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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

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The Price of Pride (8/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, fingering, mutual masturbation, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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"You are pathetic, like all your kin. Thank the gods you don't make me warm your bed, but your child asks about you and I don't know what to answer. That her father would rather spend time with whores in King's Landing than with his own daughter?" She heard her mother's hiss as if from afar, seeing darkness all around her, recognising in the vague outline of objects that she was standing in the corridor, by the door of her chamber.

How old could she have been then?

Had it really happened, or was it just a dream?

For some reason, her head hurt a lot.

"The Red Keep is no place for a little girl. Should I take her there to watch the lords around my brother fucking kill each other for power, let them marry her off to the first better rich old fool?"

"Would you rather she live without a father? Will you flee from that duty too?"

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued, which after a while was broken by the bitter, disappointed voice of her father.

"She resembles you too much."

She opened her eyes, feeling that the light was blinding her. She muttered, twisting on the soft bed, hearing someone's conversation fall silent a moment later.

"My Lady?"

She glanced sideways at the figure of the Maester leaning over her, his hand touching her head.

"Thank the gods, the fever has subsided. How do you feel?"

She swallowed hard, trying to remember what had happened and where she was, confused and frightened, feeling like her skull was about to explode from the pain.

And then she remembered.

His full lips pressed against hers, his hand between her thighs.

And a dim memory of what followed, the blow and her fall, his voice in the darkness, his hot breath on her face, the outline of his jaw in the candlelight, his sticky, hot kiss.

Sleep, little sister.

Your brother will stay by your side.

She sighed, tired and resigned, recognising that this was surely just a dream, her desire for someone to be there for her, to care and look after her.

She wondered if Lady Floris felt satisfaction now.

She knew she had partially earned it – despite knowing her cousin was betrothed, she did not push him away when his lips pressed against hers and his hand went under the fabric of her robe.

She acknowledged with surprise that she did not resent her.

"My head hurts a lot." She confessed at last, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

The Maester nodded in understanding, handing her some herbal infusion in a cup.

"Drink this, my Lady. It will soothe the pain. You should spend the day resting." He said.

They both shuddered as the door to her chamber opened: her cousin stepped inside dressed in an emerald tunic, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just taken a bath, tied back with a black ribbon.

"Leave us alone." He ordered, looking at her calmly with a gaze from which, for some reason, her heart beat harder.

"Your Highness." Said the Maester and bowed, disappearing after a moment behind the door.

Prince Aemond approached her lazily and surprised her as he sat on the bed beside her, leaning towards her, his hand touching her forehead as if he was checking something.

"Throughout the night, your body burned with fever. Thankfully, it's waned." He murmured, saying it more to himself than to her, sliding his fingers down her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

She felt a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen as she realised that what she felt was not a dream.

He had really stayed with her.

She swallowed quietly, unable to look away from his gaze, her hand involuntarily touching his wrist.

"Will your betrothed forgive you?" She mumbled out, the guilt she felt like a needle stuck in her heart.

She didn't know this girl, but she had taken something from her.

She blinked as her cousin grinned broadly, a glint of madness in his gaze from which her heart pounded harder in her chest, the space between her thighs pulsed greedily around nothing.

"She is no longer my concern." He whispered, forming the letter o out of his mouth as if he were mocking, amused by the situation.

She looked at him for a moment and shook her head, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"What do you mean?"

"I have broken our betrothal. Just moments ago, at a meeting of the Small Council, I introduced to the assembled guard who was assigned to you, and whom Floris dismissed. No one else walked down the corridor, as they would have been spotted by the other guards. Her jealousy was a danger to the Crown. What if she thought she should also attack my sister, Helaena, fearing that I might also cohabit with her? My brother agreed with me that she could not remain in the Red Keep and left it at dawn today." He hummed, clearly pleased with himself, trailing his fingertips along her neck – his words made her eyes widen in disbelief.

He had simply sent her away.

Had this been his plan all along?

Had he kissed her then, in the library, hoping Floris would see it and do something ill-considered?

She didn't know why she felt an unpleasant stab of disappointment and regret, her eyebrows arching in sadness as she lowered her eyes, trying not to cry.

"What's that look? Hm?" He asked, catching her gently by the chin, lifting her face towards him so that she looked at him again.

"I admire how thoughtful everything you do is. Every step, every detail. Every gesture and sound." She whispered, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in her throat, fighting not to show him weakness.

"You think I planned this." He concluded, cocking his head to the side. "I wish I had. But you must believe me, dōna hāedar, that it was merely a matter of coincidence."

Dōna hāedar.

Sweet little sister.

"Lord Baratheon will not leave it like that. He will break the alliance." She whispered, and he snorted, leaning towards her, sinking his hand into her hair.

"So I'll take Vhagar and explain the situation to him. Mmm, I could take you with me – you would present to him the injustice that has befallen you at the hands of his daughter, and then you would warm my bed in one of the chambers in Storm's End." He said lightly, as if he thought that, indeed, this was a great plan with a guarantee of success.

"You would force him to listen to what you are doing to me." She sighed as she felt his thumb run over her lips, parting them, sinking his finger into their fleshy, moist structure.

She shuddered as his hand slid down to the material of her nightgown, untying it, a moan of surprise stuck in her throat as he spread it open, exposing her bare breasts.

"– I am a free man now, hāedar –" He gasped, leaning lower – her hands clenched into fists on either side of her head as the tip of his pink, wet tongue ran lazily over her hard, puffy nipple. "– and as your big brother, I have precedence in your bed –"

She threw her head back with an innocent, girlish moan as his lips clamped around her nipple, sucking on it gently as if he were a baby – her hands in some involuntary reflex entwined in his long white hair, pressing his face against her breast, feeling the shudders and pulsations surging through her cunt each time his tongue rolled around the sensitive spot.

"– ah –" She gasped, involuntarily rocking her hips, feeling this kind of sensation for the first time in her life – she didn't understand what purpose it was supposed to serve and she felt exposed, but on the other hand what he was doing was wonderfully pleasurable and exciting, her body responding to his caresses eagerly.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back her smile of satisfaction when his hand, clenched earlier on her breast, slid down her stomach lower, pulling impatiently at the material of her nightgown, searching blindly for the warmth between her thighs.

They both moaned, and her fingers pressed his face tighter to her body as his fingertips dug into her dripping folds, swollen with desire – her legs bent at the knees spread involuntarily, shamelessly asking for more.

He released her breast from between his lust-swollen lips and looked at her as if he had completely lost his mind, his gaze dark and shining as he lay down next to her on his side, guiding her hand to the twitching bulge in his breeches exactly as he had the evening before.

She didn't know why she was so willing, why when his forehead pressed against hers and their lips found each other in a passionate, loud kiss, filled with their sigh of delight, her fingers undid the buckles of his tunic and untied the material of his breeches, reaching fearlessly for what lay beneath them.

He closed his eyes and sighed, his body shuddering as he felt the gentle touch of her smooth hand on his erection, hot with desire, throbbing all over under her fingers. His free hand in some subconscious, helpless reflex sank into her hair, his lips melting with hers in a sweet caress seemed to seek reassurance that this would remain their secret.

The tips of their tongues licked against each other with their grunts of delight as his hand sunk into her leaking, silky cunt, circling around her small, delicate pearl while hers trailed over his throbbing manhood, teasing it.

He was hard as a rock.

"– squeeze it –" He breathed out into her mouth between one click of their wet lips and the next, taking his hand from between her thighs for a moment, clearly wanting to show her what he meant.

She opened her eyelids with difficulty, dulled by the sensations and his slick tongue sliding between their kisses down her throat, peering curiously at what she was touching. He stopped the caress for a moment, their faces pressed together, their gazes directed downwards.

"– here – right here – just like that, all the way to the top –" He whispered in a voice trembling with desire.

A quiet, helpless groan broke from his lips, enveloping her in the warmth of his breath as she obeyed him, clasping her fingers at the very base of his long, pink cock, squeezing it to the very tip of it, thick and smooth, dripping with his own wetness.

"– how is it possible for something like this to fit inside a woman? –" She mumbled and heard him smile, his hand returned back between her thighs, running warningly over her leaking slit.

"– I'll show it to you myself – one day –" He murmured, his lower lip running over hers in a gesture inviting her to another kiss, which she accepted with unprecedented eagerness, letting his hand sink into her hair to pull her closer, refusing to let her escape his starved mouth.

"– harder –" He demanded in a voice hoarse with desire between their loud, passionate kisses, and she smiled involuntarily under her breath – her hand, in accordance with his desire, clamped tighter on his root, causing him to let out a surprised, boyish moan from his throat.

Her heart fluttered harder in her chest at the thought that she didn't know he was capable of making such sounds.

So innocent.

Now, in this moment, he was helpless, vulnerable to hurt.

He craved.

And she couldn't waste this chance.

The space between her thighs was delighted with her plan, feeling his fingers circling around her swollen bud with cruel precision, their breaths heavy as their tips pushed against her entrance, opening her on their thickness.

"– lēkia –" She breathed out, a startled, sweet moan of euphoria bursting from her lips directly into his throat as his fingers forced their way deep inside her, only to slide out and repeat it all over again.

He sighed as she squeezed his swollen erection tighter in response – their hands found a shared rhythm, their hips rolling back and forth at the same time, their lips melting into hot kisses filled with excitement and impatience.

"– don't stop – mmm –" He purred into her lips, panting hard along with her, shivers of wondrous delight shaking her body again and again each time his fingertips hit the sweet spot deep inside her, from which she felt the tickle in her lips and nipples.

"– I – o-oh, gods –" She whimpered, feeling her inevitable peak approaching, his hand from her hair slid lower to her breasts, clamping down on it as if he himself was trying to hold back the inevitable.

"– go on – come on my fingers –" He exhaled, and those words were enough to make her body shake with a sweet shudder, from which a startled, innocent moan escaped her throat – she felt his fingers stop moving inside her, wanting only to feel her fleshy walls pulsing around their length, sucking them inside her.

"– hāedar –" He whispered and gasped all over with a sigh of relief when, after her next sure squeeze, his pearly, sticky release spilled over the snow-white material of her nightgown.

They lay like this, panting heavily, welted and sweaty with emotion, pressing their foreheads against each other, his hand lingering on her bare breast and deep inside her womanhood while her fingers stroked gently his throbbing, quivering manhood.

Despite what they had done, and that it was certainly a sin, there was also something innocent about it – their desires were pure and sincere, devoid of subtext, seeking only the release of tension, closeness and security.

When she opened her eyes she saw that his gaze was fixed on her chest, his lips slightly parted in a deep, uneven breath.

She thought he longed to do what he had always done with his lover – to sink his face between her plump breasts and allow himself to be embraced by her – but he knew that she knew his secret and that if he did so, he would expose himself to ridicule and confirm his brother's words.

She lifted her free hand and gently placed it on his, inviting him to sink his fingertips deeper into the soft structure of her bosom – he sighed when he looked at her, as if he didn't know what he thought of it himself, and after a moment he leaned down and nestled his face into the crook of her neck.

His hand remained on her breast – encourage by her gesture, he played with it between his fingers as her arms embraced and cuddled him into her, and he didn't push her away or say a word.

Looking down at her fingers sticky with his spend, her other hand combing lazily through his long white hair, she thought she had tamed not one dragon, but two.

They were both silent – there was something safe about that. It seemed to her that they both knew that whoever spoke first would show weakness – not of flesh but of character – and neither of them could afford to do so.

Desire was like thirst or hunger, obvious and needing no explanation, indicative of nothing more in fact it was.

It didn't need feelings.

"Criston Cole is gathering our army. He and my uncle will soon march for Harrenhal." He hummed, enveloping her neck with his warm breath, his hands closed over her breasts and her womanhood moved, stroking both places, making her shiver.

He shared his knowledge with her because he was proud of himself and felt a sense of satisfaction – he sought confirmation of his genius, her praise and understanding, her gaze of admiration that he so desperately desired.

Or was it a test?

Was he telling her this because he wanted to see if she contacted her father?

They both shifted position, lying on their sides, looking straight into each other's eyes – there was something in his gaze and grin that filled her with anxiety.

"Daemon is expecting our answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that Cole will actually head off to a different location."

She blinked, looking at him confused.

"Why?" She asked and sighed as he gently took her hand in his, looking at her in simultaneous concentration and excitement, as if he was delighted that she had asked about it.

She thought in disbelief that he was acting like a little boy.

He confided in her.

"– your smooth hand is Dragonstone –" He said, placing her hand on the bed and pointed with a circular motion of his finger to the sheet around it. "– all around it is the sea –"

"– this –" He murmured, his other hand sinking lazily into the skin of her exposed, bare breast, making her involuntarily clench her thighs. "– is King's Landing – and this –"

He whispered, slowly running his knuckles down her smooth stomach, a quiet sigh escaped her lips as his fingertips sank gently into the fleshy, moist folds of her soft womanhood.

"– this, dōna hāedar, is Harrenhal – everyone desires it, for it is the fortress that opens the way to the North – moreover, it is currently besieged by your father –" He gasped, teasing her throbbing slit with his fingers, causing her lips to part in a ragged breath, feeling the pleasant tingle of pleasure run down her spine.

She felt with shame that her nipples had hardened, pointy and sensitive, her little cunt all swollen from the waves of tickling ecstasy into which his words and touch had brought her.

"– this –" He continued, sliding his fingers, wet with her moisture up her thigh and knee. "– this is Winterfell – and with it the whole of the North –"

"– however, there is another important, inconspicuous place –" He said contentedly, returning his hands to her palm, his fingers running over her wrist. "– here is Rook's Rest – a small fortress that allows my sister-whore to cross to the continent – however, if you cut it off –"

He said and made a movement with the side of his hand across her wrist, as if he were cutting it off with a dagger.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest as she suddenly comprehended.

"– you want to cut her off from the land –" She muttered and he hummed, cocking his head, his lips curved in expression as if her words gave him satisfaction and tickled his ego.

"– does your brother know about this? –" She asked, and his expression changed – his jaw clenched in displeasure, his iris turned black, his brow straightened.

Her question frustrated him and destroyed his pleasant vision, she thought as he took his hands from her warm body.

"– Aegon did not devote his life to the art of war or the complexities of warfare – he preferred to drink and play with his whores –" He said with a wide smile that, if it were not for the look in his eyes, she might have considered joyful.

She knew, however, that he was furious.

She raised herself up on her elbows, letting the material of her nightgown slide even lower, exposing her shoulders and stomach.

"– don't do it – tell him –" She muttered, and he stood up, infuriated, and immediately tied the material of his breeches, displeased with the direction this discussion had taken.

"– I don't recall asking you for your opinion – it was a mistake to introduce a woman into these complicated, masculine matters –" He said coldly in a tone that suggested that one more ill-chosen word on her part and he would lose patience despite everything that had happened between them.

She, however, knew that what he was doing would sooner or later lead to a catastrophe of which she too would become a victim.

She had no intention of dying because of his pride.

"– your brother sees you as a threat – he is disturbed by your behaviour and is tense in your presence –" She said, looking at him pleadingly.

He, to her surprise snorted and laughed, looking down at her, a wide grin on his face.

"– he's afraid of me –" He said in a way as if it was his great achievement for which she should praise and kiss him.

She shook her head feeling that her face expressed terror.

"– yes, he's afraid of you – and that's not good information neither for you nor for me – gods, you can't let him stop trusting you – you're balancing on a thin line and forgetting that it doesn't matter if he fits the role or not, he's the King –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

He stood over her with his lips slightly parted, breathing loudly, as if he was boiling inside, not knowing what to make of her words.

His gaze fled lower for a moment, to her breasts, as if her bared flesh and the memory of the pleasure they had given each other distracted him, and then back to her face.

He was silent.

He hesitated.

This was her chance.

"– I beg you to tell him – in the solitude of the chamber, so that no words are said in public – so that he cannot accuse you of plotting behind his back –" She whispered, shifting towards him on her hands, settling herself finally in front of him on her knees, looking up at him pleadingly.

He swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists, as if struggling to restrain himself from touching her – her gaze fled down to the material of his breeches, under which his manhood pulsed.

"– this fool will demand Harrenhal – he won't understand – he wants great fortresses and great victories, not realising that war is composed of cunning and guile –" He said quietly, looking her straight in the face, his lips parted as if he was thirsty and she was a fleshy, wet fruit.

"– so let's convince him together – I know how to speak to him – he enjoys me and my honesty – he'll feel he's making important decisions, even though they've long since been made for him –" She said, breathing hard as he did, feeling how much she was risking by conversing with him so directly.

She saw something sinister flash in his eye, his tongue running over his lower lip.

"– do you let him touch you? –"

She blinked and snorted in disbelief, shaking her head as if she wasn't sure if he had really asked about it.

"– no – his tongue doesn't burst in between my lips and his hand doesn't seek the heat between my thighs –" She said and they both fell silent, panting quietly, as if something in her words aroused both her and him.

They shuddered and pulled away from each other as they heard someone's footsteps outside the door – her hands immediately covered her shoulders and breasts with her nightgown, while he quickly buckled his tunic.

When a quiet knock sounded she glanced at him and only spoke up when he looked as if nothing had happened between them.

She thought with amusement that because of their elation, his hair didn't look as perfect as usual.

"Come." She called out, and a servant came in with a tray, saying that she had brought the morning meal for her as prescribed by the Maester.

Her cousin left without a word, letting her eat in peace, and she exhaled heavily, spreading a piece of bread with berry confiture, thinking she was treading on thin ice.

She was neither his lover, nor his sister, nor his servant, but a chaos of his desires and needs.

Gods, have mercy on me, she thought.

To her surprise, as she was being examined by the Maester, who was looking at a large lump on her head, the King walked into her room.

Aegon seemed pleased that she was alive and looked healthy.

"– ah, you're awake, cousin – great news – Baratheon's whore is on her way back to her home – my brother never liked to have his toys destroyed – and I will not allow any of my family to be harmed in this fortress again –" He said lightly, walking over to the table, taking one of the jars that contained the herbs brought by the medics – he shook it, raised his eyebrows in disapproval and set it down.

She did not reply, deciding that silence in such a situation was safer.

"– he was never able to hide his jealousy or his displeasure, you know – he was forever walking around with his mouth curved in disgust, proud and vain, with his nose in his big books, as if they would make his other eye grow back –" He muttered, pacing around her bed, looking around the room.

"– you're a dragon rider and my cousin, and he gave you such a small chamber – it's inappropriate – I'll assign you another, better one, with a view of the sea – Lady Floris slept in it before, but I think she won't haunt you in your dreams – you'll be content –" He said, looking at her, and she nodded and smiled involuntarily.

"– that's it – that's the spirit – I like it – you should see Sunfyre – have you ever been in Dragon's Pit? –" He asked, as if hundreds of thoughts were going through his mind at once, and he was unable to focus on any.

"– no, my King –" She replied softly and hissed as the Maester touched a spot on the back of her head that was all sore and swollen.

"– forgive me, my Lady –" He whispered, and she nodded.

Aegon didn't seem to see this and simply went on.

"– we will travel there this afternoon, by carriage, so as not to strain you –" He said and seeing that the Maester wanted to state with certainty that this was not a good idea he raised his hand in the air, showing him not to interrupt mid-sentence. "– the fresh air will certainly do her good, and we won't spend much time there –"

Whether she wanted to or not, she had to go.

She didn't do so reluctantly, though, for indeed, she wanted to see the other dragons and the great cave they lived in.

