“I’m glad you’re here,” you murmur into his chest, knowing he’ll hear you all the same. “I think I’d be scared out of my mind if you weren’t.”

"I'm glad I'm here too." He admits quietly. "Although.....my phone doesn't work here." He jokes, attempting to lighten the worry and unsettling unease of the moment.

For just a second you think he might be serious, but in looking at his face, your lips twist into a smirk. “I’m sure your clients will forgive a short absence.”

"I need to text." He huffs, playing up the joke a little more. "My fingers are burning with the need."

“Then I suggest you learn the art of sending a note,” you murmur, hearing very deliberate steps out in the servants’ hall. “Because until I can learn how to send us back correctly, I can’t just take a chance on my magic getting us home by accident.”

"I am sure that with my business savvy and romantic heart..." He grins at you and winks. "I will be sending missives that will stand the test of time." He vows, holding his hand over his non-beating heart. "Love notes, dirty notes."

Mrs. Taylor clears her throat politely in the doorway and nods in an equal sore off manners. “Follow me,” she intones, and it feels very much more like an order than a suggestion.

He raises his eyebrows and makes a comical face as she whirls around and the two of you follow her down the hall. "I have to admit that the lanterns give the hall a proper....austere look." He whispers to you, fully aware that Mrs. Taylor can hear him.

“The estate has the finest of everything available to it.” She commends, heading for the servants’ stairs at a brisk pace that gives Max no trouble but you have to hurry to keep up with. “It is the greatest house in Newport without competition.”

"I am sure the Vanderbilts would disagree." He chuckles under his breath.

The absolutely derisive huff Mrs. Taylor exhales is fully for show, and you have to admit that you love her for it. She obviously doesn’t care a fig for those new money millionaires who built up the palaces along Bellevue Avenue that are now museums. “That cottage they bought from Mr. Lorillard is no match for a house of this grandeur,” she asserts proudly.

Max snickers, appreciating that he can still get under her skin and yet she's just as poised as she always is. "Of course not." He agrees with a serious nod. "Peasant’s cottages."

Your little trio emerges upstairs and Mrs. Taylor deposits you in the library with one more polite nod of her head. “He will be in momentarily,” she tells you, before heading back to the servants’ side of the house. If you Mrs. Taylor at all she’s off to make up a bed and probably a tea tray, but that is just a guess.

Max snorts as he walks around the room. "Good to know they still had the same taste back then." He tells you. "Or is it now?" He asks with a tilt of his head. "This is going to get confusing."

“Aren’t you the one who always says the house is a time capsule?” The chair sitting at the large library desk isn’t exactly the same, but it was definitely from the same maker. Maybe even the same set. “Fair warning. If Yayo makes me wear those giant dresses while we’re here, you’re going to have to help me keep my balance.”

He throws his head back and laughs just as the door opens and your grandfather appears. “It seems as if I have missed a joke.” He muses, his sharp eyes narrowing on the two of you.

Whatever instinct it is that’s ingrained in you, the relieving sight of your grandfather almost makes you stumble forward to hug him. It’s only the fact that you are holding Max’s arm that stops you, and you end up nodding nervously. “We’re…very sorry to intrude like this,” you start, hoping that sounds appropriately contrite.

“No, no you are not.” He hums, arching a brow. “You are relieved, but not apologetic.”

"Sorry to intrude," you clarify, though you swallow thickly at the fact that this is obviously not the doting grandfather you knew as a child. "But not to be offered sanctuary. In that, you are correct."

“And why should I offer sanctuary to a vampire and his mate who somehow smell like my progeny?” His head tilts and his fangs descend into a pair of sharp needles extending from his gums.

There seems to be no beating about the bush tonight, and you look over at Max with a plaintive expression though you both know that this is your story to tell. "Because we are." You tell him honestly, keeping your voice as whisper quiet as you can possibly manage. "In different ways. And it is a long story, but we didn't come here with any...nefarious purpose. In fact...it was an accident. Sort of."

In the blink of an eye, your grandfather is beside you, his hand around Max’s wrist and his fingernail sliced into his skin. The elder vampire's lips wrap around the wound as he tastes the other vampire’s blood and he reels back. “I have never seen you, yet it is my blood that travels in your veins?” His voice is astonished and mystified as he stares at Max curiously.

"I am afraid it is...an unusual story." And one that you are going to have to tell, whether you like it or not. A fact which makes your heart thump with nerves.

He turns to you and leans in close, inhaling your scent. While you are human, you are the soulmate of a vampire. To touch you would be a grave sin. “You smell like my daughter.”

“I should.” You don’t flinch the way someone else might have when he gets close to you and he notes it with a flick of his eyes and nothing more. “I am her daughter.”

The smell of you proves that, but he knows that his daughter hasn’t given birth. “Explain.”

“I…attempted a spell that was more powerful than any other I have tried before.” It isn’t worth mentioning that you haven’t tried much of any spell work at all before, so you keep that to yourself. “But I was able to make us travel through time by some mechanism that I don’t yet understand.”

“And my biological granddaughter managed to transport herself and her soulmate – my vampiric offspring – back in time.” Your grandfather fills in, talking mostly to himself. You nod and he is silent for a moment. “We will keep this to ourselves.” He decides, softening immediately. “You will be related through your soulmate.” Turning towards Max, he arches a brow. “What is your name? I must know it at some point, since-”

Max introduces both of you, making sure he calls you Queenie like you had discussed before. If Yayo is going to be the only one to know the truth, it makes sense to just be straightforward about most things. What you don’t want to do, however, is influence any future decisions if you can help it.

Your grandfather nods. “Cookie will be interested to meet you. As well as your mother.” He cups your cheek again and stares at you, memorizing your face. “You are beautiful. Do I tell you that in your proper time?”

“You do.” His cool hand is a welcome sensation against your hot skin and you nod softly against it. “You are always very kind to me.”

“Good.” Your answer pleases him and he smiles, his fangs once again hidden from sight. “Cookie will have settled down for the evening, so I will show you the bedroom Mrs. Taylor has no doubt prepared for you.” He glances at your clothes. “She will sort out suitable clothing. You cannot wear that.” He gestures towards your outfit.

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way.” Which is frustrating, if not realistic. You like your clothes most of the time. “But…what should we call you?” You ask after a moment. “I can’t go around calling you ‘grandfather’.”

“As you can imagine, I have had many identities through the times.” It’s almost bragging, but not quite. “For now, I am John Jacob Brown, residing here with my wife, Cookie and our daughter.”

“Mr. Brown.” Of course that makes perfect sense, and you nod accordingly. But it does make you wonder what his original name was. “And she is…here? Now? Annie?” It’s impossible not to ask, even though you know you shouldn’t make a big deal out of seeing your mother.

“By now, if you have come from as great a time in the future as I imagine, you know by now that your mother is far older than she appears.” He smiles proudly, happy he can provide centuries of life to his offspring to enjoy. “Right now. She is thirty-one. A ‘spinster’ by the collective society, yet she still receives callers regularly.”

“I would guess that most of society does not know her real age,” you venture, before looking up at Max. “Mom always had a baby face. It really was impossible to know how old she was.”

Your grandfather’s eyes flicker between you and your partner, not missing the terms you are using to describe your mother. Past tense, as if she is no longer in your life. “She appears to be eighteen.” He nods and Max snorts. “Sweetheart, you should look in the mirror. You don’t look twenty-one yourself.”

“It runs in the family,” you joke quietly, always glad for any way you could be positively compared to your mother.

“Have you eaten?” Your grandfather asks and then shakes his head. “I meant the vampire; I know that Mrs. Taylor has prepared a tray to have sitting in your room.” His eyes crinkle in amusement.

It is something of a comfort to know that Mrs. Taylor has always been the same, and you smile at how pleased the vampire housekeeper would be to know that the house still operates like a well-oiled machine under her supervision. “Actually…Mrs. Taylor takes wonderful care of us, still. So Max had blood at tea today.”