However, as soon as the carriage doors closed behind them she realised what the true purpose of this journey was.

"I want Daemon to answer for the death of my son and I need you to help me convince my brother that I should set off to fight with him. He doesn't agree and every time he does it, he humiliates me in the eyes of the Small Council." He said with regret and frustration, from which she swallowed hard.

Oh gods.

She looked down at her hands, feeling the panic rising within her, standing between them as if between two walls that were moving closer and closer, finally colliding with each other and crushing her at the same time.

"The King must remain in King's Landing. Without you there is no point in all this." She said, looking at him expectantly.

She clenched her hands on her knees when she saw that his jaw clamped shut in rage, his eyes red from tears as his fist hit the carriage wall with all its force.

"– he's my son – you don't understand it – you're not a mother – my children are my biggest pride – they are sweet, good and kind, and now – now my son is locked in a cold stone sarcophagus underground and he's probably scared –" He mumbled out, burying his face in his hands, as if he believed that a decapitated child could wake up.

Despite the absurdity of his words, her throat tightened in sympathy, tears of sadness gathered under her eyelids as she looked at his huddled, distraught figure.

"– he's not suffering anymore – he's in a place where no one can hurt him again –" She muttered, and he sobbed loudly, as if he was only now allowing himself to truly grieve.

She swallowed hard when he reached out his arm to her, placing his elbow on his knee.

"– can you hold my hand? –" He gasped, choking on his own tears, and she felt a single, heavy tear run down her cheek.

Her hand grasped his, and his fingers tightened on hers as he cried and cried and cried.

Some part of her felt the need to embrace him and comfort him, she feared, however, that he might take this as an invitation to something else, something she did not want.

She didn't desire him that way, and his brother's fury would be immense.

So she held his hand in hers until they reached Dragon's Pit.

Sunfyre looked like a dragon straight out of fairy tales told to children – slender, long, shining as if he were made of pure gold he looked proud and towering. She smiled when she saw that the beast had pressed its head against its master's chest, and Aegon kissed its scales as if his dragon was also his child.

Something moved her at that sight, at his genuine joy and laughter.

She realised with horror that his younger brother had never smiled.

Not really.

The journey back to the Red Keep passed as she listened to his stories about their father.

"My father, and your uncle mostly forgot about having more than one child. The fucking cunt of Dragonstone was his favourite. His heiress to the throne even though he had a first-born son, for whom, after all, he had opened the womb of his first, beloved wife. Apparently he did so against her pleas, and her cries were heard throughout the fortress. And yet, my mother and my grandfather say that I should follow his example. That he was a wonderful, merciful king." He said, looking at her with a smile full of amusement, however, there was something else in his gaze: pain and fatigue.

He had not slept well for many months and only found comfort in wine.

"And your sister-wife? What is she like?" She asked, though she did not know why.

Aegon fell silent and the amusement disappeared from his face – he stared blankly out of the carriage window for a moment, as if musing.

"Her person is an eternal mystery to me. I don't usually understand what she says. But she is gentle and kind. She does not humiliate me, although she, of all our family, has the most reason to despise me." He said finally.

She swallowed silently, thinking that there was something childlike and innocent in his words, sincere and helpless, a cry of despair and a plea for help that no one answered.

She wondered if he and his brother knew how much alike they were.

She wanted to say it and had it on the tip of her tongue, but after a moment she realised that her cousin would kill her if he found out that she had described his weaknesses to his brother.

She had to balance the two of them so that they both loved her.

In some way.

When they returned to the fortress she immediately headed to her chamber, dreaming only of a warm bath.

As she stepped into her small room she reached into the back of her gown, grabbing the ties of her bodice, and opened her mouth, wanting to call out to a servant to help her.

"Where have you been?"

She looked back, terrified, clutching at the heart that had stopped in her throat hearing his cold voice – she saw his silhouette sitting on one of the chairs like a statue, his face stony and blank, his gaze dark.

Exactly as it had been when she had first seen him.

"With the King." She replied truthfully, reaching her fingers trembling with anxiety into the back of her gown again, pulling at the thin, bright ribbon, causing the whole dress to loosen.

She saw his lips tighten in fury, his nostrils twitching in a deep breath as if he was trying to control himself and not lash out at her.

"For what reason?" He asked further, tilting his head in curiosity, his wide grin indicating that he was on the verge of exploding.

"He wanted to show me Dragon's Pit and Sunfyre." She said without lowering her gaze, knowing that she could not show him fear.

She jumped up and took a step back, terrified when he suddenly burst from his chair with such fury that she only had time to snort for air and he was already at her side, grabbing her aggressively at the waist, slamming her body against the bedpost.

She sighed, resisting him passively as his free hand lifted the material of her skirt with a sharp movement, her hand gripped his wrist as his fingers sank into her womanhood and pushed against her slit, causing her discomfort and pain.

"– no – it hurts when I'm not prepared –" She exhaled, looking him straight in the eye.

They both breathed hard as something like satisfaction flashed across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk full of contentment at the realisation that she wasn't wet.

That she didn't desire his brother.

He took his hand away and let her go, taking a step back and looking at her for a moment in silence.

"Mmm. I have come to you with another matter. From now on, our lessons will be held in my chamber. I wish to ensure that no one will…disturb us." He hummed softly, suddenly completely calm and pleased, the fingers of his hands rubbing against each other as if he was excited by the vision.

She sighed quietly, leaning the back of her head against the wooden column, feeling her cunt pulsate all over at the subtext she heard clearly in his words.

"So that no one disturbs my education, as I understand it?" She asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her hot and filled with something combining lust and madness.

"Indeed. What I wish to teach you requires much concentration and the privacy of the chamber." He said, and she felt her lips part wide in a thirsty sigh.

The corner of her cousin's mouth twitched in a grin, as if he remembered something, and then he moved towards the door, glancing at her over his shoulder with an expression from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Wear the same robe as the last time. And let your hair down."

505 notes · View notes

im-gonna-sing-the-doom-song-blog · 2 months ago

Text

Jason Todd NSFW A-Z

Warnings 18+:

Adult language and themes

*sorry in advance for any spelling/grammar errors

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jason would hold you, grip firm, but comforting, almost as if grounding himself in this moment. He would mummer to you in that rough Bowery accent. “Fucking shit, hon..” while kissing your neck. It takes a little for him to clean up and to let you do the same (he's very lazy at this point), but when he does, he spoils you. He runs you a warm bath and brings you your favorite snack, along with the softest pjs ever. The best part is the deep tissue massage he gives you to release the rest of that tension they may linger. “I said I would get all of the knots out, didn’t I?”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jason really doesn’t have a favorite part of his own body. His hands maybe. They can bring on destruction, but also build and mend things he thought he was only capable of destroying. He loves using them to squeeze your thighs. That’s his favorite part, if he had to choose. He loves all of you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I fully believe he's into facials and cumming in your mouth. Something about holding your face with one hand, thumb and index finger squishing your cheeks as he rubs his leaking cock against your lips, glossing them with precum. When he cums, his smacking your face with it. Extra points if you stick out your tongue.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Secret recordings and photos. He gets off on rewatching the filthy things he does to you. He’s not much of a porn guy, since he only wants you. Other people don’t really interest him in that aspect. So, when he goes on those long missions and can’t see you for a while, he has something to keep him motivated.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a few partners, but nothing really special. Not like you. Just basic sex after he came back from the pit, but his body was still settling in itself. Growing pains and all that he had to endure all at once. He has the know-how and some top tier equipment, so what he lacks in experience he makes up in that. Either way, you're a soaking mess when he’s done. The longer you're with him, the better and better it gets

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style. Hands down, He loves watching your pussy take his full length to the base “You like that? Get that ass up. You can take it” . He also enjoys cowgirl when you both in the mood, but doesn’t wanna move around too much. Perfect for those sore post patrol nights and he wants to get you off.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Neither goofy or serious. A complete bastard. Jason gets that shit eating grin on his face when he’s slamming into you and you making you whimper in pleasure. “All that talk and you can barely take it.” He chuckles. “And you think I was gonna let you off easy?”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Definitely trimmed. He doesn’t really care as long as it's neat down there. Dark trail of hair. Not really much to say.

Always clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kind of a prick. Jason is naturally an aggressive guy, so I can’t really see him being gentle in bed unless you ask him to. He won’t hurt you in anyway, but he fucks in the mattress until you’re unable to walk properly.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not really into it. Jason would rather wait to have the real thing than bore himself with a porno. Why waste time with that? However mutual masturbation can get him going. Intense making out while he jerks off and you touch yourself drives him feral. “Those goddamn noises you make, doll. Gonna make me lose my shit”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lingerie. Especially his color. Lace makes him rock hard. He likes to choke you too. Pull your hair. His major kink is definitely edging..teasing and teasing..and teasing some more until he feels like letting you cum. “Too much? Look at you. You’re squirming and soak already. I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Home. Anywhere in his apartment is game. He has security measures up the ass there and I don’t see him being a public sex kinda man. Too many risks. The exception is the Batcave.. he’ll hack the security there, fuck you on the training mat and then leave your assprint on the hood of the Batmobile. Wouldn’t even bother deleting the footage either. This asshole would make eye contact with the camera and flip it off on the way out.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Arguments with you get him going. Especially when it's really heated. He’ll fuck the attitude right out of you. “Babe, curb the ‘tude before I fuck it out of ya” In contrast, his desire is also awakened when you're...just....talking. Your voice puts him in a state. “Just keep talking, please..” He breathes as he palms himself. Stress relief after patrol is another motivator. He’ll wash up the blood and carry you to the bed. “I need you like crazy, c’mere”

*Bonus. Not really a turn on...but he’ll demolish you out of jealousy. Say, if he felt like someone like Dick was trying something (Dick would never but Jason can be a delusional baby sometimes, let’s face it). It's a self-esteem thing for him. “Everyone wants the pretty golden boy. What, don’t I fuck you good enough.” Oh, he certainly does.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Consent is key. Jason Todd is a mean prick during sex and can sometimes get carried away, but the moment you show the slightest display of unwillingness in your eyes, he’ll stop immediately. He’ll go soft and it may take a while to get him hard again. He could never hurt you and if ever accidently did, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving as much as receiving. Jason will eat you out like he's starving, your legs pushed up and everything. He’ll make you scream his name as he traces it with his tongue. “Hold still and stop squirming, will you? I’m trying to fuckin’eat.” Then when he's leaning back against the couch, muscular arms resting up and you're on your knees on the floor in front of him, he’ll forgive you a little if you can’t go down all the day. “Too big? Poor you” He’ll coo almost mockingly. I don’t really feel choking my pretty girl out. Take a deep breath and take it slow” The sounds that come out of him though? Goddamn.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally rough and medium paced. Not fast or slow. He’s not gentle. I don't care what anyone says. When I say he’ll fuck you into oblivion, I mean it. That doesn’t translate that he doesn't enjoy slow and sensual love making, he does. It's just that sex is a stress reliever for him, so he wants to release it as much as possible. “You can take it, huh? Look at me, sweetheart. Look at me. I can always fuck you harder, you know”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jason likes to take his time. He would only want a quickie if he was on patrol and its quiet. He’ll sneak into your window. And after briefly scolding (lovingly) you for your cheap ass, shit locks. He’ll fuck you into the mattress, leaving a puddle. Then he’ll kiss you as he’s leaving before getting caught by Bruce.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I feel like he's pretty open. I think the one main thing he wouldn't do would be those gas station enhancement pills or things like ecstasy etc.. After his mom and being on the streets, he’s not really eager to put anything like that in his body. Also, anything that could cause harm or injury. I really don’t see him being into thing like gunplay, even if you are. “These are for work, not play, baby girl. Though I like your enthusiasm, let's keep those separate.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Nonstop. The Lazarus pit gave him an endurance boost. An extra perk if you will. Useful for knocking out his enemies and for going round after round in more ways than one. He can last as long as he wants. “Don’t tap out now, love. I’m only getting started.”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I have a personal fantasy of using a vibrating cock ring on Jason. He would like that cause it gives both you and him pleasure. His cock would be twitching like hell. Make him stutter his words. “Fuck..you’re killing me..and I’ve been dead. Keep this on me and it might actually do the job this time.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bastard. That is all.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jason is a breathy swearer. This man cusses a lot when shit gets hot and heavy. No surprise there. “Fuck..fuck..just like that. Fuck yes. Such a good fucking girl. Make me cum, sweetheart. Fuck”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He doesn’t watch porn to get off. He watches them for the corny plots and laughs at them. You’ll catch him and you think he would have his hand down his pants. Nope. He’s eating chips and laughing.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Under his black Under Armor boxers, the man is packing. Long and a little thick with that vein that runs on the underside. Eye candy when he’s in sweatpants. “Keep staring with you mouth open like that and I’ll put it to use” hell joke.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high, but not uncontrollable. Jason is a patient man and has no problem waiting for you to be in the mood.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Doesn’t fall asleep quickly. He’s the type to smoke a cigarette with you (if you smoke) on the balcony as he holds you. He’s used to being up all night, so he would only nap post sex if if the afternoon so it doesn’t mess with the sleep schedule. “Come here and cuddle babe. We can order something for take out”

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #batfam #jason todd reader #red hood x you #red hood

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221bshrlocked · 1 month ago

Text

Let All My Love Keep Silence

Pairing: Vampire Pero Tovar x Witch Fem!Reader

Words: 21,640

Warning: Angst to Fluff to Smut. Mutual Pining. Angst to Smut to Angst to Sort of Fluff. Forbidden Love!! Bath sharing-ish. Dirty/Sweet Talk. Minor Hair-Pulling. Oral (female and male receiving). Creampie. Fluid Exchange Kink. Mentions of Blood in a sexual way (go away if you don't like that). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex. Creampie. Reader and Tovar getting off on the idea of ruining each other's biology because of their coupling.

Summary: When two strangers meet in the mystical land of Egypt, they are transported back to a moment filled with nothing but hurt and pain. Neither wishes to accompany the other, but duty requires both of them to travel together, and on occassion, fight alongside each other. A string of curious events continues to befall the company, and a staggering revelation leads them to think they may have met long before that chance gathering in the qahwa weeks prior. And an even more shocking confession brings the once sworn enemies together...or perhaps, finally returns them to one another.

A/N: This is for the lovely @artemiseamoon who's also taking part in the @pedrostories Secret Santa Event and whom I have to thank for being so very patient with me. I hope you like this babes, I've included what I thought would be a good mixture of the prompts you gave me so I hope you enjoy reading this. I apologize profusely that this is a few days late, but I wanted it to be as close to perfection as possible!! Side note, this is set sometime in 15th century Egypt. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays :D

“All your fury is to hide a fragile heart.” —Ghassan Kanafani September 17th, 1422

There was a strange air about the tavern tonight, one that made it rather difficult to focus on the reason behind your visit to this specific village. No sooner than you had walked in did you notice the shadows flickering around a particularly secluded corner within the busy establishment. And although the drunken laughter and obnoxious swearing filled the inn, you could not help but dwell on the ominous silence that danced along the walls of said corner as you slowly sat down and studied the patrons within the room. It was almost instantaneous, the way your eyes met his through the vigorous crowd, and you knew immediately that the tempest storming in those dark eyes were but a mere reflection of the curiosity and caution swimming in your own.

But it was not curiosity alone that made him stand from his seat and approach you. No, it was the unspoken understanding of the lives you led that forced him to make his way to you with a purposeful grace unlike any you have ever seen. You arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips as he took a seat opposite of you. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the wooden table’s surface, a sign of the ancient wariness that has passed between your kind and his own for centuries. Silence stretched between your cold smirk and his furrowed, nearly angry eyebrows, thickening the tension and the weight of history you were sure would make things more complicated—on your end at least.

Yet beneath the surface of unpleasant memories, you could recognize a flicker of something else—a shared, albeit grudging respect of the mutual abilities and prowess you both shared, however different they were. Your gaze was unwavering,

You didn’t dare blink, afraid the momentary blindness would bring about your demise. So sure that he would want to rip your neck to pieces, your eyes widen in horror when he holds his hand out for you to take. You look between him and his limb, unsure of what game he was wanting to play with you. Not wanting to show him any weakness, you smile cautiously at him as you extend your own, the sudden touch of his skin making you flinch as unfamiliar memories flood your mind’s eye. You cannot let go of his hand, not because you do not want to, but because the grip he has on your palm tightens as similar, unfamiliar images crash into him. You both look at each other, unsure whether you are both seeing, and experiencing, the same painful evocations.

It lasts for longer than you care to admit, and when his hold finally loosens, you let go and return your back to rest, unable to hold back from clutching at your chest when you feel an invisible bolt of lightning strike through you. You gaze up into his eyes then, and find his grimace deeper, except it is not one of anger but contempt. Whatever he has seen of you was far from favorable, and you knew he presumed similarly.

“What brings you here?” His voice is low, the sneer on his expression reminding you of something from a long time ago, a past life perhaps. You shake your head, wanting to rid yourself of whatever was attempting to come to the forefront of your mind. There were matters more important.

“Do not flatter yourself. I did not come for you, but for a posting.” You cross your arms, watching him as he looks to the side, perhaps wondering if there were more of you around.

“I am alone.” You are not sure what pushes you to tell him such a dangerous fact, but you watch as his shoulders visibly relax at your admission. He returns his gaze to you, and if you didn’t know better, you would think his eyes could see right through you.

“That makes two of us bruja.” He responds in kind, and you wish you weren’t so obvious in your own inquiries.

“A Spaniard in Cairo? Are you here for business or pleasure?” The question is not to his liking, and you chuckle at the prospect of this man thinking that you weren’t knowledgeable enough to place his mother tongue, let alone his accent.

“Business, though pleasure is not too far.” It’s menacing, the way his smile stretches so easily and reveals his sharp cuspids. You are aware he is purposeful in his warning, and if you were wiser, you would have turned away from him, perhaps even stood up and walked out of the qahwa. But you narrow your eyes at him, challenging him without thinking of the consequences. The serenity that befalls him is irritating and you nearly comment on his surly behavior when a man interrupts the two of you and pushes your ‘companion’ aside.

“I leave you for a few minutes and you find yourself a lovely woman to terrorize. When will you ever learn Tovar?” The name makes you flinch. You swear you have heard it before, and your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you. Except, he misunderstands your response for something else, and you know instantly why the smile drops instantly. You should not intimidate him more, but you choose to, wanting to relay a message of pure, unadulterated hatred to him.

Reaching out, you shake Tovar’s friend’s hand, introducing yourself and letting him know that Tovar was far from threatening.

“It is lovely to meet you, lass. My name is William Garin, and this ray of sunshine is my old friend, Pero Tovar.” As soon as Tovar’s full name is known to you, you sit back and giggle as anger radiates off of him.

“It’s a pleasure William, and…Tovar.” You smirk at him, not bothering to react to Tovar as he stands aggressively and walks away from your table.

“Maybe the coffee didn’t agree with him.” You comment in passing, shrugging your shoulders when William apologizes for his friend and asks to buy you another drink.

“That is thoughtful of you, but I think I have had enough for the night. Perhaps you could buy one for your friend?” You ask in passing, your eyes never once leaving the entrance of the establishment.

“I would but unlike me, the man refuses to drink. Come to think of it, I rarely see him consume anything other than that damned drink he always carries on him.” You scrunch your nose at the fact, wondering whether William knows the true nature of his friend.

“Nevermind him. What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He leans over, smiling devilishly at you when you mirror him and push into his space.