“I see.” He nods in understanding. “When you are needing some, we have a donor, so the supply is fresh.”

You both thank him, not wanting to say too much about your own time and give away more than you have. When Mrs. Taylor appears a moment later to escort you to your room, it is only at the prospect of sleep that you really start to feel how exhausted you are.

“Don’t worry, Dolly.” Max murmurs as the two of you are guided through the familiar halls. It’s not as if you can say that you know the way since you’ve supposedly never been in this house. “I will not leave you during the night.”

The third-floor guest room you are shown to has a big, beautiful canopy bed carved in Chinese imagery and with a typically Chinese element in the carvings. Renee had told you once that he took Cookie to China when they were first married and she had loved it there. As far as you know, this is known as the Gold Room, and judging by the even more brilliant color of the gold silk brocade wall coverings and golden bedclothes, it probably is called that in this time as well.

“The bell cord is right here.” Mrs. Taylor wraps her hand around a gold braid rope. “If you require anything, just pull it sharply and we will be up.”

“Thank you,” a simple nod seems to work best, but you chew your bottom lip nervously and add, “for everything.”

“My pleasure.” She nods and motions towards the sitting area. “There is a tray with some refreshments if you wish.”

“Thank you,” you murmur again, barely stopping yourself from assuring her that she always takes such good care of you. Yayo says your origin needs to remain a secret from everyone else, and you absolutely understand why.

Once Mrs. Taylor leaves the room, Max turns to you and cups your cheek. “When you want to talk about it, sweetheart…why don’t we call it ‘back home’?” He suggests. “I know this will be hard, but we can do this, we did this before.”

“It’s hard to wrap my head around.” With your face in his hands, your shoulders droop from pure exhaustion rather than anything else, and you sigh. “We’ll say we’re from Tennessee? Since that’s where we would have met if things had gone differently?”

“Perfect.” He winks at you. “I’ll adopt a hillbilly accent and everything.” He teases, knowing that he was nothing but happy in Tennessee before he was kicked out of Vanderbilt.

“Don’t push it.” Even though you try for a warning tone it comes out in a laugh. “I’m so fucking grateful you’re here, honey. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sweetheart, we are in this together.” He promises, leaning in and giving you a soft kiss on the lips, relishing the sudden bump of his heart. Something he doesn’t know if he will ever get used to and he loves it.

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Without that solidarity, with his utter and complete support, you really don’t know how you would manage whatever is to come. But with him? You just might be able to make it work.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #The Thief #Bloodsucking Bastards #Casillero del Diablo #soulmate au #mysterious inheritance #time travel #character death

[yeehawbvby]

Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

Rating: Teen+ (explicit language, canon-typical violence)

Summary: The guards of Markarth have you cornered in the Silver-Blood Inn, eager to steal you away to Cidhna Mine. Luckily, you’re gifted a bittersweet goodbye with your favorite guildmate before you’re imprisoned for only the gods know how long.

Author’s Note: This was a fun little idea I had based off my current Skyrim run! It takes place after The Forsworn Conspiracy/before No One Escapes Cidhna Mine, and before you meet with Endon for Silver Lining. The reader-insert doesn’t have to be the Dragonborn, and your race isn’t specified either.

Sorry for any errors, I didn’t proofread before posting. Hope y’all enjoy! x

Check it out on ao3!

___

“C-come on, I didn’t really kill all those people! Surely you’re overlooking some details—“

“Oh no, we’ve all heard stories of your honeyed words. You’re not getting out of this one that easy.”

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

Looking back and forth between Brynjolf and the Markarth guards, you panicked. Your heart raced as your shoulders slumped and your chest visibly began to heave.

You’d never been arrested for stealing, in all those years of doing it to survive, followed by making it into a profession with the Thieves Guild; but due to a failed attempt to help a determined Breton rid Markarth of the Forsworn, you’d really fucked up. 

Lots of weird politics. Far more killing than you were used to. So many ways to be framed in so little time. In the end, your comrade didn’t even make it — the guards made sure of his demise as soon as they’d been tipped off. All poor Eltrys wanted was a safe future for his wife and child, but that was supposedly too much to ask for in such a corrupt city.

The reason Bryn tagged along on your trip back to Markarth for this job was to bring you comfort and backup. You were two peas in a pod (albeit, Brynjolf seemed to see you as a sister whilst you hid your romantic feelings in plain sight), and you knew he’d help you if you truly needed it, no questions asked. 

You’d kept your fingers crossed, upon the law’s arrival, that the tall Nord’s presence would intimidate the guards into brushing it all off. Unfortunately, your downfall seemed certain. 

In that moment, the guards, citizens and denizens onlooking all wanted you imprisoned for life. And your favorite partner in crime was there to witness it all, barely even knowing what had gotten you into such a mess. His face looked neutral as ever, but his body language said otherwise. You knew Bryn well enough to be able to tell how tense he was.

You had three options. Option number one: run. Never come back. Screw this silversmith job that the Guild desperately needs, someone else can take care of it!

…Although, whoever is sent in your lieu might just muck it up. 

Option two: Fight. Main issue there is that it would be subjecting yourself and Brynjolf both to a death sentence.  

Option three: Turn yourself in. The prospect was terrifying, but you’d gotten yourself out of countless sticky situations. Perhaps you could figure out the details of an escape plan later. Maybe you could even organize a full-fledged jailbreak.

Everyone surrounding you knew what choices you had, merely not realizing the extra details that went into your third prospect. The inn was quieter than a crypt as they waited with baited breath to see what you’d do. 

“I…” You looked over your shoulder at Bryn, a deep exhale shaking your form as his beautiful emerald eyes met your own gaze. “I submit.” His eyes widened. The guards made a move to capture you, but you halted them, your face whipping their way.“Wait.”  

“What in the Gods’ names makes you think we—“

“I’m a cold-blooded killer, aren’t I?” You lilted, eyes stabbing into the man who’d been doing the talking for all of his crew. “If you don’t allow me to bid my friend farewell before I spend the rest of my fucking life in the mines, I could take out everyone in this room. Starting with them.”  

You tilted your head towards the small family that hid behind the counter. The parents gasped, and their son whimpered in fear, hugging himself closer to his mother. Playing into the façade, you drew a smirk across your features. 

“…Very well. You have one minute.” The guard added, glaring at Brynjolf, “No funny business or you’ll both perish.”

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted. 

You turned around to face Brynjolf, who looked pale with discomfort. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, but—“

Before Bryn could get another word in, you tip-toed to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tender hug. 

As he returned the gesture, you turned your face until your lips brushed his ear, and ever so softly whispered, “I will get out of there.” Bryn shifted a little, and you continued, “I don’t know when, or how, and maybe I won’t even survive; but trust me when I say that I’ll see you again soon, one way or another. I’ll make damn sure of it.” 

Your partner in crime wanted to laugh. He knew you. He knew what you were capable of. No matter how foolish you were to already be conspiring an escape, he believed you could do it. But he didn’t wish to draw suspicion from the guards, so he simply nodded, an amused exhale that could’ve been mistaken for despair shaking his armored chest as he tightened his grip around your form. 

You pulled away, but before you could make your way towards your captors, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning to the source, Brynjolf pulled you close, replacing his grip on your bicep with a tender caress to your cheek from both hands.

Before you could process what was happening, he tilted your gaze upward and dipped down to your height, sealing the goodbye with a kiss. You melted into his touch, your palms finding refuge against his broad shoulders. 

As Bryn’s auburn beard tickled your chin, you smiled, basking in the taste and feel of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The calluses of his large hands barely scratching your cheeks. After a few short seconds that you wished could be hours, he separated.