“I’m flattered William, I really am. But there is more to me than meets the eye.” You swirl around the drink in your hand, tilting your head to the side when you notice Tovar entering the qahwa once more. He doesn’t join you though, and you suspect it is because you now have his name.

“I can see that, love.” William’s smile drops and you watch as he points down to the several daggers he can see attached to the inside of your robes. You lean away from him and purse your lips, letting him know that you should have seen his plan coming.

“What do you want with Tovar?” His voice should be menacing, but you choose not to laugh at him out of respect. Unlike his friend, the man was genuinely being protective, and you admire that about him. You have always admired that about humans.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I am not here for him but for a proposition.” You don’t bother elaborating as you take out a piece of paper and slide it across the table. William reads it slowly, giving it back to you and looking behind him to see if you had any company.

“As I told your friend, I am here alone. I work alone, usually.” You finish your drink and leave a few coins on the table, enough for William to notice that you are covering his payment as well.

“You are aware this commission is for a group of mercenaries?” He asks, and you nod instantly, folding the paper and pushing it back into your pocket.

“Yes, I am. I may prefer to work alone but circumstances led me here and I- I find myself wanting to take part in this…expedition.” You do not elaborate, not wanting to raise any flags for William as to what you are. Thankfully, he takes your word and refrains from inquiring further about the subject.

“Have the two of you met before?” The question catches you off guard, and you turn to face Tovar, wondering the same thing as you find his eyes already gazing upon you.

“I would remember if I have, but no. I- I have not met him before.” You blink away the faint memories from earlier haunting you once more, returning your attention to William and offering him a friendly smile.

“Hmm, something tells me things did not get off on a good start for either of you.” William says as he glances at his friend, raising his drink in an attempt to persuade him to join the two of you, but to his disappointment, Tovar turns away and glues his focus on the wall.

“I have known him for years, and I assure you, he is never so hostile to someone he has just made an acquaintance of.” There is a warning laced between those words, and you nod in affirmation, not wanting to have two men in the company against you.

“I understand. I must confess, I am not often met with kindness wherever I go…so I fear there is some effect I am having on him. I assure you, however, it is not my intention to anger. I merely wish to…let him know he should steer clear of me as I will of him.” Again, you are unsure why you confess such a sentiment to William and it must not be what he expects to hear from you because he raises a curious eyebrow before laughing out loud. You’re thrown back by the reaction but you say nothing as William stands to his height and nods in appreciation.

“In that case, lass…should he bother you, do not hesitate to come for my aid.” He silently thanks you for the drink as he finishes it quickly before placing it down on the table. You eye the goblet for a few seconds, hating that he placed it in front of you…and Tovar.

“That will not be needed, but thank you for the offer. I will keep it in mind.” You retract your hands from the table, placing them on your lap to avoid any misunderstandings with Tovar.

“See you tomorrow at the port.” He calls after you as he leaves, patting Tovar on the back twice on his way to the stairs. Wonderful, they were staying in the inn as well. You rub your temple harshly, wondering why those visions plagued you for months on end, only to bring you to such a man.

A vampire of all creatures.

Could he not, at the very least, be a lycan?

Your racing thoughts are interrupted by none other than the man himself, and you ground yourself before you meet his gaze once more. He wastes no time before he grabs William’s drinking cup and pulls it out of reach.

“You need not worry, I am not interested in him. Or you!” You blink tiredly, knowing that your meeting was due to a mission and not something else.

“That is hard to believe, maga, when you explicitly asked for my name.” His expression is hard, and you swear you see the whites of his eyes turn a deep shade of gold for a moment, but you know he would never act irrationally in such a crowded place.

“If you recall, nightwalker, I did not ask for your name. It was given to me freely by your friend, whom I suspect, does not know of your true nature, or else he would have refrained from giving me both his name and yours.” You hiss at him, your behavior making him frown harshly and clench his jaw tightly.”

“I suspect you heard everything, and against my better judgment, I will put your mind to rest. You seem older than others of your kind I have met before, so you know it is not possible for me to lie to another…creature. I have no use of your names, nor will I use them to my benefit.” Your revelation comes as a shock to him, because as soon as the promise leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts, and he no longer radiates violence but a sense of understanding.

“But make no mistake, if I so much as suspect anything from you, I will choose my safety…and whatever that entails with it. Do you understand me?” Too long a moment passes between you, but you wait with bated breath until he nods in agreement before you stand and step away from him.

“As I told your friend, I do not wish to have anything to do with you. And I will happily remain out of your way to offer you similar courtesy.” Your voice is unwavering, and Tovar studies you closely, his eyes as fixed as your message. He stands opposite you and for a moment, you are distracted by his broad shoulders and firm presence. But you brush the thought aside and blink slowly when he nods in affirmation one last time.

“Sleep well, bruja.” He bids you a good night and walks away, leaving you more confused and concerned than when you first entered the qahwa an hour ago. Looking around the voyagers in the room, you cannot help but think of leaving the country altogether. You are confident that should you stay, things would only grow more complicated, and you have no desire to live in anxiety until this mission is finished. But you know you should not ignore your visions, nor should you move past what you saw when you took Tovar’s hands.

You could not place this need to know who he is to you. Nor did you wish to ignore the sense of familiarity that washed over you when you held his hand in your own.

The feeling was unlike anything else you have ever experienced, and the desire to place him grew exponentially over night, keeping you awake until the sun shone in the sky. You pushed the windows open at dawn, allowing the prayer call to put your mind at ease as you prepared for the day.

A part of you had accepted what the next few weeks, perhaps months, could reveal. You knew you should listen to your mind, allow it to care for your well being and drive you away from this task. But as you exited the inn and found Tovar waiting upon a camel and eyeing you as you approached the men he was surrounded with, you knew your heart had won this time.

You would not leave. You would not run away. And you certainly would not allow Tovar to have you question your sanity.

“Who brought the girl?” You walked to your horse, patting her neck as you fed her the carrots you bought the previous night. Ignoring the question, you continue to softly rub your companion, whispering words of encouragement as she ate every last bit of food you offered her. Expecting the man to move aside when no answer was offered to him, you glance quickly to the side when you hear him approach closer than you appreciated, and as he reached out to touch your hair, you dragged a dagger across his chest and pinned it just beneath his neck, holding his arm in between the two of you and staring at him until his eyes were filled with nothing but shock and fear.

“If you value your neck, I suggest you keep the rest of your limbs to yourself.” The warning is breathed lowly, loud enough for him to hear, and the rest of the men to wonder about. It takes him a little over a minute to respond, and you push him away aggressively, making your lack of patience known to the others. You wait to see if anyone else is willing to test you, and when they all return to their conversations, you attend to your horse once more.

As you mount her, you chance a look at Tovar and find him attempting to hide a smirk from you. Unsure of what he could possibly be smiling about, you pat your horse and ask her to move towards the dock, not bothering to wait for any of the company.

Passing the busy markets of Cairo, you admire the crafts and tools being sold throughout, and you make a stop when you notice Tefnut eyeing the ripe strawberries ahead. You jump down and walk towards the older woman, collecting a fair amount of strawberries and putting it on the scale to see how much it costs. She holds out seven fingers and you nod in gratitude, giving her the coins she requested and then some. She pats her chest in return, handing you another few strawberries to which you refuse, silently letting her know that you do not need any more.

Making your way back to your horse, you stop in your tracks when you see Tovar and William flanking your horse and conversing. Not wanting to create a scene, you approach Tefnut and take her reins, bringing her forward and away from the two men so she can eat in peace.

“What do you think you are doing with my horse?”

“If you value your companion, lass, perhaps do not leave her by herself. We were behind you when we saw a man attempt to take her away.” William starts, holding his hands up to ensure you do not misunderstand his kindness for something else. You look between him and Tovar, and you cannot help the shock written on your features when you find him relishing the sunlight as it begins to warm the day.

Tovar knows immediately why you are stupefied but he shakes his head, refusing to give in to whatever inquiries you now hold for him.

“Vámonos,” he paces away on his camel, calling after William who continues to wait for a response from you.

“Noted, thank you.” You say nothing further, knowing that explaining why you are not worried for your horse could open potential lines of questioning from both him and Tovar. As you watch them move closer to the port, you wonder how Tovar is able to bask in the warmth of the sun without instantly setting into fire. Pushing the rest of the strawberries into Tefnut’s mouth, you mount her and follow the two men, already meditating on the different spells that could offer such protection.

You were sure it was a spell, but you were also aware that only a powerful witch could hold such abilities in her hands. Not only that, but he would have needed to either compel her or do something so honorable that she granted him this in return. The question was, did Tovar receive this gift through coercion or offering.

When you finally reach the port and find the rest of the company surrounding a gentleman standing high on a ship, you get off Tefnut and walk towards the back, listening to who you presume is the headhunter of this mission.

“Now, you may ask yourselves why there is such a large number of you, the answer of which lies in who and what you are meant to be protecting. For the coming weeks, you are tasked with protecting the merchant caravans traveling along the Nile. Our merchants will be carrying several goods, the most important of which are textiles and gold.” You listen carefully in an attempt to find answers to your questions. You are unsure whether you were brought to this land for the sole purpose of protecting said merchants, or something in association.

“Before I go any further, you all must understand something very important. Should any one of you grow greedy and tired of your travels and decide to steal something for yourself, I assure you, I will ensure your death comes soon after by none other than the rest of the company, who will be paid double upon their return. Do not test me.” He refuses to smile throughout his speech, and you know then that he may have been double-crossed by mercenaries before. A familiar sensation crosses over you and you turn around in time to see Tovar refusing to look elsewhere. You maintain his gaze for a moment out of habit, and only when the headhunter continues his speech do you finally turn away.

“Expect bandits of many allegiances along the route. And under no circumstances will you allow others in your company that have not been hired by me. You will each receive a quarter of your share now, and when you have reached Aswan, you will have the rest of your payment.” You notice several men raise their hands to inquire after their task, but you pay them no mind as you approach the merchants and introduce yourself. Two men nearly huff in humor when you tell them you are one of their protectors, but the third man quiets them instantly, letting them know what he has seen earlier in the morning.

“Good day to you all,” you bid them a farewell before returning to your post, watching as each man receives his share from the gentleman on the ship and makes his way back to the merchants. When it is your turn, you say nothing but your name, to which the older man nods and continues on. As you move back to your horse, you walk past Tovar, and for a split second, his scent seeps through your senses and halts you in your steps.

Myrrh and Oud.

The combination is distinct, one that you are sure you have been in the presence of before. And as you turn around to look at the man you informed the night prior that you wish to steer clear of him, you get the sense that your desires would soon shift and lead you into temptations. Or perhaps, trouble.

Shaking the intrusive thought away, you lead your horse to the back of the company and wait for them to move. If Tovar notices the way you meditate on him throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, he says nothing of it and does as he promises.

You speak to no one as you move up the Nile towards Atfeh, and by nightfall, you find that you are nearly reaching the end of Cairo. As the winds shift and the air grows colder, you hear the leader of the merchants speak to several of the men in the company. Knowing that you are probably resting for the night, you hop off of your horse and lead her towards the shallow end of the Nile, telling her to remain there for the night until you come in the morning.

“Enkotk hahten,” you pat her a few times and back away from the waters, aiming to find a nice tree to make your cot beneath so you can avoid remaining with the men. Not looking behind you, you bump into someone’s chest and slowly turn to find Tovar looking past you and towards your companion.

“Am I mistaken in assuming that you just put a spell on your horse, hechicera?” You are aware his question is not one of nosiness but curiosity, yet you grow irritated at his questioning gaze, mostly due to the fact that he was forcing his scent upon you once more, a scent which you grew to enjoy with each minute that passed in his presence.

“Am I mistaken in assuming that you can walk during the day because of one of my people’s spells?” You retort and notice the manner in which his body grows rigid instantly. He had not expected your question, that you are certain of, but what throws you off is the somber, almost lonely spirit that comes over him at your inquiry.

“I- I do not know.” You furrow an eyebrow at him, unsure of why your heart clenches tightly at such a sad expression from him. Not knowing what you should do, you step away from him to clear your mind, not wanting his musk to distract you any further.

“I make sure she remains where she is, and anyone who means her harm is gifted with an unkindly kick to the face.” The comment seems to fulfill its purpose and you watch as Tovar nods once before moving his camel towards the water as well. You are not sure what about him that seems so fascinating to you, but you move away from the company regardless, not wanting to partake with any of the men as the night grows colder and lonelier.

Lying below a tree at the edge of the company, you glance around to ensure that no one is nearby before reaching out both of your hands and envisioning the tree above you.

“Come, O Isis, mighty in magic, protector of your son Horus! Deliver me from all evil, harmful things, from the serpent, from poison, and from any harm that comes my way. Let him who knows no evil against me enter.” Whispering the words into the night air, you open your eyes and watch as a soft haze only you can see falls around you. Glancing out into the Nile, you see Tovar push his camel near your horse and pat Tefnut on her back. Unlike the others, she responds kindly to him, nosing at his armor and forcing a graceful smile onto his features. The moment is cut short when he suddenly turns to look at you, and before you can turn away, he steps away from your horse and bows his head, silently apologizing for presuming familiarity with your companion.

Pulling the blanket over yourself, you shut your eyes and surrender to a deep sleep. It has been long since you allowed yourself any respite, but something about the previous night’s meeting, and today’s long journey, pushes you briskly into an intense slumber.

You dream of ancient dunes and majestic monuments. You dream of the running waters of the Nile River and a sunrise unlike any you have ever seen. You dream of long-forgotten touches and soft kisses.

But perhaps most importantly, you dream of a pair of brown eyes, following you everywhere you go, gazing through your soul longingly, begging you to return the love etched deep within them.

Hoping. Hoping for salvation.

“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.” —Mahmoud Darwish October 30th, 1422

“¡Cuidado!” You stoop to the ground in time to avoid a dagger to the neck, and without hesitation, you pull the weapon through the air, aiming it straight into your assailant’s chest and watching as he falls to the ground with shock and fear written on his expression. There is no time to dwell on the reason behind your enemy’s attack, and you swiftly end one man after another, noting the unique ways they move and speak in hopes of understanding more about them.

Chaos continues to unfold around you, and you do your best to remain beside the merchants and their goods, refusing to allow anyone near them. There is a strange air about the field, one that you cannot help but recognize instantly. You would know that presence anywhere in the world, and as you take down the men approaching those you are meant to protect, you miss one strutting from behind you, and when you finally feel his spirit lingering just against your back, you are met with a pair of strong hands, ones that push you aside and receive a silver dagger in your stead.

A painful howl rips through your chest, and you watch in horror as Tovar reaches behind him and drags the weapon from his back, not caring for how beastly he must look as he penetrates the knife three times into his enemy’s jugular. He turns around and studies you, and the shock of his actions must be apparent because he nods once and moves on to the next unfriendly visitor.

You are unsure of how to think of what he has willingly done for you, but you waste no time and stand to your height, continuing to battle alongside him in hopes of returning the favor should it be needed. There is no way of knowing how long the company spends fighting off the bandits, but by the time you are done, the sun slowly begins to set past the horizon and you are left with a multitude of bodies to either bury or scavenge from.

When you are positive you are no longer needed, you walk towards the nearby village, wanting to find the source of familiarity brushing over your mind ever since you entered Asyut. Moving through the quiet streets, you call out to the spirit of the witch, hoping she has enough strength to respond in kind. Not a few moments later, you watch as a soft, green thread loops around you and slowly pulls you forward. You follow without delay, watching as the thread grows into a deeper shade the closer you approach the hiding place. As soon as you stand in front of the broken down building, you push through doors and run into the property, not caring for the possibility of more bandits.

Making a sharp turn to the left, you come to a halt as you look upon a face you have not seen in decades.

“Petra,” you call out for her, running to her side as she breaks down into tears and reaches for your arms. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you wrap yourself around her, and you briefly feel a sense of trepidation take over you, but you give the thought no time to linger, wanting to nurse your friend’s wounds as soon as possible.

“What are you doing here?” You pull away and hold her cheeks in your hands, looking in between her bloodied and bruised eyes as she continues to sob in your arms.

“I- I do not know. They never told me what they wanted with me, only that I was useful to them in some way. But now that I know you are here, I suspect they are after you. Please, sister, tell me you are safe. Tell me they are not after you.” She speaks haphazardly and you quiet her down to the best of your abilities, not wanting to give her any reason for more panic now that you saved her.

“I am well, dearest. Do not worry,” you smile at her, pulling her to her feet and breaking the chains around her wrists to lead her away. Only when you reach the door to the abandoned home do you look up and find Tovar waiting for the two of you. You do not get a chance to explain yourself asTovar sniffs the air deeply and releases the unholiest of growls, aimed not at you but your coven sister.

“What- what is he doing here?” She shakes in fear and hides behind you, and you throw a protection spell around her for precaution, not wanting to lead attention to the three of you.

“He will not hurt you, I promise.” The words do not leave your mouth for more than a few seconds before Tovar menacingly walks towards you, his eyes turning a deep shade of fiery gold that reminds you of what he is.

“Do not test my patience, Tovar.” The command is barely louder than a whisper, yet he refuses to back down, offering you a similar order in kind. “Do not mock my kindness, maga.” The display of his canines would shake you to your core had you not spent the past few weeks traveling with him and knowing him just a little bit more.

Neither of you seem to back down, and only when you feel your friend descend to the floor and clutch at your feet do you finally push Tovar away and warn him with a snap of your fingers. A fire engulfs the inside of the building instantly, and you watch as his demeanor shifts to one of caution. He looks around him briefly and returns his focus on you, not bothering to say another word as he backs away and holds his hands up in defeat.

“Remember the headhunter’s words, she cannot join us.” He warns as he walks out of the smoky room and out to the street.

“I will vouch for her.” You retort immediately, letting him know that your decision is not up for debate. He shakes his head at you and glances at Petra one last time, breathing in her scent one last time as he returns to the company.

“Why are you traveling with that- that thing?” Petra inquires when Tovar is out of reach, and you turn to her, patting her on the neck one last time as you lead her to your group.

“It was not my decision. I- I joined a company tasked with protecting a group of merchants and he happened to be one of them.” You weave your hands around her skin, silently breathing healing and protection spells that would alleviate her pain and wounds quicker.

“Do you know him?” There is a strangeness about the question she asks and for whatever reason your mind conjures, you shake your head in an instant, a part of you letting you know that it would be unwise to tell her of the familiarity you feel with him.

When you reach the company, you speak with the merchants, letting them know that you found your sister by chance, and that she would only accompany you for a few days before she feels better. As they inspect her, you barely manage to hide the smile from your face at how helpless she makes herself appear to them, and only when they nod their approval do you take her away and ask her to ride on Tefnut.

The rest of the day is met with more silence, the company beginning to wonder why the bandits have increased suddenly. This was the fourth attack in the span of three weeks, and although your numbers did not noticeably decrease, you also cannot help but think of how abnormal things have become the closer you grow to your destination.

You speak with your old friend, asking her about what she has accomplished in the past few decades, and responding in kind when she wonders where you have been and why the coven has not seen you for nearly a century. You do not know how to answer her, knowing that you could not lie to her if you tried. You tell her you had people to help across the world, sites you wished to visit at least once in case the wars of the New World reached your place.

When night falls, you choose to bring her to an inn, telling her to remain within her room for her own safety. And if she wants to ask where you will go, she does not get to it as Tovar’s presence suddenly becomes known within the confines of the small tavern.