A crooked grin graced Brynjolf’s lips as he whispered to you his parting words:

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

#brynjolf #bryn #brynjolf x reader #brynjolf x ldb #brynjolf x thief #reader insert #brynjolf x f!reader #first kiss #friends to lovers #theives guild #thief #silver lining #forsworn #no one escapes Cidhna mine #Cidhna mine #markarth #silver-blood inn #Skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #fanfiction #Skyrim fanfic #elder scrolls skyrim #elder scrolls #skyrim elder scrolls #brynjolf skyrim #skyrim brynjolf #brynolf elder scrolls #dovahkiin #Dragonborn #no beta we die like men

[ladamedusoif]

Reunions (The Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 27

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x Museum Professional F!Reader

Word Count: 2420

Warnings: Smut; fingering; oral sex (M receiving); PiV sex; a lil bit of praise kink; discussion of ethical theft from museums (yes really); The Thief is a charming gentleman cad; no use of Y/N; no physical description of reader other than that she’s wearing a midnight blue dress; alcohol consumption; strong language

Rating: 18+ MDNI

A/N: Intended as a sequel to My Kiss, Only For You - a reunion for the Thief and our museum professional, as he seeks to explain himself.

The museum is always a hive of activity ahead of the annual Winter Ball, the jewel in its fundraising crown. Doors closed to the public a few hours earlier, and since then the exhibition halls have begun to be transformed by an army of decorating staff and caterers, with flower arrangements, lighting displays, and round dining tables being set up throughout the building. 

You watch the hubbub from the upper galleries that lead to the offices occupied by the curatorial staff and other professionals. A colleague from the ceramics department joins you, cooing over the extravagant setting taking shape below.

“They’ve had more demand than ever, this year,” they whisper. “The stolen ruby story has generated so much publicity for us! And it means the director can really ham it up when asking for donations from the big cheeses.”

You swallow hard but maintain your composure. You still dream about the night of the theft. Sometimes you’re cursing your own stupidity, sometimes you’re trying to shield the ruby from a hooded, faceless figure.

More often than not, though, you’re reliving the sensation of being eaten out on your own desk by a devastatingly handsome, well-dressed man with nimble fingers and a mouth made for sin.

***

Tonight, he has chosen a double-breasted jacket in a claret-coloured velvet, teamed with perfectly-cut, understated black dress pants, a white shirt, and a black bow tie. 

He never fails to congratulate himself on his anonymity: his donations are made under an assumed name or in the name of his charitable trust, and his ability to fade into the background until he wants to be seen means that no one will pick him out of the crowd, recognise him, remember him.

Unless, of course, you’re there.

He always ensures that he excuses himself after the initial drinks reception and before the sit-down dinner - too awkward, too intimate, and he’s almost always seated at a table full of bores. He knows this building like the back of his hand - and knows, too, that the phalanx of additional catering and wait staff means that the back corridors and entrances to the museum will be open and less heavily patrolled. Ever since he pilfered Katarzyna’s Kiss, the security has been amped up - but tonight, he observes with a smile, the attention of the guards is firmly on the display cases and not the myriad ways to navigate this beautiful building.

He climbs the stairs to the hidden gallery that overlooks the main exhibition hall, and takes out his opera glasses to survey the crowd below. He knows the museum staff are unlikely to be seated too near the big cheeses - the directors would never think to put the people who really know their stuff front and centre, after all - so he focuses his attention on the tables around the periphery of the room. 

And there you are.

A dress of midnight-blue velvet, he surmises, accessorised with simple drop pearl earrings. He knew you had taste. Knew it from the minute he first saw you, expertly leading specialist tours around the museum. Understood it when he brought you to dinner, and became so entranced by you that he almost forgot he was planning to steal a priceless ruby. Confirmed it when he made you come with his mouth and tongue across your own desk, savouring the delicious taste of you on his lips. 

His cock twitches at the memory. He pats his upper breast pocket, finds the envelope, and disappears into the darkness again.

***

You wait at the temporary bar for your post-dinner dirty martini, feet starting to ache in your new shoes and eyes watching the clock so you can get out of here as soon as it’s polite to do so. 

“One dirty martini, and a message for you, miss, from the gentleman.”

The bartender pushes your martini in its Nick and Nora glass and a white envelope across the bar. 

“From who?”

“The gentleman, miss. He said you would understand.”

You spin around, about to ask the bartender if they recognise the man in the crowd so that you can speak to him directly, but when you turn back they’re gone.

***

You hide behind a display case of Egyptian canopic jars and sit on the floor, taking a few fortifying sips of the icy-cold martini before you dare to open the envelope.

Chérie, how beautiful you are tonight, dressed in the colour of the night sky! Forgive my unusual method of communication - I did not want to make myself known to the boring mass of guests. 

I have never stopped thinking about you. I hope for a reunion. Say you’ll come, chérie. I wait for you.

Your Gentleman Thief.

The card is printed with an address located on one of the fanciest residential streets in the entire city. 

***

The apartment building is quietly imposing. As you approach the main door, fear strikes you for a moment. This is a thief, after all - a charming one, true, and a handsome one, but still a thief, and one who misled you to get what he wanted. 

And yet.

The doorman looks you up and down and opens the door into the lobby, directing you towards the elegant, wood-panelled doors of the elevators. “Seventh floor, miss. The gentleman will meet you there.”

You look at your reflection in the elevator mirror during the short ride. Presentable. Not bad. Probably crazy.

A ping signals that you’ve arrived, the doors open - and there he is. For a moment, you feel as though the ground is about to collapse beneath you, as those penetrating coffee-brown eyes meet yours once again, and that charming smile spreads across his handsome face.

“Chérie, you came to me,” he says softly, embracing you with a soft kiss to the cheek. “I’m so glad. Come, come - this way.”

***

He guides you to a gorgeous mid-century sofa, seamlessly taking your coat and bag as you move through the palatial apartment, decorated with a perfectly curated selection of artworks and artefacts. 

“A drink, mi amor? I do enjoy playing at mixology, so I can conjure up whatever you desire. A sour? A sidecar? A boulevardier?”

Your mouth is dry, and you realise with a start that you haven’t said a word yet. “A martini. Dirty. Gin.” You swallow drily. “And a glass of water. Please.”

He prepares the drinks, mixing up a sidecar for himself, and settles beside you on the couch. He somehow looks even more appealing than he did the first night he brought you to dinner, his dark red velvet jacket unbuttoned to show off the perfectly-fitted waistband of his black, tailored pants, and his arm draped invitingly over the back of the couch. 

“To art,” he murmurs, holding up his glass in a toast. 

“To art,” you echo.

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments until you turn to face him. “Why am I here?”

He quirks an eyebrow and does a half-smile as he appraises you. “Why do you think you’re here?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t play with me again. Please. I won’t be taken for a fool, not a second time.”

A confused, somewhat sad expression sweeps across his face. “I do not think you are a fool, chérie. Far from it.”

“You tricked me.”

He puts his glass down on the elegant coffee table. “I did. And I am sorry. But I meant what I said - I can’t stop thinking about you, and… I want to explain.”

You glance around the room, taking in the extraordinary wealth on display. “Explain? You’re a thief. You steal. And I don’t know why I’m even sitting here with you.”

“I am a thief,” he concedes, shifting closer to you and reaching for your hand, “but all is not as it seems.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“All this, this fortune - I did not earn it. I inherited it, simply by virtue of being the descendant of exploitative capitalists.”

“So why not give it all up? And why steal?”

He chuckles and looks at you in a manner akin to a naughty schoolboy. “I like nice things, chérie. And so do you, I suspect.”

You cannot stop the flicker of a smile that ghosts across your lips. 

“You haven’t answered my second question.”

He inhales deeply. “I steal according to a moral compass, and the belief that not everything belongs in a museum - especially if it was stolen in order to put it there.”

Your expression is deeply sceptical. “Two thefts don’t make a…well, a right.”

He nods. “I agree, but my theft often leads to repatriation or returning items to their rightful owners or where they belong - which, I believe, is rather better than wanton looting by colonial powers. Don’t you agree?”

He sips his drink and continues. “So, that’s what I do. I have extraordinary wealth and privilege, and all the time in the world to research and plan. And I try to use those resources - and my intellect - for some kind of good.”

You sip your drink and shake your head. Is this some kind of weird cheese dream, brought on by the mini soufflés at the gala?

“Most people just fund a few galleries, you know.”

He chuckles. “I do that, too. But this is so much more fun, don’t you think?”

That fucking voice. His eyes twinkle mischievously and you can feel an ache between your legs. Fuck, he’s sexy.

You shift closer to him and put down your glass, reaching over to brush an errant curl away from his face. “What if you get caught?”

He bites his lip as he looks into your eyes. “Haven’t been caught yet.”

You trail your fingertips across the greying patches of facial hair along his jaw, noticing how his breath hitches at your touch. “And do you often seduce museum staff as part of your, um, work?”

He’s so close now that you can almost feel the brush of his moustache off your upper lip. He shakes his head. “Only you, chérie, and it wasn’t just for the work, I swear. I mean it, I can’t - I cannot stop thinking about you.”

You feel his hand drop to your leg and snake its way under your dress, caressing the soft flesh of your thigh and making you whine with pleasure and anticipation. “What do you think about?”

He shifts you back onto the couch and moves himself into position above you, hands tracing the outline of your body before he shucks off his expensive jacket. “I think about this,” he whispers, kissing your neck and décolletage. “I think about what it would be like to undress you, to have you completely bare, to play with your tits and your pussy as much as you liked, make you come over and over.”

Your hips buck upwards to meet his, and you moan as you realise how hard he is. You pull up the hem of your dress and slip down your panties, watching as his dark eyes widen, before unbuttoning his shirt and turning your attention to undoing his pants.

“And then what do you think about, thief?”

You pull down his boxer briefs and pants and lick your lips at the sight of his cock: hard, thick, a pearl of pre-come already glistening at the tip. You shift your body down a little so that you can easily lift your head and take him into your mouth, making him cry out at the sensation. 

“What do you think about, thief? Tell me.”

You flick your tongue over the head of his cock and take as much of him into your mouth as you can, enjoying how wrecked he looks above you. 

“Think about…fuck, think about this… think about oh, fuck - fucking you, taking you, having you, as much as I want - oh, fuck!”

You release him with a pop, move your body back into position and guide his hand between your legs. “Am I wet for you?”

He groans, eyes dark with lust, and nods, slipping two thick fingers inside you and fucking you with them until you come, back arching and eyes rolling with sheer pleasure. 

“I need to have you, chérie,” he hisses, and you feel his cock already pressing against your pussy. “Do you want me? Use your words.”

You pull your dress up around your waist and open your legs for him. “Yes. Yes, I fucking want you. Need you.”

He reaches for his elegant black leather wallet and swiftly produces a condom packet, rolling the rubber carefully over his cock before shifting into position against you.

“I’ve wanted this since the day I met you, chérie - wanted you,” and with a steady push he’s inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way. He fondles your breasts as you both adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck me, thief.” You are direct, clear - and he obeys, dragging himself almost all the way back out before thrusting back into you and steadily building up a rhythm that has you both moaning with pleasure as he fucks into you over and over again, hands gripping your hips and lips finding yours in a messy, needy kiss.

He slips a finger against your clit and works it until you’re coming on his cock, smiling to himself when he feels your cunt clench around him and the wetness drip down onto his balls. 

“Good girl, chérie,” he coos, kissing the soft skin of your breasts, exposed over the neckline of your dress. “I’m going to go a little faster now, a little harder, okay?”

You nod your assent and cry out as he fucks you harder and deeper than you’ve ever been before, legs wrapping around his warm, solid body to pull him even further into you as he comes with a loud groan and collapses onto your chest.

***

He awakes to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and an empty bed. An envelope, simply addressed to ‘My Gentleman Thief’, is propped up against the coffee machine. He opens it with a smile.

Thief, 

I wanted our reunion more than I dared admit. And now that I’ve had you, I have a feeling I’m going to want you all the more.

I suspect, too, that you have many more stories to share - preferably over dinner, and then before bed.

You know where I am. 

Find me. 

Chérie

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #the thief x f!reader #the thief fanfiction #the thief smut #the thief casillero del diablo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

[musings-of-a-rose]

The Thief Masterlist

*Indicates smut

One Shots:

The Detective and The Thief

#The Thief #The thief x f!reader #pedro pascal #the thief x you #tim rockford x reader #the thief fanfic #casillero del diablo #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal characters

[boliv-jenta]

The Thief x f!reader

New Year's Eve Drabbles

A happy ending.

Warnings: smut. P in V sex. Angst. Mentions of war.

Thief. Magician. Pillager. Conqueror. Destroyer. He had many monikers over the centuries. None compared to the one you gave him.

It had tumbled from your lips as you quivered beneath him the first time he had actually let you lay with him. "Mi Amor."

His heart ached with it, even months after you parted after last New Year's Eve. He had chosen you because he was captivated by you. He'd never seen such beauty. It radiated from your very soul. He knew they would love you. That they would be satisfied and he could feed from their satiated lust. And satisfy you did. The FBI Agent. The Boxer. The Criminal. The Protector. Them and the others. They all found what they were looking for. He'd fed from there satisfaction between your legs.

You were truly special. He didn't account for how special. Along with seeing what you needed to know about the men you were sleeping with, all his clients needed to give their full consent, he may be a monster but he isn't that type of a monster, you managed to turn the power he had given you on him. You would talk to him about his favourite things as he cleaned you with his tongue, drinking down the essence of their lust. He kept you longer than he should have just to hear your thoughts on his favourite things, your favourite things. When he returned you to New Year's Eve with no other memory than kissing him at midnight, you somehow returned to him. With each equinox or thinning of the veil you got close. He ached to touch you. To hold you, like he eventually had. To make love to you just once more. The years he let you stay pulled at him. No, you didn't belong with him. He'd convinced himself of that fact. Until he'd sent you back to your world at the time he had took you.

Somehow you still came back, still sort his deal, asked him to be reunited with a love you couldn't remember, a love you didn't recognise. He agreed to give you a chance, as long as you helped to fed him the quenched desires he needed. He was going to show you, show you you were better off without him.

He chose well from all the worlds in his grasp. The Mandalorian who gathered admiring glances where ever he went, a good heart under his armour. The Prince who was desired far and wide, a lover of skill. The Poet and the Artist, a taste of something sustaining beyond love. The DEA Agent, a man of determination, one that could fight to give you whatever your heart desired. The Superhero, an honest man who lived in the light. The Pilot, a fragile soul that you could grow old with. He tried to tempt you with them. He gave you softness with The Dreamer. A tasted of being provided for by The Businessman. A yearning for family with The Warrior. The Vampire had been an attempt to frighten you away from monsters. The Cowboy and The Killer were an attempt to frighten you away from the darker side of man.

None of it work. Even when they made you scream in ecstasy, you still called to him, still yearned for his touch. You lay together a hundred nights in between. You always returned to him. Maybe it was time he tried your company like they did. To find his truth, his path.

Opening the wine he poured two glasses. You would wake soon. The spell would take affect. You would only see enough of him to make you feel safe, to make your choice of if you desired him. If you wanted to share your bed with him.

Your eyes opened and you smiled at him. "Amando." That's all you saw. The solider that went with his army to do better for his people.

You didn't see how his blind faith in his commanders hurt people. How they destroyed villages in the name of their country and there was very little he could do to stop it. They never died by his sword. Never by his hand but he didn't always stop it either. One time he hesitated too long to save a life. For that he was cursed. Cursed to live off the satisfaction of others, cursed to live in servitude. He had long since made peace with it. Until you arrived.

It was like a dream, how you welcomed him into your arms. Your movements unhurried, you savoured each press of his lips, each swept of his tongue, every touch, every moan. As he joined your bodies over and over he expected the epiphany to strike him. Even after your lust was satiated. No moment of clarity came to him, his thoughts were all filled with you. Just you.