“I assure you, he will not harm you in any way.” You shut the door behind you, locking it and casting one last spell out of fear of other, non-creature visitors. Heading down the stairs, you find Tovar seated by himself at one corner of the cafe, the scene reminding you of that fateful night a few weeks prior. You approach him slowly, not wanting to trigger his anger any further.

As you sit down opposite him, you find the color of his face graying, and nearly reach out to touch him but remember how little you know each other. He sneaks a glance at you, but says nothing, the somber expression he offers you forcing your heart to beat faster out of sympathy.

“Are you unwell?”

“It is none of your concern.” His answer is laced with venom, and you cannot blame him for the hostility, knowing that had he brought more of his kind near you, you would be as uncomfortable, if not more.

“I promise she will not grow near you.” You are not sure what pushes you to offer him such a vow, but the manner in which he recoils into himself and winces at your words lets you know he is not appreciative of the gesture.

“Do not make promises you cannot keep, bruja. You and I know of the past our kinds have suffered through.” His voice is tired, and you attempt to ask him once more if he is unwell.

“Tovar, what you have done for me today-”

“Save it, I do not care for your gratitude, nor do I have any use for it.” He pushes you aside as he walks out of the inn, and you are left speechless, afraid of why your chest tightens at the prospect of him getting hurt for your sake. You have questioned the action all day long, trying your damnedest to find a reason behind the selfless act he performed without so much as a blink of an eye. Nothing has changed throughout the past few weeks, apart of course from the occasional hello and silent sharing of space.

Looking outside, you find the sun setting across the village, and you choose to spend the night walking about the town, wanting to rid your mind of the thousands of questions roaming about Tovar and Petra’s presence.

Gods, why was she here of all places? There was never a reason for someone like her to go so far from her home, let alone travel outside of the coven. There was an oddity to you running into her in this land, more so at being captured by men dressed in attire you have not seen before.

Venturing deeper into town, you surrender to the relief that washes over you the farther you move away from the inn. A part of you feels guilty for not spending more time with your coven sister, but you decide to listen to your heart once more, already ruminating on why reluctance flooded at you upon your first sight of her.

“Goddess divine, please tell me. I am your servant, and I long to know.” The prayer is whispered into the night air, and you decide to ignore the matter and look for more healing herbs, knowing that you should enforce your aid on Tovar the next time you see him. That dagger would be nothing had he fed, but you have not seen him drink an ounce of blood throughout the past few weeks and you would hate for any sickness to befall him because of your lack of focus.

So engrossed in the concoctions of herbs and potions you are collecting, you completely miss the thread of green calling for you, and only when it begins turning into a soft shade of red do you finally recognize it. You drop the powders in your hand and race to the inn, regretting ever leaving Petra by herself. Deep down, you knew there would be an issue between her and Tovar, but you had hoped that he understood you were not to be trifled with.

By the time you reach the inn and run up the stairs, you find the door to her room unlocked and broken off of its hinges. You gasp when you find Tovar bloodied and heaving, his hands clasping onto your sister’s neck as his fingers dig deeper into the skin.

“Tovar,” you try to warn, but the look he offers you is nothing less than murderous.

“Tell her…tell her what you told me.” He is breathing heavily, and you note the way he refuses to loosen his hold on her.

“Unholy animal-” She hisses at him, only to be met with a snarl and a threat of a bite to her neck. You are not sure what he is referring to, but seeing her eyes widen in shock and horror lets you know that it must be important enough for Tovar to test your patience so openly.

“Tell her, what you told me.” He orders once more, his eyes never leaving your own as you snap your fingers and create a door to the room, one that remains shut tightly to avoid any visitors.

“Tovar, unhand her.”

“I cannot do that, bruja.” He shakes his head, his retort not leaving you much of a choice.

“Petra, please. Give him whatever he wants.” You plead with your friend, wishing she is a bit wiser than others of your kind.

“If I tell h-her, she…she will not believe. I am her sister, and you are…nothing. You are nothing to her. She will not believe-” You step forward when you hear an agonizing screech escape her throat and you watch as Tovar delivers a harsh bite to her shoulder. He unclenches his jaws from her a moment later, licking his lips once and shutting his eyes to better envision what her blood offers her. There is a moment of silence as Tovar sees in her memories what he has been seeking, and only when he is satisfied does he push her to the ground and grip her hair tightly.

“If you do not tell her, I will show her. Which do you prefer, capulla?” At the mention of her memories, her eyes seek you out and tear up, leading you to tilt your head to the side and approach the two of them slowly.

“You must understand, we- we couldn’t…” She attempts to make excuses but Tovar was never known for his patience, and he twists her neck once, signaling another bite to her shoulder should she refuse to obey him.

“Tell. Her.” His voice is menacing, and you nod at her with a smile, wanting her to understand that it will all be well.

“In my pocket…reach for the paper in my pocket.” She signals for her right pocket and waits with bated breath as Tovar snatches it and throws it at you. You inhale deeply, unsure of what either of them is referring to.

Slowly unfolding the flimsy piece of paper, you read the top line of the letter and flinch at the familiarity of the date.

“What is this?” You ask Tovar, unsure of what he is attempting to show you. His body grows tired by the minute, but he pays it no mind as he maintains his hold on your sister and responds to your question.

“This is the reason why you cannot recall any memories since the last time you were here,” he finds more knowledge of his statement in your eyes than he thought he would, and he takes a deep breath before continuing with his revelation, “and why I cannot remember anything before 1249.” Once again, the date is not unknown to you, and your eyes widen in realization as you come to understand what he is referring to.

“That was-”

“Yes, the same year you were here.” He cuts you off, pointing at Petra to let you know of her involvement. When you do not make a move to read the letter, he nods towards the piece of parchment and asks you to read it one more time.

“Read it. Out loud, please.”

“December 24th, 1249. An equilibrium, at last, has been attained.” The sentence is bothersome, and you turn to look at Petra, finding more fear in her eyes now that you had hold of the letter than before, when it was only her and Tovar.

“Por favor, continúa.”

“I pen these words with a trembling hand, for the events I am about to recount are of such grievous nature that they shake the very foundation of our order. The traitors have been uncovered, and what we beheld defies comprehension. Upon first encountering them, our hearts were struck with disbelief, for it was assumed—nay, taken as truth—that our coven’s esteemed leader bore envy for her gifts. How deeply mistaken we were! Alas, the fault lay with us all.” You bite your lower lip in anticipation of what’s to come, gazing at Tovar to find any inclination of what the contents of this letter mean to you, either of you. He is nearly trembling but he remains steadfast in his stance, not once letting go of the witch in his hands as you continue to read the words so close to you, yet so far.

“Until the night of her final sighting, we labored under the notion that she had been cruelly abducted. But, oh, how far this presumption was from the truth! When at last we found her, it was in the arms of the devil himself. Not as his prisoner, nor his thrall, but as his equal, his beloved.” You look up to Tovar once more and find him refusing to meet your eyes, as if seeing you would break him for eternity. “She had not been coerced, nor, as his own kind did divulge to us, had he been ensnared by her enchantments. Together they stood, bound by their own volition, in a union both repugnant and unholy. How vile such a betrayal is to witness!” At the mention of the relationship, a flash of an unknown, distant memory crashes through your mind, and you are met with visions of your arms wrapped around the golden skin of a man, one who resembles the vampire standing not a few steps away from you.

No, it cannot be.

“Let it be known that on that cursed night, witches and vampires, long foes, stood as one to halt an abomination. It was a spectacle both harrowing and grotesque—to see the depths of her devotion to him, and his to her.” You are not aware of the tears streaming down your cheeks until you shakily gaze at Tovar and find similar sadness rolling down his face and onto his armor. The words ripping through your chest are of similar torment to him, but he does not budge to grow closer to you, instead furthering his painful grip on Petra out of heartbreak and anger.

“More abhorrent still were his pleas, his promises of eternal torment should harm befall her. In the end, it was their own affections that wrought their downfall. Unable to endure the sight of her bloodied form, he cast aside all pretenses of strength and supplicated himself for her sake—not his own, but hers alone.” You cannot find it in yourself to read it further, the retelling of those events twisting a knife deep within your heart that you swear you may die should you continue.

“Read on, querida.”

“In response to his desperate entreaties, we offered him a choice, though it pained us greatly to do so. It was then he understood why their bond could never endure. A single glance sufficed to convey our intent, followed by but a whisper: she was to forget him, utterly and irrevocably, until the very earth itself crumbled into dust. And thus, he consented, knowing it was their only reprieve. He resolved to undertake the task himself, loathing the mere notion that another might exert such power over her. He could not, would not, permit any other soul to carry out so dreadful an act. It was a torment of unimaginable cruelty, and he alone would bear its weight.” You can feel Tovar’s spirit burst into little fires, and you know then why his hurt runs deeper than your own, why you longed to be near him all those weeks ago but chose to stay clear of him out of a hidden inclination, as if growing closer to him made you burn.

“When his turn came, the coven encircled him, our enchantments weaving an intricate web about his mind, until her name was lost to him entirely. The very notion of her existence was swept away, as fleeting and insubstantial as the sands of the Egyptian dunes beneath the relentless desert wind. Perhaps he welcomed it, for the burden of love was too great even for one such as he. Yet, I confess, I do not believe the spell was entirely imposed upon him. A creature of his power could never have been subdued against his will. For this reason alone we sent her to him, to bring about his end. How little did we anticipate the depth of their bond, for it became evident they would be one another’s undoing.” There is no doubt in your mind on who the letter is referring to, as each word delivers a long lost memory you have begged your soul to recall countless of times. You can envision him so clearly in your mind—his laughter as you drew circles on his chest, his eyes gazing at you longingly as you kissed your love across his skin, his hands as they broke you apart and bound you together with affection and loyalty, and above all, his spirit as it promised to never leave yours, not even if the gods themselves ordered you apart.

He was yours. And you were his.

“I recount these dreadful events as a record of the night in Luxor, that it may stand as a warning to all who come after. We ensured that no offspring could result from their cursed union, for such a progeny would herald the ruin of all creation. Yet, I implore you, vigilance must remain eternal. They were not easily subdued, and should fate ever conspire to reunite them, it will herald the death of us all.” Tovar kneels to the ground, his mouth whispering promises of evil into your sister’s ears as you finish the letter and finally read the betrayal of the writer.

“Yours in eternal duty, Petra A.”

Silence fills the room as you allow the history within the letter to settle in your mind. You fold the letter and place it in your pocket, not caring for anything but the woman kneeling in front of you.

“You betrayed me. You- my own people, betrayed me? How could you do it?” You ask her as you crawl towards her on the floor, not once asking Tovar to ease his grasp on her.

“You have to know why. Your…union is- it is unforgivable.” Her hatred disgusts you, and you frown at how easily she attempts to explain her actions.

“You speak of our union so simply, as if you yourself did not join my brothers and ask them to aid your conquest.” Tovar growls his own concerns to her, not caring for how violent he is becoming as his nails bleed her skin further. Her sobs are silent and she shuts her eyes when you stand and move away from her.

“I need you to know Petra that- that my lack of forgiveness is not due to your betrayal, but because you enforced your pathetic values over my happiness, over his peace. I will find you in every lifetime, and I will rip out your soul with my bare hands…and send you to the goddess without powers, and without explanation.” Before you can respond to you, you reach out your hand and grab hold of her mind, weaving intricate designs around her body until you find what you are searching for and tugging it from her physical presence.

Tovar watches as a yellow cloud forms around the room, and with a snap of your fingers, a mixture of fire and water storms around the yellow shadow, encircling it until it turns into ash and drops to the ground. You twirl your finger around the dust, collecting it into a small pouch and shutting it tightly.

If he is in awe of what you had just done, he says nothing and stands to his height, kicking the lifeless body at his feet to ensure she is no longer alive

“What will you do with her?” You ask as you watch Tovar drag her body from your room and throw her into his own that is across from you

“Scatter her across the Nile.” He shuts the door to his quarters and returns, settling down on the bed beside you quietly.

“My own people betrayed me.” The admission hurts more than you care to admit, and you turn to look at Tovar, only to find him wiping the streaks of tears away from his cheeks.

“Only because mine told them.” He responds instantly, and you hate how little he seems to be affected by his own revelation.

“What happened?” You are not sure what brings you to ask him such a question, but a part of you wishes to know whether he knew beforehand or if her presence alerted him to so sinister a plot.

“I sought you out after our conversation, to ask if you can aid me with…it does not matter. When I could not find you, I came to rest, and found the door unlocked, your friend spewing words that seemed too familiar for me to ignore.” You make a mental note of asking him later what he required from you, and you watch closely as his lips quiver with what happened while you were in the village.

“She did not appear too taken by my presence, but when I passed into your room, her fear stenched the room instantly, and I knew then that- that what I felt initially was not intuition but truth.” He looks to you then, and you find the brown of his eyes so expressive, a reminder of how he looked at you before…all those years ago.

“She must have seen realization dawn on me and felt it unnecessary to continue her lies. She had come with those bandits willingly, bandits which I should let you know, are of my own kind. They feared our paths had crossed in this land and wanted to ensure we did not remember what had happened before. Before I can ask her what she was referring to, she did…this.” He points at the lashes across his face, the deep cuts covering his arms and chest, wounds you hurt to think of. Without much thought, you stand and approach your bag, collecting the herbs you managed to purchase before the events of the night unfolded.

“What are you doing?” He stands instantly, only to sit back down when you turn around and silently ask him to rest. Tovar remains quiet as you bring your bag to him and remove as many of the healing herbs as you can.

“Can you please remove your armor and tunic?” You ask once, refusing to look into his eyes as he begins the slow, agonizing process of taking his clothes off. Neither of you say anything as you wait for him to throw his belongings to the floor, and you let him know that you will fix them as soon as you are finished administering the medication to his skin.

“This may hurt a bit. I- forgive me.”

“It is nothing, hermosa.” You do not dare ask him why his names for you changed, but you wait patiently as he continues to tell you what Petra informed him of.

“She knew my wrath would fuel me, and by the time I had my hand wrapped around her throat, she spilled her secrets easily, telling me of everything your kind and mine had done to us 173 years ago. She- she spoke of their success as if it was destined by God himself, as if our lives meant nothing. I knew I would rip her throat to pieces if she did not call you, so I led her to believe that I will release her when you come.” He hisses in pain when you rub a brown salve across his chest and arms, turning the other way to avoid showing you his fangs.

“And then I came.” You distract him, letting him know that you understand he does not mean to snarl at you.

“And then you came.” His body shakes the lower you apply the herbs, and when he is sure you are finished, he stands and walks away from you.

A loud gasp spills into the room when you see his back and the wound he received because of you.

“T-tovar.” You whimper his name, and it takes every ounce of control to not throw your arms around him and apologize for your lack of sight.

“I am not worth your tears, sabia.” He turns around and smiles sadly at you, reaching for your cheeks and wiping the tears away. You step closer to him, and only when Tovar scents your body does he come to his senses, quickly backing away from you and reaching for his tunic.

“Wait- Tovar, please wait. I- I can heal this.” You lead him to the bedside once more, and kneel on it as you ask him to face away from you.

“Do not worry yourself.”

“You and I both know that this silver will only spread, and unless you feed now, you will not be able to heal quickly. Please, let me heal you.” Your voice breaks at the end, and Tovar can do nothing when you plead with him. He nods silently and shuts his eyes as he feels your hands skim across the skin of his back. Your touch is so familiar yet so distant, and he suspects that similar emotions tunnel through you, but he pays them no mind, not wanting to abuse your kindness and have you think he wants more from you now that-

Now that you both knew the truth.

“O Isis, great healer, mother of Horus, deliver your humble servant, Pero Tovar, from all evil. May the breath of life fill his lungs, and may your light heal his wounds. By the power of Geb and Nut, the father of the earth and the mother of the sky, may your body be restored. Let the sacred words cleanse your mind and body, and the breath of life renew your soul and spirit.” Tovar can feel you touch his skin in strange patterns, and he nearly asks why you are choosing the old gods of this land when he feels a kindle of fire radiate across his back. He haunches over in pain, but says nothing as you continue to touch his back, your skin softer and hotter than anything he has ever felt in his life.

He is unsure how long he remains in your bed, and only when he feels you let out a long sigh does he turn around and find you slowly falling over.

“Cariño, you are hurt!” You smile at the worry in his voice, chuckling at how different everything seems to be now that you both put a name to the mixed feelings you experienced all those weeks ago upon your reuniting.

“It…I am well, P-pero.” The whisper of his name could send him flying if he was capable of such a feat, and he swallows thickly as he lays you down and covers you with the bedsheets.

“Rest, mi luna. And I will come to wake you tomorrow.” He smiles down at you, the expression letting you feel a safety you have not known in so long. You nod absentmindedly, letting go of his hands and falling into a deep sleep as Tovar collects his belongings and leaves your room. He locks the door behind you and makes quick work of his clothes, his body rejuvenated with more than your words and herbs.

Entering into his room, he is met with the lifeless body of Petra, and he cannot help but sneer at everything she has done to him and you. Without wasting another moment, he carries her body and shuts his eyes, racing down the stairs and out to the Nile bank in a matter of seconds. He glances around to ensure no one can see him, and when he is positive he is alone, he quickly shreds the witch's body to pieces, scattering them across the river as he promised you until nothing but her blood remains on the soiled ground.

Looking out into the dark horizon, he allows himself a moment of respite and clarity, wanting to bask in the knowledge of what he has felt ever since he laid eyes on you in the qahwa was nothing but his heart’s memories begging him to remember you.

He had known then it was no coincidence, the way your scent was so familiar to his senses, and he was aware that this same recognition was what drove him to seek you out after the battle and know why your sister’s blood was so fundamental to his memories.

Tovar did not know what would become of either of you, but after your little tricks minutes ago, and the way you wept as you read that letter, he dared to hope.

Hope for a chance to prove his loyalty to you.

Hope for the possibility of finding love in your eyes once more, the same deep affection he has felt for you all those years ago, and the one that drove him to remain near you ever since your paths crossed.

“The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.” —E. E. CummingsDecember 3, 1422

He was different, much less wary than before, and more interested in keeping your company throughout the journey. You could not refuse his kindness, nor his friendship. So much has passed between the two of you in the past few weeks. From fighting bandits alongside each other, to sitting quietly around the fire at night, your shared experiences grew with each passing day, and before you could place a word on it, your fondness for him evolved into something deeper, something you reminisced about and wondered if it was new or based on past feelings.

The memories returned, one by one, and as you trotted alongside him throughout the day, you stole glances of him, often finding his brown eyes aimed at you before you attended yours on him. He would smile and turn aside, embarrassed you had caught him openly dreaming of you.

And with those memories came a sense of possessiveness. You could not keep silent when he was approached by the bedouin women you met along the way, and he certainly could not keep his mouth shut when other men in your company sought you out late at night. There was an unspoken rule between the two of you, an understanding that you were not available to others, and you desired to speak of its finality, but it appeared that he wanted to address said rule long after the mission was finished. He preferred to keep you at arm’s length, afraid to speak of the matters that befell you on All Hallows’ Eve. You told him later of your reluctant thoughts on whom you thought was a close friend, surprised to find him answering you about your own kind’s heightened powers during this time of year. He recalled things you were sure only a witch would know, and smiled as he realized how he knew such matters.