"My love." He sobbed against your cheek. As he let his guard down the walls of his spell came down too. You remembered everything. All your time with him. How you had fallen deeply in love with him. His kind soul, his warm heart, his intelligence, his creativity, the way he made you feel, safe, treasured, loved. You remembered his fear about letting you stay, about cursing you too, your agreement to see what other men could offer you.

"Shhhh. It's okay, Mi Amor."

Wrapped in your arms, letting you fully into his heart with no reservations. He finally felt satisfied himself. The tendrils of magic that gripped him withdrew, he felt it leave him. Felt his heart beat g9w it should once again, right against yours. Once more his spell had helped someone find their path. His was with you, free of his curse.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #the thief x f!reader #the thief #new year's eve drabble

[oonajaeadira]

WINKTOBER DAY 26: Wax Play (The Thief)

This is just a silly little thing.

He moves a fan of photographs around the table like a deck of cards, choosing a few favorites, then rethinking, swapping a few out, not sure if he only wants one, or three, or a whole army and finally asks, ”What do you think, Angel, child’s play, whatever you want.”

“David Bowie–no, oh Frida Khalo or…we could have Nick Cage, oh my god we could dress him up like Cher before he goes back.”

He chuckles, incredulous, “If I’m doing this, I’m not taking them back, they’re for us.”

“In that case,” you say, selecting a photo from the pile, “if you’re going to do this, you go for the rarest and yet, the one that holds the most proof….”

He smiles, kisses you, joins you in announcing the choice.

“...Madame Tussaud herself.”

—

WINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST

#winktober #six sentence ficlets #casillero del diablo fanfic #the thief #the thief x reader #the thief x f!reader

[chaoticgeminate]

Discovering Life

Part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe

Chasing Shadows Series Part One

Pairing: Shade!Thief x Necromancer f!Reader Word Count: 3.2k Series Summary: Bound to a bloodline of Necromancers by a curse, the Shade is determined to trick the current descendant into breaking the curse while keeping his freedom. Chapter Summary: You learn something about yourself, your magic, that you'd never known. Notes: Every member of the Wanderer's Star Coven is brought to you by a slew of my discord besties and fellow authors. A prequel to this does exist for anyone who hasn't seen it yet!

[AO3]

“Seriously?

Something akin to an amused sound escaped the mage dragging you through the bland hallways of the Consortium at the tone in Hazel’s voice, you would think that being proven innocent they wouldn’t be this rough with you but as the Se’Kvia scapegoat of all things magic it just about tracked with past treatment. Your sister didn’t look amused, in fact she looked furious, and you deflated a little at the sight of your nephew clinging to her leg; all you’d wanted to do was go to his birthday party today, not get arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. Again.

“I’m sorry-“

“Not you, this is the fifth time in the month that they’ve gone and arrested you with no evidence and I know for a fact you were with Vivi and the others when your magic was supposedly detected at that artifact gallery.” Hazel was pissed and you didn’t feel at all sorry for the way the guard shrunk under her glare, the raw feeling of her magic seeping out of her sent a chill down your spine, and Ernest hurried to cling to your leg when the man finally released your restraints.

“Happy birthday, little dude, ready to go party?” His grin was bright as he nodded, you knew he was probably more afraid than he was letting on but the little half-elf was good at keeping his emotions in check already, and you looked up at Hazel as she re-centered her focus and contained her magic just as Nathan Landry came out of the main hall to investigate the swell of magic. His dark eyes landed on you and it was just like always, with almost everyone associated with the Consortium, that you watched the way his brow furrowed and his scowl deepened.

“One of these days I’m going to figure out how you’re-“

“My sister is innocent, again, and she has an alibi of ten people as well as CCTV evidence of where she was at the time you claimed she was at that gallery. How do I file a lawsuit for prejudice and wrongful arrests against the Consortium, I’m getting sick of all you dumb fucks -don’t repeat that, baby boy- and I’m going to put a stop to it.” Hazel’s tone was sharp and you smiled at the back of her head, unable to help the way your chest constricted with emotion.

Hazel wasn’t your relative by birth but she’d practically adopted you as her sister when you’d met in your shitty University, freshly an adult and no longer able to be protected by the already shaky shielding your family offered you from the prejudice of the Consortium, and the pair of you had been close ever since. Hazel had helped you find courage to stand up for yourself against the onslaught of people who hated you while you’d offered her support and care when she worked to get away from her parents’ influence.

Nathan’s face deepened in color, the man had gone from an assistant attorney to one of the most known legal representatives in Se’Kvia after the Álvarez case. The oratiomancer was one of the most respected men in the Consortium and also one of the most closed-minded, and the idea of going after the Consortium legally had probably never been something he expected anyone to do.

“Your sister is dangerous and deserves to have her magic stripped away.” Nathan’s remark was delivered with an icy glare and you met that look head on with your own scowl firmly in place, the orationmancer went to say something but Ernest’s little voice piped up before he could.

“But Auntie hasn’t hurt anyone or done anything wrong or dangerous, so why is she always in trouble? Mama always said the magic chooses who wields it and if Auntie didn’t get to pick the magic she was born with then why do you hate her for something that isn’t her fault?” Your eyes darted to your nephew and his expression was fairly intense as he met Nathan’s stern look with the innocence that came from childhood, of having minimal exposure to prejudices and influence from people like Nathan in his life, and the man tensed up a little as he stared back at your nephew.

He practically changed in a heartbeat, stance relaxing and face softening, and seeing this man you knew as stern and imposing basically change before your eyes was quite bizarre. If anything you were more than a little weirded out by how easily he went from cold to this, his tall form crouching to meet Ernest’s eyes at your nephew’s level, and the look on his face was almost affectionate. Hazel and you both locked gazes and her lips twitched in a way that you knew she was not pleased and while you didn’t want her to get arrested for assaulting a legal official you sort of wanted to see her curse the hell out of the man.

“Your mother is right, the magic chooses the person who controls it, but your Auntie’s magic is a very dangerous thing and we here at the Consortium have to protect everyone even if it means taking that away from her.” You could feel the burst of outrage bloom in your chest, ugly and coiling like a serpent ready to strike, because you didn’t even have training and he was still acting like you were a threat. You had never once hurt anyone with your magic and yet the Consortium was acting like you had.

“If Auntie’s magic was dangerous she’d let you take it away, she’s a really good person and wouldn’t be able to live knowing she’d hurt someone, but you didn’t answer why you hate her for something she couldn’t choose.” Ernest wasn’t taking the avoidance or deflection Nathan had tried to use, something about your nephew that you really truly adored, he was a brilliant kid and almost impossible to trick, it made things harder whenever he had some really advanced questions for someone his age but if you told him that it was for people a little older he would always let it go.

In this case he wasn’t going to take no from Nathan, you could see the stubborn set to his little shoulders, and your eyes stung with tears that you quickly willed away. You weren’t that lonely, angry, person you had been in the past anymore; you had a family that loved you now.

“Did your mother tell you about the Sundering? About how the Citadel turned against the Consortium?” Hazel bristled and you knew why since his tone had turned slightly condescending but Ernest’s little scowl deepened.

“Of course she did, but that was hundreds of years ago and before Auntie was even born, and my Mama Raven fought in that war and she doesn’t treat my Auntie like an enemy. I think you’re just scared because you’re unwilling to forgive or apologize for being mean.” Nathan’s nostrils flared briefly but he was saved when his name was called and you looked up to see that Oliver, the mage that had escorted you to the door, was finally either too scared or too tired of you being here.

“Ignore the kid, Nathan, we’ve got work to do.” Nathan stood up and tugged his suit jacket a little, meeting your gaze with an icy look, and then he was gone without even a goodbye. Unaware that all he was doing was further lowering Ernest’s opinion of the Consortium, the boy admittedly already thought pretty low of them.

“Let’s go have some cake, ice cream, and a good birthday party. Okay, little man?” You smiled when he squeezed your hand in his as you offered it, looking over at Hazel as she seethed beside him, but her eyes lightened when you reached out to poke her on the cheek and offered a cheeky grin.

“Yea, come on baby boy, let’s go party.”

You had thought the issue was dropped, the birthday party had gone well and using a good amount of make-up to cover the mark on your face meant that none of the parents or family members even tried to place why you seemed familiar. All too busy watching their kids run around and play, enjoy themselves, and you’d been able to see Ernest and Pearl blossom as they finally opened up to their new friends. Raven, Hazel, and all the others had been relieved to see it since the move from the Outer Rim to the Central District had been hard on the pair.

So naturally three days later, when you were lounging in your hammock among the circle of trees where the Coven met three times a week your attention was drawn to the sudden and loud burst of outrage from Treasa. Raven was crouching near you, tending to the delicate mistwhisper bushes lining the Coven’s sacred clearing and her lack of a response meant that this was something she’d known was going to happen, your brows furrowed as you watched Hazel nod and Vivi’s eyes lifted to look at you with a burning intensity in them.

Many were wary of her, for good reason since she was descended from a very old -and powerful- bloodline of Seelie Sidhe witches; and the Sidhe Courts had always leaned matriarchal in power and inheritance. Where Kassidy had a Sidhe father and human mother, inheriting mostly human features since male Sidhe traits were a less dominant gene, Vivi looked other at first glance. You knew she wasn’t angry at you but the intensity in her eyes could still send chills down your spine.

“They didn’t put anything on her record, right?” Vivi’s tone was sharp, dangerous to a degree that sent turned those chills to straight ice, but you knew that it was because she was ready to go after Nathan and the Consortium on her own. Treasa cut in before Hazel, or you, could reply as you made your way toward the circle of stone seats around the crystal alter to the Wanderer’s Star.

“I will go raise hell if they did.” Treasa was the Coven’s envoy to the Consortium, not working for the magic-governing body but working with them to ensure that the Coven was kept up-to-date on any changes in the laws or if the Consortium tried to arrest any members of the Coven. The governing body loved to take advantage of the fact that, being a Necromancer, you weren’t technically a part of the Coven in the way the Witches around you were.

“No, they had no proof again, it’s fine-” You hurried to cut in, not wanting any of them to risk themselves for you more than they already did, but it was too late.

“I don’t care if they had proof or not, they’re treating you like a lesser citizen for being born with a curse that made you a Necromancer. As if you chose this path for yourself.” With how sharp the outrage was in Skye’s voice it was pretty clear she was pissed and you flinched in response before Willow was pulling you into a gentle hug, knowing that you still had issues with people being angry around you, and Caelum clapped her hands together loud enough to earn the group’s focus.

“Has anyone actually inspected you? I know we didn’t, but are you sure you’re a Necromancer by definition and not just a Witch who can use Death Magic because of that curse?” Having lived your whole live with magic blockers, forced to keep your aura contained to avoid people staring at you, the thought of letting them near that part of you was kind of scary even if you did trust every person here with your darkest secrets. But the idea that you weren’t exactly what you’d thought, that maybe your family curse had some leeway and nobody bothered to check this whole time was tempting.

“I don’t- if they did then they never explicitly said.” You watched Caelum and Daphne exchange looks before Willow released you and tilted her head in an unspoken question, with Daphne getting up and offering her hands to you. For a brief moment you shivered and were suddenly nervous, Hazel was the only one that had interacted directly with your magic before. For so long you’d had it kept sealed, at first by force due to your family and then willingly after your first interaction with people in University before Hazel, and even with it unsealed you never let it out.

But you were curious, you had to know, and your hands slowly extended before you rested them against Daphne’s and allowed your aura to finally breathe. The chill of your magic made everyone aside from Hazel and Kassidy shiver, a natural response from those of a Light Nature when exposed to death magic, and Daphne’s hands took on a pale blue shine as she let her aura seep out to inspect yours. It felt like the lightest of touches on skin and sent gooseflesh down your arms and legs, carefully meant to convey no intent of harm to avoid your magic spiking in a defensive way, and the glow of magic that made any spell caster’s eyes shimmer like gemstones faded gently as her aura pulled back.

“I should have known- when the Wanderer’s Star guided all of us together you only assumed you were there because of Hazel -and at the time we had no reason to believe otherwise- but I can feel it, lurking beneath your curse and the death magic that comes with that curse. You’re meant to be a Witch.” Daphne’s eyes brightened since, as a Witch, you could become an official member of the coven and gain the same protections from the Consortium that the others had. Although it meant they would most likely be under much heavier scrutiny, something you didn’t quite want to cause them, you could see the way their faces lit up with delight.

Maybe it was not wanting to disappoint them, maybe it was the fact that you felt more like you belonged, but you wanted to be able to be who you were meant to be and stay by the side of your family even if it meant facing the possibility of the Consortium’s wrath.

“Queen Siora and Queen Rhodanthe are willing to support King Anwen’s request that death magic practitioners be welcomed back to Se’Kvia, that’s why more and more dark elves and lesser demons have been allowed to flee Iocrethran. Even under monitoring they get a lot more freedoms than you do, which is just a clear prejudice since they won’t touch political allies. Once you’re recognized as a Witch they’ll be backed into a corner on the constant arrests, because violating your protection laws as a member of the Coven will be seen as a risk to the refugees looking to make a home here.” Aelius’ grin was soft, as someone who worked very close with the Light Elf court she was usually the first to know most of the political sway of the agencies and courts outside of the Consortium.

Nylia stared at the clearing edge for a long moment before nodding her head, as if coming to a decision, and Vivi cast a cautious glance her way before smiling softly.

“Queen Áilís Nic Catháin has already stated that she’s been willing to move beyond the Sundering, but I’ll meet with her and seek protection for you as a member of my Coven.” It had been the biggest surprise to learn that Nylia was one of the Seelie Queen’s many descendants, forced to fight her own family to determine her strength early in life, and as one of the strongest she held a seat of influence in the Seelie Court. It was rare for her to use it, to throw her status as a royal around, but to do so for you only made your eyes water.

Vivi pulled you into a tight hug and whispered the promise that you’d be safe, making you burst into tears as the realization that you could begin to actually live a normal life set in.

“Your curse bound you to someone, something, from a realm relating to the dead.” You looked over at Daphne and sniffled, she’d taken a seat in the grass and was divining with the very wind as her sight and Ikarus was perched on her shoulder. Saphira’s quiet support as she reached out to take your hand, squeezing gently, made you smile as you leaned against her gently. The wind seemed to become more opaque before shifting and swirling into the shape of a bipedal form, humanoid, but with no features any of you could discern.

“Then it looks like we’ll have to get you trained up, find whoever this is, and force the Consortium’s hand to either drop their grudge or have the entire Magister’s Council forced to step down.” Hazel nudged you and Raven whispered something to the rowan tree as she rested her forehead against the bark, the branches groaned and shifted in a wind that didn’t blow as the message was steadily passed through the very wilding magic of the Earth itself.

“Starting, with summoning your Familiar.” Kassidy’s grin was big as she handed you a bag of silver flakes and a charcoal stick, your lips wobbled, and Hazel cast a shining trail of raw magic to show you the pattern to follow. The line of charcoal began to gleam in an iridescent way, greens and purples shining in the dark shade, and the silver flakes sparked when you began sprinkling them along the intricate circle while channeling your magic. A call was what Hazel had likened it to, opening yourself and reaching out to the entity that was meant to help you hone your magic, and while you feared a ghoul or some other ghastly thing would appear you knew that in the end death magic was something you’d live always and that it was time to accept that.

Chattering and clacking as the blinding light shimmered from the drawn lines sent a sharp relief through your very aura, a release of pressure you hadn’t known was building up, and when the glow faded you stared at the Familiar sitting there looking up at you. It was a feline, you could recognize the general body shape, but it was a skeleton feline; the empty eye sockets were blackened out and the ‘eyes’ were a toxic shade of green floating in the center.