The more time you spent together, the more you understood of your past life, or, the life you held before they made you forget each other. You learned about his past, and in turn, realized things within your own life. Tovar too became more aware of his behavior the more you spoke of what you envisioned each night. Of course, you would never tell him of the more intimate moments your mind’s eye recollected, but you got the sense that he knew. The mischievous smile that graced his features and the shy demeanor that overtook him each time you recollected a day from your past lead you to believe that he saw similar dreams, or perhaps, imagined said sentiments when he rested his body late at night.

Yet, with those shared experiences, you had to continue pretending that you were not more. As much as he hated to admit it, Tovar was a shy soul, and you were not one to speak of such matters with someone unwilling to actively take part in such a conversation. So, you let him lead, praying each night that he would begin to notice the way you look at him, the longing filling your hands whenever he is near, the wildness of your heartbeat as it whispered his name over and over again.

But he never crossed that line, and you pushed his reluctance aside as you took your belongings and made your way to one of the hamams. You had invited him earlier, letting him know of the privacy you can afford with your earnings. Then he brushed off your offer, mumbling something or other about not trusting the open space about the establishment. But you could see through the excuse; something was bothersome to him, and you hoped you had not done anything to upset him. He may have been a nightwalker, but he held a sensitive soul, one you remembered vividly from before. When neither of you moved following your invitation, you looked upon him, silently asking if he was bothered by something you may have done. He shook his head then, as if to tell you he can read your thoughts and does not wish to dwell on the matter.

“The waters in these baths come from the oasis nearby, they have healing abilities.” You attempt to tempt him, but he does not budge, refusing you once more as he walks away and disappointedly responds to you.

“Déjalo.”

You were not sure if it was possible to be more plain; sure, if he wishes to discuss your situation after the commission, you could take him up on the offer then. But he does not bother to explain himself to you, the hot and cold behavior throwing you off and raising anxious questions in your mind. You pray to the gods you had not accidentally pushed him away. It would break you.

A part of you wanted nothing more than to blame him, but you could not. His kind was never confrontational with matters of the heart, and you guessed it took you a long time before to become so intimate with him.

Reaching the bath you rented for the night, you smile at the woman sitting outside and let her know that another, more brooding gentleman may or may not join you. You ignore the smirk on her expression, silently entering the vapor-filled room and shutting the door behind you.

It is more exquisite than you initially thought, and you set your towels aside, stripping down to nothing and throwing the dress atop your towels before stepping into the hot water. It does wonders to your body, the immense and quick relief allowing you to momentarily forget why you had originally wanted to spend some time here. The quietness of the room, and the marvelous architecture engulfing your tired soul, allow you to doze off. You whisper soothing spells across the waters, wanting to feel more relaxed in preparation for the journey tomorrow.

As you float around the small space, you feel a familiar presence grow closer to you, and not moments after your eyes flutter open do you hear the door to the hamam open wide, signaling the arrival of none other than Tovar. He reluctantly enters the cloudy area, adjusting his sight to the space until his attention falls directly on you.

Silence fills the room as you both acknowledge the other’s presence, and before you can ask him what has changed his mind, Tovar places his belongings beside your own and asks you to turn around. You give him a moment of privacy and face the small window at the end of the little opening within the wall, watching the stars twinkle outside in an attempt to focus on anything other than the nude man touching the same waters you are resting in.

“Are you decent?” You cannot help but smile at the question, and when a gruff consent vibrates across the walls, you turn around and finally meet Tovar’s eyes. Although you have healed him weeks prior, the sight of his golden skin littered with old wounds and scars sets you on fire, and you have to force your gaze away from his chest to avoid embarrassing yourself.

“I am glad you came,” your attempt at making the moment less awkward fails, as Tovar does not bother to respond to you but steps around the water silently and lets the heat heal his weary soul.

You are unsure how much time passes, but you let Tovar lead the space, afraid his anxiety would force him out of the waters. You can tell he is watching you closely, and you do not bother to behave any differently than if you were alone, knowing that he much prefers the quiet enjoyment of the intimate moment over anything more involving. He allows himself to relax soon after, and you throw him a soft smile as you pass the palms of your hands across the waters and heat it just a little bit more. His skin grows a little red, and you worry it may not be to his liking.

“Is it uncomfortable?” You inquire, hoping he would not shy from telling you his true feelings.

“Está bien,” he breathes lowly, and you cannot help the shiver that courses down your spine when his deep voice reaches your skin. Tovar notices the effect he holds on you, and without dwelling much on the appropriateness of his actions, he approaches you, his gaze never once wavering as the water dances around your bodies. You hold your breath, afraid to break whatever haze that befell you, and when he is a mere hair-breadth away, you look up and into his eyes, allow your chest to rise and fall rapidly as shallow breaths come and go, signaling your excitement and nervousness.

You watch him closely, and in turn, Tovar studies every movement of your body, as if you were a prey he has been seeking for ions. He never once looks beneath your neckline, and you credit his immense self-control, knowing you are incapable of offering him similar comfort. When your back touches the cold tiles of the wall, you swallow the lump in your throat and quiver, lips shaking at the prospect of whatever the vampire in front of you has in mind.

His eyes are dark with promises only you know he can fulfill, and as stares into you, you are suddenly taken back to a similar moment, one that has you regret ever hurting him. Focusing on the scar across his eye, you raise your hand and slide it over his temple and cheek, frowning at imposing such lasting violence on his skin.

“Forgive me,” there is nothing more to say, the history you find in his eyes letting you know he remembers what you have done to him upon your first meeting. He shuts his eyes and nuzzles into your hand, unaware of the way his hand reaches out to grasp at your upper arm. Tovar pulls you closer until you are breathing the same air, and when he opens his eyes and finds tears rolling down your cheeks, he wipes them away, his attention seeking your lips when a droplet of water sticks to the lower skin. Sliding his thumb across your mouth, he parts his own lips and tilts closer to you, until nose nudges yours and forces you to look up.

So very close to feeling his mouth steal your breath away, you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces when Tovar suddenly moves to the other end of the bath, his back turned away from you and his muscles rippling with an anger you have not seen for weeks.

“Wha-”

“I cannot understand you.” He is seething, and had you not been sure he was finally going to claim you, you would have thought this was all a dream, a very sick, twisted dream.

“What…what do you mean?”

“You allow me such…liberties, and yet you- you seek out the merchant boy whenever you can? As if we are nothing but- but…” Tovar trips over his words, and your frown deepens when you finally piece together what he means to say to you.

“Tovar, if there is a concern you wish to address, do so plainly.” You approach him then, voice wavering slightly when he turns around and stares somewhere behind you, as if he could not bear looking into your eyes.

“Do not play coy with me, bruja.” The name he breathes, one that slowly turned into something that makes you smile, now sounds nothing more than an insult, and you feel a pang of hurt at the insinuation behind his words. You try to maintain your composure, but the manner in which he is set in his mind lets you know he may not see past his perspective at this moment.

“I am not one to jest, Tovar, and until you are willing to speak freely and listen in turn, I will waste my time. Enjoy the bath…alone.” You attempt to move past him but he reaches out for your arm and pulls you back, causing you to snarl at him out of fear of getting hurt any further.

“Do not touch me!”

He removes his hand immediately, staring at fiery eyes as you narrow them at him in irritation. You know you should leave, not speak another word that may be misconstrued or worse, one that cannot be taken back. But his anger lights your own and you walk towards him, pushing your finger into his chest as you part with nothing but lies.

“If you were vain, I would justify your anger as such. But this is different and whatever jealousy you are falling into is unnecessary.”

“And what if I am?” His question is unexpected, skin buzzing with energy now that you have spoken of what his mind has been thinking of for the past few days. You attempt to convince yourself to retract whatever thoughts brewing deep within, but seeing him react so strongly to your proximity and assertiveness pushes you further and before you can control yourself and walk away, you retort with a hiss.

“If you were, I would tell you that you have no reason to be. I am nothing to you, and I am certainly not interested in this swine of a man. This behavior will only-” Perhaps the universe decided against your response and wished to avoid any further misunderstandings because just as you are readying yourself for an outright battle, the doorkeeper walks in and interrupts your conversation.

“Yajib ‘an tughadiron,” she requests for both of you to leave, and you suspect it may be because of the hamam’s rules, the ones you chose to ignore for Tovar’s sake. Shaking your head at him, you do not care for your nudity as you leave the waters and haphazardly wear your tunics once more, apologizing to the young woman for any inconvenience you may have caused and leaving before Tovar can so much as think of another sentiment against you.

Only when you reach the dressing rooms do you allow Tovar’s concerns to settle in, and you settle against the wall, eyes looking into nothing when it occurs to you that he has plainly admitted to feeling jealous of your conversations with the merchant. You are unsure why he would allow his mind to tread towards such thoughts when he can plainly hear your words and understand your inquiries are nothing more than shared interests in the trade products. Your journey was close to an end. Edfu was a few days away from your destination and you wished to see what goods you can buy from the merchants that may be of benefit to you once you leave.

There was absolutely no reason for Tovar to ever waste a moment on why you are conversing with the man, and you shake your head in disappointment, knowing this could all be avoidable had he asked to speak with you on your…relationship.

Putting on your clothes, you swear beneath your breath at the thickness of that man, knowing that it was probably as difficult to get him to confess his feelings to you before as it was now.

“Goddess help me,” you speak to the empty room, only to flinch when you hear heavy breathing emanate from behind you. Turning around, you find Tovar’s chest rising and falling angrily, as if the mere sight of you caused him extreme discomfort. Not caring for the display of intensity, you pull on your tunics and avoid his gaze, allowing him another moment of respite before you truly rip into him. He surprises you, though, when he approaches you and waits for you to look at him before he speaks.

“No, you are wrong. You are not nothing to me, and…I- I am jealous bruja, I have been jealous for weeks now.” The way in which he murmurs his confession disarms you, and you stop moving altogether, eyebrows furrowing at his choice in words and their timing. You cross your arms and meet his gaze head on, refusing to back down as you have done so weeks prior.

“Who could you possibly be jealous of, Tovar? I rarely speak to anyone in our company.” You know better than to interrupt him, but you cannot help the question from leaving your lips, wanting him to think through his next words carefully to avoid irritating you any further. Then he shakes his head and swallows the lump in his throat, and you are, once again, mollified at how easily he affects your mood.

“I am not jealous of those men, I- I am jealous of-” You can tell he is struggling to find the right word to speak, because his hands clench and unclench, jaw set in place and lips pursing with impatience, as if he hated himself for not being capable of speaking his mind freely. You wait for him, knowing that you may never have him so forthright ever again, and as his breathing calms, you are suddenly hit with a wave of defeat and hurt, feelings you were positive are not your own but his.

“I am jealous of the rain.” The words escape his lips, barely above a whisper, yet heavy to feel like a confession of the soul. For a man of his stature, you are shocked to see a shaking ripple descend down his form, his hands ball into fists at his sides, the knuckles turning white, as though he is holding himself back from closing the distance between you. When he finally musters up the courage to look at you, you are met with a vulnerability you never thought you could see in him again—a rawness that strips away the hardened exterior he wears like armor.

His brows knit together, raised in despair, as if willing you to understand the storm inside him without him having to explain. You blink in confusion, unsure what he wants to convey. Tovar mistakes your quietness for indifference, clearing his throat to give himself enough time to find the necessary sentiments in hopes of forcing your heart to beat for him. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier, though no less anguished.

“I am jealous of the rain, mi amor. I am jealous of the rain because it touches you so intimately, night after night, when I cannot.” His shoulders, broad and strong, sag ever so slightly as if they can no longer bear the weight of his emotions. And you feel your breath hitch, his words settling like an ocean of water on your chest, heavy with longing and need. He does not stop, the floodgates of his emotions now open and unreserved, begging to be released for his sake and for a glimpse of hope from yours.

“I am jealous of the rain because it kisses your skin continuously when I dream of nothing else but that very thing.” Tovar takes a step closer, the space between you trembling with unspoken yearning. You can feel heat radiation from him, the fire in his words burning brother with every syllable. And your eyes, full of wonder and curiosity, pull him in further offering him a glimpse of what he held in his arms centuries ago. He was not a man of faith, far from it, but seeing the manner in which your body leans into his space, Tovar is sure his prayers have been answered, and your spirit finally felt the desperation of his very essence.

“I am jealous of the rain because…” His voice falters, his jaw tightening as he struggles to continue, afraid you fear the depth of what he desires from you. “Because every time it comes, you welcome it with open arms and smiles, letting it do whatever it wishes with your body…when I am desperately-” A single tear trails down his cheek, and you see his composure shatter as his hand briefly reaches towards you, only to stop mid-air, retreating as though he’s afraid his touch might burn you.

Or worse, your skin sets him into an eternal fire.

“When I am desperately wanting to be the one you welcome, the one you grace with upturned lips.” Tovar’s revelation hands in the air, raw and unrelenting. You feel your heart ache for him, but before you can respond, he surges forward again, his voice rising with an almost pained intensity. You dare not flinch, knowing whatever has hold of him will soon overflow through you and push you to put him out of his misery.

“Do you know what it feels like, bruja? To be so close to you and yet so far away? To burn every time you laugh, every time you speak, knowing that I am nothing but a shadow at your side? One that you despise because of what my kind has done to you.”

He steps back as if his own confession has wounded him, his hands shaking at the thought of you denying his heart, the one he had no choice but to bear to you, uncaring of what you may do to it. His next words are softer, almost fragile, as if spoken into a void he is confident will only face him in return and ignore him.

“I am jealous of the rain…but I am terrified as well. Terrified that you will leave once I-”

“Pero,” you interrupt, trembling at the intensity of his feelings, and the knowledge that he more than reciprocated your own but was drowning in a sea of helplessness.

Pero freezes, his dark eyes widening with disbelief at hearing you call him by his given name. You step forward, lips parting in anticipation, and for the first time, your voice breaks through his storm of self-pity.

“You have been jealous of the rain, and all this time, I have been jealous of the moon.” His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features at hearing you return his confession in kind. But you continue, growing steadier the closer you move towards him.

“Watching how it lights up your face at night when I wish to be the one you look to.” His breath catches as your words settle between you, and you press on, your own emotions spilling forth like a river breaking through land.

“Longing for you to see me the way I see you. Praying to every god known to man that you will look past my nature and find my heart, the one that speaks your name with every beat.” Pero’s expression shifts, his guarded walls crumbling as he steps closer. His voice is shaking with uncertainty as finally allows himself to touch you. His hand finds your cheek and he leans forward to rest his forehead against your own, shutting his eyes to ensure that this was not a dream, that you were in his arms, returning his love and more.

“How can you be jealous of the moon…when you are mi luna?” He pulls away then, searching your eyes for any lies and finding nothing but unadulterated truth. You bite into your lower lip as his eyes pierce through you, leaving you breathless and needy for him. Swallowing hard, you cannot hold back any longer and throw your arms around him, letting your body sag against his embrace as he holds you against him and tightens his arms around you.

“I—I cannot breathe when you are not near.” Pero releases a deep sigh of relief at your confession, his breath a ragged whisper as he nuzzles into your neck and scents your intoxicating skin.

“Dios mío, bruja. You will be the death of me.” For the first time in decades, the weight of longing gives way to the lightness of surrender, and you dig your nails into his back, wanting him to know that you cannot ever allow space between you now that it has finally disappeared.

“I think I am finally starting to believe you mean that.” You chuckle against him, and as you feel him pull away, you look at him and search his face for any hint of hesitation. But all you find is sincerity, his eyes fixed on you, dark and unwavering, as if you are the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“And if I do?” Pero asks, his voice low and tinged with an unguarded mischievousness.

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his tone, the unspoken please woven into his words forcing your heart to pound against your ribcage. The warmth of his presence pulls you in, and you swallow nervously, wanting to ensure you have his undivided attention before you reveal your deepest desires.

“Then I beg you to show me.”

His eyes, once filled with mischief, convey disbelief, and he simply stares at you as though he cannot comprehend what he is hearing. The air around you feels charged, heavy with unspoken hunger that neither of you dare to release just yet.

“Amor,” he says, ceasing to breathe until he is certain of what you are asking of him.

“Pero, please.” You clasp onto the collar of his tunic, eyes locked onto his as you will him to understand that you mean your request with every ounce of your being.

The conflict in his eyes is palpable, his jaw clenching as he fights some internal battle, his physical needs pushing past all else.

“You wish for me to-” He stops himself, his words faltering as if he is afraid to say them aloud. Pero brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch featherlight, yet intense enough to send a shiver down your spine, the moment making it impossible to look away.

“Yes,” you nod, praying he can move past any reluctance and see your desire for him as clear as day. “I need you, Pero.”

For a moment, he simply looks at you, as though trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a deep sigh, his gaze softens and he grazes your cheek with his fingers.

“If I have you,” he says quietly, wanting you to understand how fervent his feelings for you are, “I will never again let you out of my sight. I will fight the heavens and the earth to keep you by my side.” His promise should terrify you, the possessiveness and loyalty he displays making you think twice before you completely surrender to him. But the opposite occurs, and you find yourself willing to forever be at his mercy.

“Pero, I am yours,” You reply, balancing yourself on your toes as you tilt your chin up to offer him a final answer. “I have always been yours.”

His lips curve into the faintest smile, a bittersweet expression that speaks of all the pain, longing, and love he has carried for so long. Slowly, he leans in, parting his lips as you both shut your eyes and finally give your hearts away.

Again.

The world around you fades into nothingness as your breath mingles with his own, your lips touching with a mixture of tenderness and desperation. The soft kiss is thick with emotions, and you dare not let go of him, terrified he might disappear should you release him. Pero must feel a similar fear, his hands rough and trembling as he holds onto your waist with one and cups your neck with the other. You both tilt your heads to the side with need to deepen the kiss, and no sooner than you part your lips does Pero, with fierce and unapologetic rawness, collide against you. He presses against you with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs, the hand around your neck slipping into your damp hair and tangling in the strands as he pulls you impossibly closer. His body molds into yours, a growl escaping his throat when he feels your hand find their way to his chest and clutch at him as if your own life depended on his presence.

And when his teeth grace your lower lip, a spark of intensity ignites something primal between you. Your heart beats erratically at the shameful thought storms your mind, and you find yourself wishing with every bit of you that Pero could see through your need and give you what you desire without you needing to beg him for it.

Pero must sense the wanton ache threatening to make itself known because he finally breaks away, not to pull back, but to study your expression and take pride in the effect he holds on you. Your lips tingle, swollen and red from the raw intensity of the exchange, and you cannot help but stare at his fangs, wondering what they would feel like as they sank deep into your skin until he gorged himself on you. Then you meet his eyes and are taken aback by the golden rings piercing through you. It takes you but a moment to understand that he knows what you want from him, and he licks his lips dramatically, savoring the taste of you before he leans down and carries you in his arms.

“Whatever debauched desire you want from me, querida, it is yours.” You take note of the truths between the lines, flushing heatedly at being so seen by the man you have fallen in love with once and learned to love again.

“Take me.” The two words are whispered with assertiveness, and Pero does not need to be told twice, quietly pushing your head to rest on his shoulders as he rushes to his quarters. Neither of you say anything, knowing that should you speak another word, you would have each other out in the open without a single care. Only when you reach the hallway of your rooms does Pero stop and turn to you.

“Do you wish for my bed, or for your own?” The question is asked, not out of reluctance, but out of care. He wants to ensure your comfort, refusing to place you into a distressing space that may have you guessing his loyalty to you.