You could practically feel its thoughts, as you were generally supposed to with Familiars, and the feline was happy. It had been waiting for you for a long time and you opened your arms with a smile, it crawled into your hug with a meow that sounded like it was faded and distant.

“I always wanted a fur baby of my own, though animals never really liked me, but I’m pretty happy with this.” Hazel was grinning as Raven rolled her eyes skyward, likely predicting the fascination that Ernest and Pearl were going to have with the new addition to their lives.

“I’m going to call you Furbie, short for fur baby.”

“Congratulations, you’re officially a Witch.”

All Fics Taglist:@hardc0rehaylz @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @musings-of-a-rose

Just Pedro Taglist@maievdenoir @beecastle @dins-cyare @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms

Alt Taglist: @imtryingmybeskar @fan-of-encouragement @grogusmum @sizzlingcloudmentality @deadhumourist @prostitute-robot-from-the-future

Coven Taglist: @iamskyereads @ezrasbirdie @lowlights @javierpinme @starlightmornings @leslie-lyman @daddydindjarin @rook-on-bough

#chaoticwrites #iridescence fictional universe #chasing shadows #shade!thief #necromancer f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the thief x reader #the thief x f!reader

[unhinged-summer-fun]

triptych

The Thief x Marcus Pike x F!Reader (22+)

chapter 8: the moon

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: A thief, an artist, and the head of the Art Crimes program in the FBI all share a soul-bond. What could go wrong?

Series tags/warnings:  Sexual content, art crime, light angst, art history and criticism, soulmate-identifying marks, slow burn, f!reader, a reader who doesn’t always do the right thing.

A/N: haha remember in january when i was like "yeah i'll update more regularly" lol whatever life comes at you fast when ur a good person interfacing with narcissists. ch9/epilogue coming tomorrow.

Solas della Palazzo had been waiting a very long time to properly woo Marcus Pike. He’d had years - decades - to think over every detail and heart-racing gesture that would turn the man’s head, but now that they were in the same room, all that suave charm and charisma blew up, up, up into the air, and down into the rocky quarry the way Florentijn had several years ago.

Not that Solas was still thinking about The Incident With the Duck, as his head housekeeper called it.

But Marcus had been on his mind, and though the ability to speak eloquently had left him, Solas had years of instinct on his side. Treading through uncharted waters was kind of his thing, so to speak.

So why was this so difficult for him?

Dinner after the grand reveal had been awkward, but saved by Marcus and his sheer will to smooth things over. Solas had traded quips with you over each meal the last time you were here, each devolving into some petty line-crossing that resulted in a rather spirited romp on or around the dining table. The memory of those nights glinted in your eyes, though you held your tongue in a playful display of good manners. Solas could see the curve of your mouth in a smirk through the convex curve of the wine glass.

“You grew up in Florence? I’d never have guessed!” Marcus said, expertly navigating dinner party smalltalk with the ease of a politician. Being the head of a government organization until just recently, neither of his soulmates were surprised.

“It was a concerted effort to sanitize my accent, from that of my mother and then my father. They live in Dublin now, and much prefer the weather.” He raised a toast to their health, met by you and Marcus with happy smiles edged in heartache.

Your own mother and father had ended their relationship with one another quite tragically from what Solas could gather. You had ended your relationship with the both of them in a rather resigned manner, in tears over the phone after years of begging for something better. It was now as if you never needed them to begin with, like you’d fallen from the heavens and were not burdened with such things as childbirth to create you. Solas looked at you and saw swirling Van Gogh lines, he saw the first stars of twilight and the last glance of the moon at dawn. You’d expressed little interest in seeking or gaining a family, and in spite of your freespirited nature, he recognized a graceful kind of hesitance to dive into the unknown.

Marcus, on the other hand, had spilled his story to Solas from the moment they met. His father had died just before his college graduation, and had been faithful to his mother from the first time they spoke. He’d been Marcus’s best friend, his mentor and confidante. Losing him had been much harder than anything he’d gone through before, but the ease with which that young man could speak to a stranger about it spoke volumes of the people who had raised him.

Solas regarded his parents with no small amount of awkwardness. He talked his way around work, and had talked his way around school, talked his way out of jail several times before he was 16, had talked his way into and out of trouble more times than he could count, but in the last few years he’d had a difficult time talking to them. His father had a bit of a health scare, and implored for him to only speak the truth to them from then on. Solas had gotten very good at telling his parents, I would love to tell you, there’s just several days of conversation that would need to happen before.

He hoped that you and Marcus would be open to meeting them, because that way, he could pass the buck on who had to explain all that, as his mentor had once called it.

Conversation was coaxed out of the more guarded persons at the table, and the three of you soon found yourselves laughing and sharing stories with equal parts gravity and levity. It was a balancing act that felt natural for the first time. Solas considered getting a smaller, rounder table.

##

Marcus tipsily led the way through the halls of El Palacio while doing one of his favorite things: holding hands and philosophising. “Somewhere along the way I wwwealized that lawfulness doesn’t equibbicate goodness.” His loves met each others eyes and grinned to themselves.

“Go on, sunshine,” you encouraged.

“Freedom doesn’t guarantee happiness. Y’gotta… have a point. Yer my points.” He pulled them both up and around and into his chest for an embrace. “I love you two,” he sighed, kissing Solas’s head and then your own.

Solas grinned up at him. “You sound like a man sick of losing happiness.”

He nodded, pressing his forehead to the thief’s. “I am,” he said, sounding entirely too sober. “I am not in a position where I can recover from losing either of you.”

It struck at their hearts, all three of them, and it made their soul-marks burn like sunrise. Marcus groaned and rested his head on your shoulder. You played with the graying hair at the nape of his neck and kissed his ear.

“Did you have a destination in mind, or were you just wandering?” you asked.

“I was wondering where we could all sleep together.”

“I may have a location for that,” Solas grinned.

##

Marcus woke several hours later feeling terrible, though much better than he probably would have on his own. He sat up in bed, finding two sleep-warm forms to his left and right. You were to his left, curled up in the sheets. From sharing your bed the last several months, Marcus knew you liked to sleep naked, yet despised even one pinky being outside of the covers. He gently brushed his hand over your hair, leaning over to kiss your head. You made a soft, happy noise before burrowing down deeper.

Solas, on the other hand, Marcus was still learning. They had shared one kiss before dinner, a heated, wanton thing against the wall when the tension had snapped. The thief had looked like he’d died and ascended to some nirvana, all unguarded museums and galleries for him to pick and choose from.

(No wonder he’d been stumbling over his words so much that evening.)

Marcus watched Solas in his vulnerable state, expression lax and open. His soft dark curls spilled onto the pristine powder-blue sheets. Where he’d found the kind of massive bed they lay in now, Marcus had no idea, but it was at least twice the size of the one he shared with you back in D.C.

Solas looked right at home in his fine trappings, shirtless and bare of sheets from the waist down. The cool tones of the sheets perfectly contrasted the deep tan of his body, making him look like a masterwork come to life. Apollo in repose, just before dawn. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out to touch him like a curious child. His skin was soft and warm, eternally warm where your hands tended to chill. Marcus found himself in the center of it, feeling even more like the sun binding the two together in orbit around himself.

“You’re staring,” Solas murmured, his voice deep and scratchy from sleep. His eyes remained closed, but his lips had curled up in a smile.

“I like to appreciate beautiful things,” Marcus said when he recovered from the surprise.

Solas opened his eyes again but didn’t move away from Marcus’s careful tracing. His fingers skipped over vast plains of skin and flesh to outline the shape of the soul-mark in bloom on Solas’s chest. It was changing every minute, gaining form like a summoned specter. Solas watched him, observed him with curiosity and a glint of trepidation in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” Marcus asked.

“You,” the thief said instantly.

Marcus didn’t know what to do with the sudden flood of feeling in his chest. It sat heavy on the roof of his mouth, thick and sweet like toffee.

“Care to get more specific, mein Mond?” you asked, your sleepy voice lilting over the valleys of sheets between you and Solas.