“I want to be in your bed. I- I want to erase the memories of our last goodbye, the silence that followed us like ghosts. I want to feel the world in your arms, Pero, and nowhere else.” The sentiment is heartbreaking, and Pero nearly falls to his knees at the depth of your emotions. He nods once and makes his way to his quarters, unlocking the door and walking inside as you snap your fingers to shut the door behind you.

He sets you down and gulps nervously, hands etching to strip you bare but waiting for permission to do so. You rest your forehead on his chest to quiet your mind, and when you are sure you can meet his piercing eyes once more, you raise your head and look at him. A faint glow of candle light dances shadows against the stone walls, the tension in the air simmering and threatening to overflow. You lock your gaze upon him, wishing to hear what he has dreamed of, hoping it is not too far from what your mind conjured up of him.

“What do you want?” You ask, allowing his presence to anchor you to the ground so you do not fall over from the proximity of his rigid body.

“I want…you.” Pero says, his hesitance born not from his feelings but the self-control he is fighting to maintain. “I have never felt as deep and as torturous a desire as I feel for you.” His confession pins you to him, and you suddenly feel like a prey ensnared with her predator, haunted by the thought of having him in such a way that the universe deemed unholy.

But how could such love be unholy, when all you seek to do is pray his name like a sweet benediction, and in turn, permit him to prostrate at your feet as he entreats for a glimpse of your affections.

Unable to bear the separation for another moment, you pull away and begin to undo the knots of your clothes. Pero bites into his lower lip, refusing to focus anywhere but your fingers as you unlace the fabric shielding you from his eyes. With each piece of fabric you throw onto the floor, Pero finds it a little more difficult to maintain himself, the last ounce of self-control threatening to evaporate into thin air.

Afraid of what he may do to you, he mirrors you and slowly unclothes himself, finding the fire in your eyes as heated and cardinal as the flame burning his soul. And when you are both left with nothing but your linen undergarments, Pero stretches his hand and takes hold of the band around your breasts, waiting until you nod to unwind it from your body. He slips his fingers beneath the white fabric and pushes it down, no longer able to keep his gaze appropriate as your skin is displayed for his hungry eyes. He looks at you, and he finds his mind conjuring up images of similar moments from a past life, ones that had him kiss and bite along the curve of your delicious breasts until you could not bear it any longer. He ceases to breathe altogether, returning his attention to your face as he steps closer to you and pushes your lower undergarment to the floor, finally allowing him to view you whole.

“You…you undo me. Every glance, every breath, every inch of you.” His voice quivers as he speaks, his hands grasping your waist and forcing you to shiver in return.

“Pero,” you place your hands across his chest, fisting the linen of his shirt and pushing it a little higher, signaling your need to see him. “I wish to see you…all of you.” You gulp anxiously, wanting to simultaneously rapidly surrender to him and slowly fall in his arms. His eyes darken, a mixture of determination and something more primal flickering in his gaze at your request sounding so melodious to his ears. He removes your hands from his chest and takes hold of the edge of his shirt, raising it high above his head and swinging it behind him as he stands in all his glory.

You finally allow yourself to properly view him, and you cannot help but gasp at the glory of his body, the muscles rippling when your gaze falls upon them and envision long nights of passion, soaked in sweat and pleasure.

“Goddess in heaven, you are…breathtaking.” You whisper, fingers training the sharp lines of his jaw, down to his neck and lower to his rigid stomach. His breath quickens beneath your touch, and you feel your heart threaten to beat out of your chest when he grasps your hand and pulls you against him, until your hard nipples brush against the hair on his chest.

“You have stolen the words from my lips.” Pero smirks at you, and you feel a bit dazed from the sudden, possessive touches, wishing he could end your misery then and there, push you down on all force and fill you with his gorgeous cock until you knew nothing but the sound of his name and the heat of his seed spilling inside you. You blink at him, distracted by thoughts of what he may do to you, only to find his grip loosening around your wrist and nearly pull away.

“Is there something on your mind?” Your voice drops, filled with worry at the thought of him doubting you.

“I- I do not wish to hurt you. I fear that should I…should we continue-” Pero hesitates for a moment, uncertainty creeping into his heart as he registers the dazed look about you due to his neediness. He fears what he may do should you continue to be so willing and pliant in his embrace. He knows, and remembers, all that you have done to each other centuries ago, but a part of him understands that this was then.

And you were here, now.

“I have wanted you, for so long mi cielo. I am unsure whether I can be gentle tonight.” You interrupt his train of thought, cupping his face with reverence, until his eyes focus on you once more, and ignore the flying doubts threatening to halt your union.

“You do not need to hold back,” you continue, voice assertive, yet filled with a desperate need that grows hotter the longer you remain so far from him, “not with me.”

“I do not need gentle, Pero. I need you.” You breathe with a finality, pressing your body closer to his until he sees and feels nothing but you. His lips part at your confidence, cock twitching at hearing what you crave from him.

“You will tell me to stop,” he says, voice laced with a warning that you know better than to ignore, “tell me to stop before I go too far.”

“I am yours, always.” your eyes never leave his, the trust between you simmering and reaching a zenith more powerful than any fear. He leans down, molding his lips with your own as he wraps his arms around your thighs and carries you, deepening the kiss when you cross your legs behind his back and swallow his moans. He kneels on the bed, but does not let go of you, slowly moving across the soft sheets until he lays you down against his pillows. You twist your head to the cushions beneath you, taking in Pero’s musk and filling your senses with his scent. He sits back and watches you lose yourself in him. Waiting for you to satisfy your cravings, Pero traces his fingers down your body, clenching his jaws tightly when he flicks a nipple and watches it pucker beneath his touch.

There is a glow about your skin that he cannot fathom, and he commits this moment to memory, wanting to create new visions grounded more in the present than the past.

“Your blood, it sings to me, mi bruja,” Pero groans, forcing a shudder across your very being as his words settle and pull you from your momentary haze. “I can hear it rushing to the surface, desperately pleading to touch my tongue.” He gives you no time to dwell on his promises, falling against you and attacking your neck with wet kisses and teasing bites. You drag your nails across his back, tangling your fingers in his hair as he holds onto you hard enough to brand you. Your scratches sends a new wave of pleasure down his spine, and he continues to lick and nip at your sternum, the top of your breasts, and at last, your hardened peaks. His fingers deftly pinch the other nipple, rolling it aggressively until you finally ask him what you have thought of since you knew who he was to you.

“Do it, please.” You moan, your body aching to feel his teeth sink deep within and drag your blood onto his tongue. He blows air against the cold, damp skin of your breasts, watching you squirm beneath him and shake with shameless lust.

“No, no little one. The first time my teeth sink into you,” he hums his pleasure against you, voice dark and seductive as he leaves a trail of bites down your stomach, “it will be when my cock is deep inside you, filling you with my seed.” He pushes your thighs apart, nesting his hips perfectly against you, his cock twitching against your heated core deliciously, the hard, velvety skin kissing your mound and silently asking it to wait…just a little bit more.

“Ohhhh g-gods,” your hands grip his shoulders tightly, and you muster up the courage to look down, wanting to watch his every move as he finally brings you to the deepest abyss.

“Por favor, mi hechicera, call for me. Call for me as you always have, as I have longed to hear again.” He urges as one hand descends down your body and draws patterns across your inner thighs while the other rests above your heart, wanting to hear it beat his name with each kiss he delivers to your flushed body.

“Pero,” you sigh longingly, the word slipping from your lips both like a prayer and a confession.

“Hmmm, again.” Pero groans, his touches growing more confident, reaching just a bit closer to where you ache for him. He roams his eyes across your body, finding the familiarity of your beauty melancholic yet intoxicating.

“P-Pero…oh-” Again, you moan his name with flagrant agony, suspended between pain and pleasure. He smiles at you then, watching as your spirit recognizes his own and reaches for some semblance of relief. When your eyes remember to open once more, Pero slips his fingers in between your folds and drags his middle finger twice to force your attention on him. You reach for the hand atop your breast, intertwining your fingers with his own and digging your heels into the sheets in preparation for what is to come. You mouth another plea, tears threatening to stream from your eyes as you feel another finger tease your entrance.

“Moan for me, little luna.” He commands, his teeth biting at your upper thigh as you flinch beneath him, the knowledge that he can bring your demise so easily soaking his fingers instantly.

“Please, touch me Pero.”

“Where would you like me to touch you?” Pero’s voice is rough with hunger, the beast within wishing to have you now etching to make himself known with each little whimper you gift him.

“Where I ache for you.” You attempt to bring yourself closer to his hand, fuck yourself on his fingers for some relief, but Pero shakes his head and pulls away, dragging your wetness across your thighs and pressing down on your hips to keep you still.

“Here,” he teases with a smirk, hands laying flat against your waist. “Or here?” He moves his fingers slowly across your stomach, just barely touching your skin, chuckling to himself when he sees how impatient you are becoming. “Perhaps…here.” Knowing he cannot hold back much longer, Tovar brings his hand back to your core, allowing you a single breath before he pushes two fingers deep inside your cunt.

“Yesssss, everywhere. Pero….everywhere.” You arch your back, lost in the sensation of his thick fingers as they prod at your inner walls. Torn between keeping your eyes on him and throwing your head back, you blink hazily at him until you can no longer maintain his gaze, the golden rings suddenly taking over his orbs driving your ecstasy further.

“Do you want more, my love?” He kisses your navel, nosing at the skin and breathing in your scent. His senses flood with your essence, and he drives his fingers deeper, pushing against a place that has you squirming beneath him and reaching for his arms.

“Please, Pero.”

“I have waited for this for centuries,” Pero murmurs, his voice raw with longing.

“As have I.” You barely manage to breathe the sentiment, unable to focus on much else apart from the pleasure he continues to ring from your body.

“You are exquisite.” You push your head aside, biting into the sheets to prevent more noises from spilling into the room. Tovar pouts at your timidity, and he stops moving altogether until you manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “No, do not shy away from me, mi bruja.” He feels the heat rise between you, and he drags himself lower, until you feel his breath fan over your wet cunt.

“Let me have you, querida.” He groans, knowing that you both have waited a lifetime to feel this intimacy once more. When you nod your consent, Pero dives into you, tongue licking at the sensitive nub until your nails dig roughly into the skin of his forearm.

“Nghhh,” you gasp in shock, the strength with which Pero delivers each stroke of his tongue signaling the ferocity of his desire, the wet movement igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through your body and leave you trembling under his unrelenting touch. You whine his name, along with incoherent thoughts, one that has you wishing he could somehow sink deeper into you.

“Does that feel good?” His touch is possessive, as dominating and rough as his voice. You wonder how you have passed through life without feeling this each night, but you pay the sadness no mind, wanting to relish in finally being in his arms.

“Hmm,” you instinctively respond to him, skin rising with goosebumps as he wraps his lips around your aroused peak, grazing his teeth across the small muscle until he feels you lose your mind.

“That taste of you…it drives me mad with need, amor.” Pero confesses as he tongues at your folds, driving his fingers harder and quicker inside you until your walls begin to flutter around him, pulling him in deeper with each pass he expertly delivers to your weeping core.

“I can feel you, embracing my fingers, growing more heated and—tight.” The growl that escapes his throat is enough to push you higher to the edge, the desire laced in his words and his actions letting you know this was only the beginning. You look at him then, finding his golden eyes trained directly at you. The knowledge that such a powerful man has willingly chosen to surrender himself to you is intoxicating and you pray for him one last time, finding your past, present, and future in the intensity of his gaze.

“Pero, I-...I’m,” you stammer, the pressure building inside you threatening to spill over against his mouth. He does not let up once, continuing his ministrations until he feels you clench around him even tighter.

“Fall apart for me, amor.” Tovar commands softly, allowing himself a moment of respite before he returns his attention to your warm cunt. “Let me taste your pleasure—now.”

The order comes in between thick laps of his tongue against your folds and harsh thrusts of his digits into your aching core, the sensations overwhelming you until you are powerless. With a few more brushes of his fingers against your quivering walls, you submit yourself to the pleasure, a silent scream signaling your climax to Tovar, the expression of ecstasy on your glowing features forcing him to continue pulling more from your body.

He maintains his gaze upon you, his fingers halting as far inside you as he can reach until he feels a soft spot push against him. He rubs against the swollen bit of you a few times, enclosing his lips around your flushed pearl one last time and sucking as hard as he can. Had his arm not been against your chest, Tovar is sure you would have flown from him, and he maintains his strength against you as you continue coming in his arms, sobbing his name over and over again until he sees your tears wet his sheets.

Not wanting to turn the pleasure uncomfortable, he stops his attention and raises himself from your thighs, slowly slipping his fingers from your core and watching as more wetness seeps out of you.

“You are radiating.” Pero comments, waiting for your eyes to find him before dragging his fingers across his tongue and licking them dry. You let go of his arm and reach for your cunt, covering it with your hands embarrassingly as you attempt to sit up and feel his skin slide against yours. Might it be because of me?” The question is asked before you find his lips and slip your tongue inside his mouth, tasting your arousal on his lips and moaning at the filthy nature of what the two of you are doing.

“You- you know as well as I this is all for you, because of you.” You reply as you kiss across his chest, marveling at the sheer power hiding beneath the scars and muscles on display for your hungry eyes. Sneaking a glance at him, you wait until his golden eyes shine brighter before dragging your hand down his stomach.

“Ahh, b-brujita-” he moans in return, the warmth and softness of your palm holding him hard enough to have his cock still twitch against you. He kisses your temple as he shuts his eyes, feeling your touches grow more confident and teasing.

“Why do you enjoy calling me a witch so…sinfully?” You giggle when he hisses through gritted teeth, your fingers rolling his base right as you drag your nails to the flushed tip of his member.

“B-because you have spun your—oh, your spells upon my heart, bewitching it with your- your soft touches, and sweet words.” Pero admits desperately, his hands resting against your shoulders as you slide your hand back and forth.

“I do not recall doing such intricate designs…amor.” Your smile does wonders to him, the playfulness of your pleasure allowing him to remember nights he thought he could never recall again. Then you use his language, and he feels as if the world around him is passing away into nothing.

“No? T-then explain how madly bewitched I am by your very soul.” There is longing laced around his simple confession, and you cannot help but pull him against you, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him passionately as he pushes you against the bed.

“Pero,” the heat you feel in your core intensifies, but you know you want, more than anything, to hold the weight of his cock on your tongue before he takes you.

“Ahhh, hermosa- por favor, sácame de mi miseria.” You push him on his back and he falls willingly, fingers twisting in your hand instantly when he sees you descend down his body and continue teasing his cock.

“Will you let me have you as well?” You ask, kissing and nipping down his body, never once breaking his gaze as you lick down his navel and breathe against the base of his cock, waiting for him to give you permission.

“You do not need-” He begins to say but you cut him off with a kiss to the tip of his cock, claiming his as yours. The action shocks him into silence, and he throws his head back, revealing the sharp canines he tries his best to keep in hiding.

“Let me taste your cock on my lips, please!” You beg, mouth and hand aching to feel him against you.

“Soy tuyo.” He sighs in defeat, resting his thumb against your lips and rubbing the plump skin twice before nodding in acceptance. Not a second passes before your mouth wraps completely around him, and Pero is sure he has died and gone to the highest of heavens, the warmth of your throat proving to him that such wonders do exist.

“Ahhh diablilla,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers twisting into your hair again as you look at him and continue to take him as far down as you could. A mixture of his arousal and your saliva streams down your chin, and Pero whines when he sees you drag it across the rest of him and massage his base, not caring for how filthy you may look.

“You look beautiful…with your lips wrapped around my cock.” He groans, hands tightening on your neck as you move your head up and down the length of him. When you are sure will not turn away, you lightly pass your teeth against the crown of his cock, watching as his hips push forward unintentionally and send him deeper inside you.

“How far are you willing to go to make me lose my sanity, woman?” He snarls at you, shaking his head in disbelief as you continue to pleasure you, as you know. You smirk as you worship him, removing your mouth from his velvety, hard skin for a moment to respond and returning your touches again to prevent him from retorting in kind.

“Far,” your eyes meet his with a spark of defiance and mischief, and Tovar is powerless beneath you, completely and utterly powerless.

“I- I fear you may not have to…I- I am,” he stammers, groaning in unbelievable rapture as he imagines what your cunt must feel like if your mouth flutters around his length like an angel’s wings.

“I cannot take much more, love…you feel too- too heavenly.” Pero admits shamelessly, his body trembling with the overwhelming sensations coursing through his veins. You shake your head then, watching as the action spirals him back against the bed once more.

“I thought I was your little devil?” You respond, kissing along his wet cock and watching as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“Oh god…the devil was once an angel, querida.” His voice is strained with need, and you are unsure if he wishes for you to continue or halt.

“If I am an angel, then you must be my god…my master.” You whisper to him then, moving your hands across him and pressing your breasts near the reddened tip to prove to him you are as dazed, if not more, by his existence as he appears to be by your own.

“No…no little one, it is you who is the master of this lonely heart. You and no one else.” You do not expect such a heartfelt revelation to break through the wanton desires swimming in his golden eyes, the words forcing you to stop altogether as you memorize the somber and hopelessly-in-love features gazing at you.

“Come here!” Pero uses your momentary distraction to his advantage, dragging you against his body and pushing you beneath him once more, nesting his hips perfectly in between your thighs and snatching both of your wrists above your head.

“But I-” you begin, but he silences you with a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily until he can taste his arousal in your mouth. The knowledge that you both swallowed the other’s essence deep inside of you sends his heart into a frenzy, and you must reach a similar conclusion because you respond to his vigor with as much madness, swirling your tongue around his own and praying he can finally put you out of your misery and take you.

“Another twist of your tongue and I would have lost myself in your mouth.” He warns as he kisses your jaw, laughing when he hears you question him through a fit of giggles.

“Is that so bad?”

“No, but if I am finally having you, then I am coming in your pretty cunt first…and then I will fill your other holes. ¿Me entiendes?” His voice drops with desire, eyebrows raised in determination as you finally allow his words to settle in your mind.

“Pero, take me. Now…and do not dare to be gentle.” You plead, burning with a need to feel his cock brand your cunt as his.

“I want you to ruin me,” you confess, hands balling into fists as you attempt to loosen his grip from around you. He growls at your request, letting go of your arms and smiling when your arms reach around his back in an attempt to pull him closer to you. “And put me back together…with your touch etched on every inch of my skin.”

“You will tell me if-” You cut him off one last time with a fierce kiss, nodding when you release him and reach for his cock.

“Look at me,” he drags your attention away from the space between your bodies to his golden eyes, staring at you closely until he ensures you are focusing on nothing but him. “And know that I am never letting you go.” His demand is low and full of promise, and before you can answer him, he removes your hand from his length and drags it twice across your folds, not wasting another moment before pushing himself into your tightening walls.

“F-fuck,” the expletive would shock him had he not known you, and he rests his weight against his hands, sheathing himself completely inside you until there is nothing but the air separating your bodies. He waits for you to breathe, and when he is sure you have adjusted to him, he pulls out as far as he can before pushing back inside with a groan.

“You are…my desires incarnate.” He groans, one hand gripping your hips as the other fists into the sheets beneath your head.

“Your cock is—it feels like a fire blazing inside of me. Hot, heavy and s-so fucking hard.” Your body arches towards him, and you cannot help but lose yourself in his eyes as his thrusts deliver with a steady, roughening pace. Your words undo him, and he cannot control his body from pushing harder into you, the feeling of your cunt, so warm and inviting, making him wish he can stay attached to you forever.