It was then that the thief sat up, revealing a toned torso and finely-built shoulders Marcus hadn’t gotten the chance to see in the disrobing last night. He joined Marcus in leaning against the headboard. Where their biceps touched, heat bloomed. Marcus couldn’t focus on much else beside that point.

“I am thinking about how used to disappointment I am, when I wake from a dream of the two of you to find you have disappeared like smoke. It’s rather disarming to be able to…” he reached out a hand across Marcus to pull down the sheet from your shoulder, just for the simple pleasure of touching your skin. “There are no words for what I feel currently.”

Marcus leaned in and kissed him, capturing his lips and pulling him closer by the waist. Solas made a surprised noise and melted into it, never once letting go of you. Marcus near-devoured him, making up for decades of lost time in a single moment. When he bit down on Solas’s lower lip, it drew a wanton moan from his mouth, and Marcus pulled back. “Was that okay?” he asked, breathing a little harder.

Solas nearly knocked their foreheads together as he nodded eagerly. “Show her,” he said, gripping your shoulder and urging you closer. You went where the warmth drew you in, getting up on your knees and letting the sheets fall off before you kissed Marcus.

He gave you the same needy intensity that he gave Solas, and within moments you were whining into his mouth as well. “Look what he does, how he knows you, how he knows us,” Solas purred into your ear, coming closer to stroke a large hand down your spine. Despite the heat, you shivered.

You put a hand over Marcus’s soul-mark, making him groan in pleasure. You could see him getting worked up, and had every intention of following through. You had the feeling this was Solas’s plan, getting you into bed as naked as was necessary to inspire this morning activity.

Solas noticed tears falling down Marcus’s cheeks, and gently turned his head. “Solacchiotto, cosa c’è?” he asked.

“What?” Marcus asked, before realizing what Solas had seen that concerned him. “Oh, I’m… I don’t know why I’m crying. I feel so amazing right now. Everything is… light, and right, and beautiful.” He gave a watery smile and a laugh. You thumbed away the tears softly and kissed away the marks they’d made across his skin.

“It is,” you agreed. Slowly, you straddled his lap and drew him in to kiss him deeper, Solas moving closer to kiss at Marcus’s neck and shoulder, leaving little bites and marks everywhere he went. Within minutes, he was a shivering mess, moaning and making half-pleas to whoever was in charge.

Solas took the lead, urging you to move down and off of Marcus, so you could settle between his legs. “I think you should put your mouth to him, stellina. Show him how devoted you are.”

Marcus sucked in a gasp at his easy instruction, arching a little as you removed his underwear and tossed it to the side. You left little kisses along the way as you reached your goal, teasing him until Solas fisted a hand in your hair to pull you up to him. You moaned against his lips as he mashed his mouth to yours. “Behave,” he growled, teeth bared in a sign of dominance.

You gave a nod, biting your lip and returning to your task. This time, you wasted not a single second before wrapping your mouth around him and stroking him into your mouth. Marcus watched with his mouth open, eyes flitting between you and Solas. The thief, for his part, was deeply attentive to the both of you, kiss-bitten lips curled in a smirk as he went in to kiss Marcus, hard.

His hand rested low on the base of Marcus’s throat, not yet a squeeze but a reminder. It drew pleading little mewls from his mouth, the sensation so good it was overwhelming. Solas urged you to work him faster, deeper. The three of you moved together in a dance already written into your souls, not a hand out of place or a patch of skin untouched by the time Solas was guiding your hips down to take Marcus into your body.

He looked like a saint in ecstasy, receiving some sort of blessing that Marcus couldn’t believe he was being given. Solas’s hands, skilled and strong, controlled your pace as you fucked yourself down on him, eventually reaching forward to rub circles into your clit and bring you closer to your peak. “Grab his throat, stellina,” Solas said in your ear, firelit eyes burning holes into Marcus’s gaze.

You did as instructed, your much smaller hand providing less weight but no less sensation to the man. Marcus leaned back, baring his neck even more to you as you rode him. He was losing control, hands fisted in the sheets just to keep still.

“That’s it, that’s it. Take your pleasure, Marcus. Feel it,” Solas panted, moving your hips faster and faster. “Keep just like this, amore, just like this.” His accent became thicker, that trace of Florence returning in this lust-driven dance. He moved around like a jungle cat, prowling forward so he could capture Marcus’s lips in a brief, biting kiss before leaning down and licking over his soul-mark. The sensation sizzled through all three of you, a harmonic cry of pleasure echoing toward the ceiling.

“Don’t st-stop!” you begged, riding Marcus deeper so you could chase your high. Marcus was seconds from coming, muscles in his neck and shoulders taut and straining.

“Please, Solas, please,” he whimpered, hips jerking in response to the aftershocks.

“Come for me, my loves,” Solas demanded, his voice husky and insistent. It pushed you and Marcus over the edge, crying out and clinging through the strong waves of pleasure that crashed against you both. Solas let you both come down to earth before he pulled you to the side, kissing you harshly and praising you in curt Italian. He moved his hand over his cock as he raced toward the end to join you. Wasn’t that a perfect parallel? Solas catching up with you and Marcus.

It only took a bare brush of Marcus’s fingers over Solas’s hip for him to choke on air. He gave a full-body shudder and came all over the two before him, most of it landing on Marcus’s stomach. His hand didn’t stop moving for a few seconds, but once he was truly finished, he slumped over at Marcus’s side, curling around his side to get as much surface area as he could. Marcus brought his arm up and around his shoulders so he could pull him into a kiss like the one that started the morning.

Silence and comfort shared the room, nothing but soft breathing and the rustling of bedsheets for several minutes. The moment ended when you pulled away in search for breakfast.

##

Robes were the tenue for the meal. The three of you ate on the patio, soaking in the warmth but none of the sun from the overcast sky. “It may rain again,” Solas said with a frown. “I’d planned to walk the gardens with you today.”

“Why should something like rain prevent us from doing that?” You asked, uncrossing your legs and crossing them again to tease your soulmates.

“The last time you said that you caught a cold and whined for three days,” Marcus reminded you unhelpfully. You stuck your tongue out at him and kept eating.

“Maybe I can give a better tour of the house if the weather takes a turn.”

“Perhaps you can show me what you wanted to before I left last time,” you said, just remembering the moment now. What had you said? Show me next time, mein Mond.

It seemed Solas remembered that as well. “Are you certain it will not dull my splendor with that of brick and stone?” It wasn’t contentious, nor said with heat, but you still felt chided. The secrets you had to keep were killing you back then, and had only continued their attack through the summer. You didn’t have a clue how to make amends for this.

“Don’t do that,” Marcus murmured, taking your hand. “Both of you. Don’t dwell on the past. We have a lot to look forward to, together.”

“But I cannot change my past,” Solas said, speaking of something else entirely now. “I am a thief. I am the thief you were meant to catch. You’ve caught me, but I cannot change that. I have little else.”

“I would never ask that of you,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I… I’m going to leave the FBI when we get back.”

“What?” Solas gasped, leaning in. Even you were astonished, despite seeing the change in Marcus over just a couple of days.

“Explain,” you implored him.

Marcus took a sip of coffee and stood. “I told you the night after the sting - the failed sting - that I wanted to leave. I’ve been working there through too many heartbreaks and too many headaches and I’ve forgotten about the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my life: to find my soulmate, to find a real love that would love me back.” His voice wavered a little at the end. Your heart broke for him. He’d been searching for so long, had been hoping for so long, that he felt resigned to a life of bachelorhood until he met you. He continued.

“I want to be here, or anywhere, so long as I am in your lives. I’m not asking for a shotgun wedding or a white picket fence with a dog and two-point-five kids. I’m just asking for you, in all your edges and all your warps and all your brilliance. I want this… this view of a massive rubber duck every day.” He laughed, tears shining in his eyes. “If you’re wondering where my loyalties lie, it’s not with a slip of paper in an archive in Washington. My loyalties lie with my soul, and my soul has chosen you.”

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