“I feel you in my soul, my love.” He nudges his nose against your chin, breathing heavily as your fingers tug on his hair and beg him for more.

“Ohhh, yes!”

Your cries match his groans, and as you find that familiar pleasure build once more, you are met with a vision not unlike the one you are experiencing now, one that has you looking forward to all the nights you would share with Pero now that you found him again.

“Your cunt is heaven, as if you were made for me. I fear I will never get enough of you.” Pero shakes his head as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, finger bruising your skin as your sighs grow louder in his ears.

“You have…completely undone me, Pero.” Your gasps are music to his ears, and he feels your core clench harder around him, pulling him in deeper with each push of his hips.

“How is that,” he asks, his voice gruff with need, “I can feel your heartbeat,” you tilt your head to the side as he sucks on your neck and marks you as his, “each time you clench around me?”

“Please,” unable to form more words, you plead for him to finally drink from you, wanting to be connected to him in every way possible.

“Has your body learned my touch already, mi bruja?” He chuckles at you then, watching as your skin comes alive the more he shapes your cunt to his length.

“Does it remember my cock when- oh fuck, when it claimed you time after another all those years ago?” His hand caresses down your side, until it rests against your thigh and pushes it higher. You cross your legs behind his back, his cock filling you deliciously.

“Pero, you are killing me.”

“No, little one, I am calling for your witch’s blood to pray for me.” His whole being is raw with need, and he grows crazed when your body responds to his madness and glows for him.

“Oh, she likes to hear how I crave her?” You want to sob at his teasing, but with each word he whispers to you, you feel yourself growing closer to the edge of release.

“Does that please you—knowing that, when I fill you with my seed, and keep you in my arms forever, that your witch will be ruined for all eternity? Does that make you wet, mi bruja traviesa?”

“Yes, oh- oh gods, Pero, please. Claim me!” You cry out at the sentiment, body shuddering with anticipation of what you are confident will be the greatest pleasure known to the world.

“Lord knows how fucking gratifying it will feel to have your blood course through my veins…knowing that I have feasted upon you, mierda- ah mierda…until you have ruined me.” His growls increase, as do his thrusts, and when you turn to look at him and find his eyes no longer golden but red, you beg him one last time, knowing he will not turn you down once more.

“I- I am close…so close.”

“Where can I-” He stares at your skin, unsure of where you would rather hold evidence of his bite. There is madness storming in his eyes, one that has you cutting him off and telling him to do whatever he wishes with you.

“Wherever you desire, my love.”

“I…love you, my beautiful witch. With every part of me capable of knowing such a feeling.” He confess, his hands trembling as he wraps his hand around your neck and tilts your head far back so he can gain access to the top of your breasts. Your body is prepared to explore in pleasure, and when you feel him kiss the top of your nipple twice, you ask him to join you.

“Pero, be with me.”

The moment his teeth pierce your sink, a strangely familiar warmth washes over your body, and you flutter around his cock instantly, the pleasure of your coupling and his feeding blinding your sight and sending you into a state of ecstasy you long to experience again already. You can hear him groan against you, his seed filling your womb with long, hot ropes of warmth that mirrors the heat beating against your chest. He gulps you down hungrily, enough to satiate the desire he feels for you but not to send you into a sleep. When he is sure he has had his fill of you, he clenches his jaw and pulls away, licking the wound twice to prevent it from bleeding any further.

Pero looks at you then, a part of him afraid of how you may react when you find the beast in him wanting for more. But as you always have, you caress his cheek gently and pull him down, kissing his lips one last time as you finally whisper those words to him.

“I l-love you Pero, oh so much.”

He nearly cries at the sentiment, unsure of what good he has done in his life that deserves such affections from you. Slowly, he pulls himself away from your body, wincing in discomfort when the sudden lack of your heat washes over him. You pout in return, wanting to remain filled with him until the morning, but knowing that you both needed a moment of respite if you were to continue through the night.

Pero falls to his back, not wasting a moment as he pulls you to his side, until you are intertwined in each other. Neither of you say anything, and Pero meditates on the words you whispered to him seconds ago, wondering if you were merely remembering your past or truly meant what you have conveyed to him.

The room feels suspended in time, the air heavy with the revelations you parted to one another throughout the night. He leans over and urges you with a question.

“What can you remember?” He asks then, wanting to know, more than anything, if you recall him the way he knows you.

“I feel as if I- I remember everything.” You look up at him and smile, fingers drawing patterns across his damp chest, wanting to be sure you were still in his arms.

“Tell me,” his breath fans over your temple as he kisses you once, reutrning the smile on your features and waiting to hear your response.

“I remember your eyes, how safe they always made me feel. And I remember your touch, the way you tended to be soft when you loved me, and the roughness you brought when you craved me.” Your heart pounds as you recall the visions that have plagued your mind for weeks on end. And Pero’s lips part, but no words escape him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as you continue to prove to him that, whatever your heart knows now, is more important that what you have felt for him before.

“Most of all, I remember how deeply you loved me and how I could not breathe without being in your arms.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and intimate with promises of what is to come. When you speak again, your voice is tinged with an almost unbearable sadness, afraid of what his answer will be to the question that plagued your spirit for a while now.

“Where will you go…when this is all over?”

“I will find those responsible for our lost time,” his jaw is set with determination, tone cold and resolute when he offers you nothing but the truth.

“And I will kill every last one of them.” Your brows knit together when you see pain flicker across his face, the memories of what your kind and his have done to you pushing you to ask one last request of him.

“Let me come with you.” Your hand brushes against his, playing with the veins on his wrist as you wait for a response.

“I cannot, mi corazón.” He shakes his head and silently apologizes to you when he sees anguish etched into your very soul.

“Please?”

“Have I not promised you long ago that these hands were for you? That I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He cups your cheek, the smile he aims at you letting you know that there is a future for the both of you when he is finished with his mission.

“Can I not offer you the same promise?” You lean into his touch, wanting to prove to him that, just as his hands are for you, your magic is for him, and him alone.

“Everything I do, my love, is for you. My anger, my wrath, my revenge…it is all for you. I will raise hell on earth if anyone strives to separate us once more. Why would you bloody your hands, when I care not for my own?” Tovar says firmly, wanting you to be certain that his love and loyalty will never pass away again, that he will surely return to your side when he is confident no one means you any harm.

“Because, Pero…I never understood love until I felt your hands on me, and I want your hands to carry my heart. But for you to do so, I must ask the same in return. I must drench my hands in the same blood, if only to feel worthy of caring for such a gift from you.” Your voice softens his expression, and you pray to the old gods that he sees how far you are willing to go to keep him safe from harm.

“You wish to carry my heart, when you yourself are my heart?” A storm of emotions swirls around his question, and he leans down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss once more, shaking with the thought of ever putting you in danger again.

“Pero,” you hold his gaze then, once again knowing that he will not refuse you now that he sees you are just as wanting to rid the world of those who hurt you as he is.

“Sí, mi amor?” He breathes, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Let me protect you as you once protected me.” You say with determination, and watch as his eyes struggle to comprehend your request.

“Please, my love. Let me.”

“I could never deny you any request.” With a sigh of defeat, he chuckles at you and nods in agreement, closing his eyes and surrendering to the knowledge that you will always hold him powerless in the palm of your hand.

“Mi alma, you are too entangled in my soul for me to ever be apart from you. Whatever you desire, you have it.”

“Te amo, mi bruja.” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and heart even heavier with the love he sees etched, not just in your eyes, but your very existence.

“And I love you.” Your words are a promise, a bond unbroken by time or circumstance, one that you solidify with a kiss to his heart before you allow the Luxor night air to lull you to sleep.

Translation: Maga - mage Bruja - witch Hechicera - Sorceress/enchantress Capulla - dumbass Querida - dear Hermosa - beautiful Luna - moon Cielo - heaven Cariño - darling/sweetheart Alma - spirit Vida - life Amor - love Corazón - heart Sácame de mi miseria - put me out of my misery Soy tuyo - I am yours Diablilla - little devil ¿Me entiendes? - Do you understand me? Bruja traviesa - naughty witch Mierda - shit

Pedro Pascal Taglist (and any of his characters):

@paste-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @wordsnwhiskey @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @giselatropicana @maziken @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew @nabootycall @pascalsky @pedrostories @anaaaispunk @monocromaticstaircase @severinsnape @elegantduckturtle @gothicxbarbie @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hypnoash @pedritopascalito @eri16 @andiesturgss @snarwor @christina-loves @tintinn16 @persephones-garden @reaperofmen @heykathchuu @hotchlover @kaumalade @MSWarriorBabe80 @nakhudanyx @ezras-channel-rat @solemnlyswearss @thegirlnextdoorssister @alpaca-swimsuit @elinedjarin @yuukiblissthemusicwitch @dihra-vesa @pscalwhiskey @midwesternwitchery @daddymando @letskeepthislo-ki @xwalltoast @alexxavicry @ewoksrus @dear-fifi @nagassia @kirsteng42 @s-u-t @yourdragonsfire @girlofchaos @thisshipwillsail316 @squidwell @the-helmet-stays-on @mssbridgerton @buckybarneshairpullingkink @hungrhay @hugmedin @balck-rose-29 @trickstersp8 @happycupcakeenthusiast @daddypedritopascalito @onlinecementery @janebby @domaniquessidehoe @cassiepascal @lillianacristina @bitchwitch1981 @hallecarey1 @vee-bees-vlog @riddlelecter

P.S. If someone can let me know whether the tags are working, I would really appreciate it!!!

#pedrostoriesgift24 #pedrostories #pero tovar #pero tovar/reader #pero tovar x reader #vampire pero tovar #witch reader #vampire/reader #vampire x reader #pedro pascal #the great wall #tovar x reader #tovar/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut

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iheartkiri · 10 months ago

Text

draco malfoy is an idiot. (1)

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

You stood in the library, your movements sharp and angry as you slammed books back onto the shelves. It had been a month since your blowout with Draco, and the feelings from that night still rained heavy on your mind. Clearly, it had been a mutual sentiment as the tension between you and Draco whenever you two unfortunately ran into each other was thick enough to cut.

Your childhood friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, noticing your mood, exchanged concerned glances with each other.

"What's up with you, Y/N?" Blaise cautiously asked, his eyes darting between you and the bookshelves. "You've been pissed off for weeks. Did something go down with you and Draco?"

You spun around, your eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and anger. "Oh that jerk?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness. "I can't believe I ever considered that loser my friend."

Theodore frowned, his eyes filled with confusion. "What did he say that got you so riled up? We know Draco can be an ass sometimes, but a month of you guys not speaking is a bit much."

You clenched your fists, the hurt and anger bubbling inside you. "You know what he did? He called me sensitive and said I couldn't take a joke," you said, your voice shaking. "He made me feel like my feelings didn't even matter to him, like I was overreacting. He didn't even try to see where I was coming from."

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed, his expression turning serious. “Dang that's a low blow, even for Draco. We know he can be a jerk, but a month of you guys not talking is a little excessive. What exactly happened during that fight?"

You took a shaky breath, the memories of that painful day flooding your mind. "It started as off as a stupid joke, but then he took it too far. I tried to tell him how he was in the wrong, but he brushed me off. He didn't care that he was hurting my feelings."

Theodore placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his eyes soft with understanding. "I get why you're angry, Y/N. Draco can be thoughtless. But a month is a long time. Maybe he's realized his mistake and is too stubborn to admit it."

You shook your head, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not ready to forgive him, Theo. Not yet. He really messed up, and I need him to understand how much his words hurt. I won't be the one to cave."

Blaise stepped closer, his voice gentle and understanding. "We get it, Y/N. Draco can be an arrogant jerk sometimes. But we also know he cares about you. Maybe he's too proud to admit he was wrong, but we can try to talk to him, see if he'll apologize."

You scoffed, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Don't bother, Blaise. I don't want anything to do with him anymore. If he's waiting for my apology he can wait all he wants. Besides, he must be 'so sorry' himself to let a month pass by." You added sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Theodore squeezed your shoulder, his eyes filled with determination. "Y/N, we just want to help. We know you and Draco go way back, and we can see you guys really care about each other. We're worried, and we want to fix this."

You shook your head, your eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and stubbornness. "There's nothing between us Theo. Not anymore. And even if there was, it doesn't change the fact that he hurt me. I'm not ready to forgive him."

Blaise and Theodore shared a worried glance, their faces grim. "We won't push you, Y/N," Blaise said, his voice gentle. "But we're concerned. We know you and Draco have a very....close relationship. We just want to see you happy again."

You sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I appreciate it, guys. I know you're trying to help. But Draco and I are done, and that's final."

As you turned away from them, your eyes landed on the books you had angrily shelved, their spines crooked and out of place. It was a reflection of the chaos inside you—a chaos that idiot Draco had caused and seemed to have no intention of fixing anytime soon.

Blaise and Theodore exchanged a meaningful glance, their faces filled with concern. "We'll give it one more shot," Theodore said, his voice unwavering. "We'll talk to him, try to talk some sense into that rascal."

You shook your head, a bitter smile on your lips. You knew there was no way they could possibly make Draco Malfoy apologize. "Good luck with that. Draco's too stubborn for his own good. And even if he is sorry, he won't admit it. He's too proud for that."

Blaise placed a hand on your shoulder, his eyes filled with sympathy. "We'll see, Y/N. We know how to get through to him. And if he truly cares, he'll find a way to make things right."

And as you continued to shelve books, your anger slowly fading into sadness, you knew that Blaise and Theodore would do their best to mend the rift between you and Draco. But deep down, you weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. The hurt was still too raw, and the silence between you stretched on.

#literature #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #harry potter #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #hp fic #harry potter fandom #draco fanfiction

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bythepen98 · 2 years ago

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Zutara ❤

This was honestly supposed to be a quick one but I got too invested bc this is my first fa of this ship :')

Context:

Consider this an au where Aang never had a crush on Katara and the tension instead revolved around her and Zuko throughout the series. A spark at first sight so to speak. Fate would step in several times where they'd somehow end up separating from their groups and find each other in the same vicinity. They're both temperamental, so they'd naturally start fighting and exchanging barbs but would always hold back from truly hurting each other. There was disdain but also slight curiosity there. However, it would mostly go ignored, spitefully so in Katara's end after the catacombs debacle, until Zuko realises that he messed up and goes back to fix things.

Note: He never paired back up with Mai during this period bc my boy may have been in denial but he knew enough not to lead anyone on just for the sake of normalcy, especially when he was feeling all types of conflicted. On that note, he still got pushed to spend some together with Jin back in Ba Sing Se but firmly and point blank told her that it was not a date --

bc all he could think about were fiery blue eyes

--but didn't mind going together as friends.

He would definitely be more awkward around Katara once he joins the team and Katara would be just as vicious bc the betrayal, while painful in canon, would probably be more devastating here since personal unresolved feelings (that have been building up since their many accidental meet ups) are involved. He'd still do his best to help her out while also trying not to be an eyesore by watching longingly from a distance. The rest of the Gaang just finds this a bit sad but also hilarious.

Like canon, things get better after Zuko and Katara went on their lifechanging bonding trip to find Kya's killer but instead of the one sided awkward/hostility, they were now both awkward and would shyly but somehow seamlessly move as a unit while they worked around the site, especially when it came time to make meals for everyone.

Fleeting touches, eyes locking for a few seconds before looking away, sitting in closer proximity around the campfire, Zuko silently placing flowers in places where Katara would easily find it and Katara reciprocating by making little snacks and giving it to him every now and then, particularly after his training sessions with Aang. If they sometimes held hands while they sat in silence after a long, hard day, then that's no one's business but their own.

Idk. I feel like it's a good kind of irony that they're both so passionate people who used to fight each other on sight but have this slow and sweet exploratory type of romance that would mostly go unacknowledged (out loud, though both knew the feeling was mutual) until after the war. Fits the vibe I had for them while drawing this so it was fun.

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mistress-of-vos · 1 year ago

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It's their turn! 💛❤️✨

(Extra context of the meme below (mini fic?)!!!)

After the events of Red Robin, Babs and Luke inform Jean-Paul of the issues and problems going on among the bats. During a mission, Bruce got hurt again and has been benched, meaning the situation of "Dick covering for Batman" is once again back in town. This creates a lot of tension among Dick, Damian, Tim, Jason and Bruce, making it almost impossible for them to work together.

Having their hands full with actual city saving, Luke and Babs called JP to ask him to go back and help for a while. Luke does apologize for it, since he knows JP is way happier in Europe and working on his own. It's not that JP doesn't like Gotham, but he grew tired of Bruce and Dick treating him like trash, so he left months after Jason had that - violent encounter with Tim on Titans Tower.

Jean-Paul admits that was part of the problem too; he didn't like it that Bruce seemed so at peace with Tim getting hurt. And Tim... Tim allowed Bruce to ignore his pain. That was maddening, btw, and Jean-Paul had snapped a few times against Tim, screaming that he shouldn't let Bruce walk over him.

Whatever. Jean-Paul had left. He went to Europe and traveled, getting rid of the order of st. Dumas by himself alone, and then getting rid of other groups equally awful and cruel. It was a tiring, slow job. He traveled a lot, and from time to time visited Brian in Spain to chat, but mostly he focused on ending the cycle of violence that he had been raised into. Eventually he did, and just months later, Luke and Babs call.

Being back in Gotham is - weird. It has been years, and Jean-Paul feels uncomfortable around Jason and Damian. His dislike towards Dick hasn't lowered, and it has stayed as a mutual feeling, although JP can't help to feel a bit of pity for Dick when he sees how tired and old Dick looks once he takes off the Batman cowl. But hey, didn't Dick argue that JP wasn't worthy? Then perhaps he should carry the weight of the mantle he insisted JP tainted.

Mostly, JP doesn't like being back at Gotham. Until he sees Tim.

Tim, who has - grown into such a smart, beautiful and sassy young man. Tim, who wears eyeliner, mascara and red lipstick. Tim, with acrilic nails as sharp as Catwoman's. Tim, with a perfume even more hypnotizing than Poison Ivy. Tim, lethal and beautiful. Tim, that makes JP's knees tremble as if he's a teenage virgin boy.

And it gets worse when they start working together. Huge news! Ofc JP had been called back because Tim refused to work with the bats anymore, and it's JP's duty to work with him and push him back to Babs (she does understand that Tim doesn't want to be close to the others, but she worries about Tim being alone, and doesn't want him going out without any support). And doing that is hell, because JP falls hard and deep for Tim.

JP is sure that he was completely whipped by the end of the third week working together. Maybe even sooner.

That's how Luke learns about it, since JP is awful at hiding his crushes. And Luke has the nerve to laugh, telling JP to ask Tim out as if Tim wasn't way out of JP's league! Does Luke enjoy seeing him suffering? JP thinks he will go crazy if he has to hear one more phrase about taking risks...

And yet JP follows Luke's advice: He asks Tim out.

He asks Tim out in a chat. A grupal chat. With Luke on it. And maybe he's hugging his cat George all the time while waiting for Tim to reply.

Against all logic, Tim says yes, and then texts JP on their private chat (the one that's supposed to be used for cases only), saying just one sentence:

"You're adorable, Jean-Paul."

For the record, the first date goes great. JP manages to get to third base, and Tim smirks smugly while murmuring "Puppy" on JP's ear, nails holding his long blonde hair to keep him in place: At Tim's mercy.

#tim drake #jean paul valley #jean-paul valley #jean paul valley x tim drake #shipping #jeantim #bottom tim drake #queer #pro shipping #slightly suggestive #my writing #crackship #fic ideas #batcest

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krisslegacy · 3 months ago

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chains that bind us - the scientist

ao3 link

song - the scientist by coldplay

characters - bucky barnes x original female character

summary - james buchanan barnes is a man out of his time, lost in the darkness that hydra left in him.

frejaina heladottir swims in darkness, but the chains of hydra destroyed 200 years of her strength.

after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, bucky and jaina stay in hiding across europe. it's a lonely existence, broken and battered by hydra. but they can't avoid the traumas they share- their souls have been linked since the 1950s. under the weight of their isolation, they are the only ones who can heal each other.

word count - 1,008

warnings and tags - hurt/comfort, slow burn, unresolved emotional tension, mutual pining,ptsd, thoughts of past abuse, trauma

authors note- hi! frejaina, or jaina, can also be read as a reader self insert. shes technically an OC

jaina is the daughter of hela (thor ragnarok), and an unidentified soul of the underworld with the x-gene, which makes her a half-god mutant. her abilities from hela consist of necromancy and soul magic, while her mutant genes allow her to bend shadows, teleport through them, and assume a horrifying spectral-shadow form. she kind of has history with the x-men in the 1990s-2000s but falls back into the clutches of hydra but i won't get into that.

enjoy!

Toledo was quieter than he expected.

And the wind was warmer too. It filtered through the curtains of the safehouse to bring a comfort he didn’t expect. But it was welcome.

He liked this, he liked the open air of the countryside. It reminded him of a time he couldn’t remember, but a time he felt. A salty breeze and open sky. Sunlight. Distant honking of a bustling cityscape. Blonde hair and blue eyes.

He could think about these things now, for as long as he wanted. No one could stop him. Not the beast that held him hostage for so long, the creeping tentacles that stole his mind and twisted it into something else. But the fear was still close, and it didn’t feel right to be free. It felt… fake. Like a sick joke.

He inhaled. Exhaled.

His bionic arm felt much heavier nowadays, it was almost painful. A mind numbing, thrumming sensation that never left him long enough to know peace. It was a constant reminder of the past, the silver glint of chains that bound him. His fist clenched at the thought.

“Солдат.”

Not even blinking, the Winter Soldier responded. “певица.”

“It feels so… natural. For us, doesn’t it?”

The Shadow Singer was there when he turned around, half blended into the darkness that permeated the safehouse. Her eyes, evergreen, studied him with the same intensity they always had. But now, they weren’t poisonous. They were soft, calm, sad.

“I think they will always have a hold on us,” she said softly, moving towards the moonlight that he bathed in. “No matter how much we hide.”

They never stood closer than two feet to each other, were never allowed to. Even now, when nothing held them back, the memory of their muscles restricted them.

Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her hand against the scar at her neck. He can still remember the clasp around it, the sickly red swell it left when she’d finally pried it off. The tears that followed. He had never seen her cry before and it felt like something he shouldn’t have seen. That was natural, though, was it not?

He wouldn’t know. Nothing was natural for him anymore.

“You’ll have that scar forever,” he finally said, voice parched and rough like gravel. He hadn’t spoken in days.

The singer dropped her hand. “It’ll show what I’ve survived then. Same with your arm.”

Again, the weight of his arm caved, and he hunched slightly. There were times when he’d wake up from the sharp sensation of a cold burn, blood in his mouth. He saw round glasses and lab coats, harsh lights, mountains, snow.

He truly didn’t remember anything, then. Maybe the man on the bridge was right. What was his name again? Steven? Steve? Steve.

Steve. Perhaps he’d known him in another life, like he’d said.

That would be nice. It would be nice to know that somewhere in time, he had someone to count on.

The Shadow Singer was his mission partner. A fellow agent. A warrior. She would have his back, he would have hers. That was the way it had always worked for… how long? He would have to ask and find out.

“How long do you think it’s been?” Bucky said.

“Since what?”

He didn’t even know what he was going to ask. There had been a time before Hydra, but it felt impossible to imagine.

Her eyes shifted to the floor again, the creaky wooden boards that ran parallel to her. “I remember the day they found you. I watched them put you into cryostasis. A lot. It was always fascinating to me how the human body simply endured.”

A siren wailed miles away.

“You watched me.”

“Always.”

He nearly shuddered. Her green eyes burned into his retina.

Perhaps she knew more about him than he knew about himself. He never recalled… anything. Any feeling, any desire was absent to him, a void of limitless nothingness. He just remembered the cold and the pain and the lighting that danced across his bones. It gave him nothing. It gave him no incentive for help. Why? Why had he been so pathetic, like a dog, to sit there and take what they threw at him? Why could he have never stood up for himself?

He didn’t even realize how hard his metal fist was clenched before he felt feather-light touch against it.

His hand flew away from hers in a heartbeat. He didn’t want touch, he didn’t-

Immediately she retreated back into the safety of the darkness, shadows enveloping her into a tight hug before she all but vanished from his sight. The whole apartment was dark, yet the Shadow Singer found comfort in it.

Within a blink of an eye she sat on the small green couch. Arm crossed and chest curved inwards, she was suddenly not the monstrous otherworldly-creature he remembered. Now she seemed just as afraid and cold and cautious as he felt.

“What do we call each other now?” Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred years of servitude.

She was asking him. For an answer. For permission, a command. Something thick grew in his throat and he couldn’t swallow it. It wasn’t his place.

The man on the bridge- Steve- he called him Bucky. It had clicked like a missing puzzle piece in a larger equation. It felt right to him, to choose that instead of Soldat. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore, he wanted to stop fighting.

The Shadow Singer sat up. “Do you remember your name?”

He thinks so. Yes. “Bucky.”

The word tasted like sugar on his tongue, rolled off smoothly. The stones of the past began to lift off of him.

“Do you have a name?” Bucky said slowly.

She nodded. “Frejaina. Jaina.”

In the years they’d worked together, never had they known their names, never had they used them. Bucky wanted to frown. He did.

Bucky and Jaina. The Shadow Singer and the Winter Soldier.

That’s who they would be now.

thanks for reading! hopefully this will be a series.

dividers by cafekitsune

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky x jaina #krisslegacy writes #marvel fanfiction #marvel #the winter soldier #captain america civil war #captian america #captain america the winter soldier #fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes hurt comfort #necromancer character

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idvconfessions · 2 months ago

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Alva and Luca make a very cute couple with their mix of heavy background included. They're a dynamic I love to explore. The story held by Alva, Luca, Ann, and Tracy is sharing a theme of trauma relating to the father or family and the characters we are given are examples of how that trauma and pain can manifest in people.

We know Alva himself struggled with his home life and family, and Luca had the same struggle with his father which Alva came to HATE, mind you. The two of them share a pain together that if they could properly talk to each other, Alva no longer being avoidant of the past and face his "darkness." He could have a very productive time with Luca. To actually talk to Luca about what his father had done as a way to console him and Luca to show Alva just how terrible his father was could be a mutual reveal for the two of them and draw them closer.

I love dynamics of two characters who are traumatized by similar or the same thing coming to care and love for one another to heal the other's wounds that were created. Alva and Luca embody that in every single way, even sharing the same scars. Watching the two slowly relearn the other by tracing their footsteps and the marks of the other's body is something that has me on my hands and knees. To be able to trace the other's shape to relearn every part of the other that was forgotten due to a horrific accident is so... I love them so much.

To watch their tension boil over the past and then watch that boiling pot slowly simmer as they realize that the other is just as hurt and just as traumatized as they are. That they are not so different, so polarized. A tenderness being exposed from two people who wore their hearts on their sleeves and got burned. So paranoid from the past they had they hurt each other, when they were never the target of their pain. Bitterness of the past is like a venom to them both and it is what made them hurt one another, but that same pain can bring them together and I just. I NEED IT!

I think about Alva obscuring Luca's location from the others in his letter so much. Enough care to hide him from a group that Alva could see as dangerous even though they are his "new family." He still wanted to protect Luca. Just as much as Luca wanted to protect himself, Alva can see he is a terrified young man that's cornered. Being the hand that can bring Luca out of the dark and console him and provide him a warmth and comfort that he's needed for so long is everything to me. Alva being able to see himself in Luca and wanting to protect it, the way that no one protected him.

The mix of shame and desire pre accident in the ship is one of my favorite flavors, pinning attraction to the other that goes unspoken on because of a want to follow society's norms and Alva's connection to his wife. I love a closeted gay man Alva, and I believe he does care for his wife but his heart is not there, and Luca was a spark that set his long cold heart on fire [haha blazing heart b tier mention and also how Winter Cicada wanted to be the warmth to melt Warden]. A fire that alva tried to kill but never could, so much so he became critical of Luca in a harsh way that ended up hurting Luca, a sensitive young man. Luca's persistence is both very attractive to Alva but also very concerning, torn between the two. Luca is a kind gentleman, we've seen that many times over that he's polite and humble and kind compared to most IDV characters. Paranormal detective even went out of his way to protect Polun in the crystal palace, despite doing such a thing risking his credibility and job. He didn't care about that at all, only doing the right thing for someone even if it bended the rules, and Alva is the opposite who will follow the rules strictly even if they hurt others. [Seen in this year's summer event and Warden]

Alva is challenged by Luca in many ways, but also uplifted, and that challenge to all he believes in an Alvaluca/lucalva dynamic is a strong source of attraction. He makes Alva free, free from himself, and Alva grounds Luca, giving him security and reliability that he NEEDS. Luca and Ann are both characters who have strong devotion and loyalty, and Alva is a character with very weak devotion. He does not practice what he preaches and watches the people he came to hurt so badly be what he pretended to be. Devoted, dedicated, and passionate people who never run away or leave their dreams nor connections, while Alva did nothing but run and burn every bridge and watched others suffer because of his selfishness.

Alva babygirl respectfully you are the problem but I love you and you need Luca balsa to fix you, it just won't be a gentle one. Luca was the one who broke Alva's perpetual dream, Luca SHATTERED the shackles that Alva was in, stuck in a monotonous cycle in his own misery with no escape. Luca gave him the key he needed, even if the door it opened was death. Luca was his motivation, his spark, his driving desire to abandon his instinctive selfishness to do the most selfless act of his life, being self sacrifice to protect another person.

Realizing just how valuable and loved something is moments before he lost it and giving everything to protect it is likely what caught his god's gaze. I'm sure Luca himself would not be angry or bitter at Alva, considering post accident he does not show feeling anger to Alva, he can not fully remember him but I feel Luca understands in his mind his anger was not to Alva, but to his own father. [Hence me mentioning that Alva and Luca are poisoned by their past, and it makes them lash out at each other.]

Okay I've rambled enough I just love alvaluca with all my being and I wish for others to see it and see the perspective I have for them to consider them. I love them SO much.

They're not incestous by the way, if you genuinely believe that your brain is made of rocks. I'm serious. Admit it's a headcanon and move on, everyone with a functioning brain can see that many use the "found-family" trope as an excuse to be miserable bullies and nothing else.

Anon confession continues in two more asks:

“I forgot to add Alva and luca's new height difference after Alva's revival LOL

Luca being HORRIBLY flustered by how big Alva is now, feeling his long hands and his boney knuckles, caressing the cold skin and looking up at a tower of a man. Depending on what time it is for the relationship, it can either feel overbearing and scrutinizing or comforting and protecting. Something to both admire and to fear. It gets Luca flustered very very quickly and he will often kiss Alva's hand to comfort or ease Alva's nerves.

When they're cuddling I always imagine Luca lays to Alva's side, and Alva either lays straight like a dead body or curls up like a kitty cat and there's no in between. Alva has trouble sleeping so he'll often look over Luca and hold him like he'll somehow go missing in the night.

Another one is Luca figuring out ways to be at the same level as Alva and finding creative ways to pull Alva down or bring himself up. One of which is pulling him down by his rosary or sitting up on a desk to greet him. Alva always lowers himself whenever Luca is wanting his attention in some way, long neck and all. More neck space ALSO means more places to kiss for Luca. Alva is very shy romantically and will accept Luca's advanced silently, but he ultimately wants control over the bedroom. He just lets Luca have his fun with him.”

“I think that Luca is just really into older guys or just more mature people. Both physically, socially, and mentally.

He'd find the security and grounding of an older partner very comforting, someone with more experience that he can trust himself in the arms of if something goes wrong. Someone who's not wreckless and immature and fleeting like his family. He'd seek the opposite of what hurt him in romance.”

#identity v #idv #idv confessions #idv luca #luca balsa #idv alva #alva lorenz #alvaluca

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 months ago

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Quiet Moments and Old Wounds | Sebastian Sallow x OC #12

a bit of an emotional rollercoaster w this one heh

Summary: After a grueling Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson on the Unforgivable Curses, Sebastian helps Evangeline through painful memories, offering quiet support as they share tea and conversation at the Three Broomsticks. Their banter and open confessions turn the day from a reminder of past trauma into a moment of connection and comfort, reaffirming the unique, “odd” bond between them.

Words: 8,066

Tags: Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Friends To Lovers, Longing, Unspoken Feelings, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied Smut, Unforgivable Curses, Shared Trauma

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

AO3 Link

A week after the Solstice Ball, Sebastian sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his gaze wandering over the rows of students gathered in the classroom. Professor Hecat’s voice echoed faintly, but he absorbed none of it. His thoughts were elsewhere, still preoccupied with the memory of that night in the ballroom—of Evangeline’s hesitant smile, the way her hand had felt in his, and the almost dreamlike quality of the ballroom as he’d held her close. Those dances had left an ache in him that he couldn’t quite dispel, a memory that lingered like a phantom each time he caught sight of her and Lysander together.

Sebastian had anticipated that the ball might tilt things one way or another, that it would either cement her place at Lysander’s side—a thought that made his heart lurch in his chest—or unravel whatever thread of affection she’d felt for the Ravenclaw. But, somehow, it had done neither. No grand fallout, no clearer attachment—just a maddening, uncertain limbo that kept his hopes at a torturous simmer.

Now, each time he looked at Evangeline, he found himself searching for some clue, some sign of what that night might have changed between them, but her expression betrayed nothing.

He sighed inwardly, glancing sideways at her where she sat beside him, scribbling something absentmindedly on her parchment. A tiny crease had formed between her brows, the only hint of distraction he could catch. He’d come to recognize that look, the subtle shift in her expression when she was preoccupied, though whether with school or her thoughts, he couldn’t tell.

Professor Hecat’s voice cut through his thoughts, her tone more serious than usual. “And as we approach the end of term, we’ll be covering two final and crucial topics: Dementors and the Unforgivable Curses.”

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. A weight settled over the room, the usually casual murmur of conversation falling into tense silence. Sebastian’s stomach twisted, his fingers curling around the edge of his desk as though holding on might keep him steady. He’d dreaded this lesson. He’d known it was coming, of course—Hecat had never been one to soften the curriculum, especially where real-world threats were concerned. But still, the reality of it hit harder than he’d expected.

Beside him, Evangeline stilled, the quill in her hand motionless against her parchment. The subtle shift in her posture was all he needed to see. She was bracing herself, steeling her mind for whatever painful reminders lay ahead. On his other side, Ominis sat perfectly still, his hands folded over his desk, though Sebastian could see the tension in his jaw and the slight furrow of his brow.

Professor Hecat’s gaze swept the room, taking in each face as if measuring the class’s readiness to confront what lay ahead.

She took a step forward, her tone steady, professional, and unyielding. “Today, we begin our study of the Unforgivable Curses. We’ll discuss each in turn, examining both the mechanics and the consequences of these spells, as well as their impact on the caster and the victim.” Her voice softened, but only slightly. “While these spells are illegal, some wizards and witches in positions of authority and power have found themselves tempted by them. Others have felt justified in using them. Today’s class is not about justifying these curses but about understanding their dark impact, and why they have been given the title of Unforgivable.”

A few students shifted uncomfortably, and Sebastian could see the ripple of uncertainty move across the room. He couldn’t blame them. This wasn’t the usual theory and practice of hexes or shields; it was about confronting the harshest reality of the wizarding world.

Professor Hecat continued, her eyes now on the far end of the room. “We’ll begin todays class by examining the Cruciatus Curse."

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look directly at Evangeline even though he could feel the air shift beside him, a subtle tightening as she braced herself. The Cruciatus Curse was no mere theory to either of them.

He could still hear her screams. The memory surged through him with vivid clarity—the dim light, the cold, unyielding walls, and the tremor in his hand as he’d raised wand toward her. It was a moment he relived far too often in his nightmares, no matter how much he tried to shove it into some corner of his mind and forget. He’d seen her eyes filled with trust, with fear, and, maddeningly, with a kind of acceptance he hadn’t deserved. She’d told him she trusted him, had braced herself with an impossible courage, but the curse’s effect was merciless.

Sebastian felt the weight of Evangeline’s presence beside him now, her breathing shallow, but steady. Her gaze was focused on the front of the room, her expression carefully controlled, yet he knew she must be remembering it, too. How could she not? And still, she’d stayed by his side. He had never fully understood that—how she’d been able to forgive him, how she still looked at him without the disgust he often felt for himself.

He forced his gaze back to Professor Hecat, whose own eyes flickered with something unreadable, perhaps knowing the toll this lesson would take on certain students. She straightened, her voice firm as she continued.

“Casting the Cruciatus Curse requires intent—not merely the will to cast but the desire to inflict pain. Without it, the curse fails.” Her words were blunt, as though daring her students to understand the weight of that intent. “Some wizards, fueled by hatred or anger, have found that intent comes… disturbingly easy.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his throat tight as he fought to keep his focus. Hecat’s words sank into him like ice. He hadn’t needed to find that intent, hadn’t searched for that willingness to cause pain... he’d simply summoned it that day to enter the Scriptorium.

And what did that say about him? That both Ominis and Evangeline, faced with the same choice, had refused to cast the curse? That Evangeline, despite the danger, had looked him in the eyes and said, without hesitation, that she couldn't—wouldn’t—bring herself to harm him, not even if it was the only way out?

But he’d done it. He’d raised his wand against her. He’d done what she couldn’t bring herself to do.

What did that make him? A realist, willing to make hard choices? Or a coward, hiding his darkness behind justifications and “what had to be done”?

Professor Hecat was looking at the class now, her gaze as sharp as ever. “Some of you may think you’d never reach for such a spell, never feel the pull of that kind of power.” Her eyes moved across the room, as if daring them to face the truth. “But many dark wizards thought the same before being seduced by these spells. Which is why today’s lesson is so important.”

Her words settled over the room like a shroud. Sebastian risked a glance at Evangeline, hoping for some hint in her expression. But her face was calm, her eyes focused intently on Hecat. Only the slightest flicker of tension in her jaw betrayed her emotions.

At his other side, Ominis’s hands rested tightly clenched on his desk, his usually calm face fixed in a blank mask. For Ominis, the curse was woven into his family’s legacy, another piece of the darkness he had distanced himself from. And yet, despite the burden of his family’s influence, Ominis had resisted that day, too. He’d stayed true to his own principles in a way that Sebastian hadn’t.

As Professor Hecat directed the class to turn to a specific page in their textbooks, the rustling of parchment filled the room, a strange, tense contrast to the stillness of the lesson itself. Sebastian reached for his own book, opening it without really seeing the words, the murky haze of his thoughts making the text blur. But beside him, Evangeline hadn’t moved. She sat frozen, her eyes fixed forward, her quill still poised above her parchment as if she’d forgotten it was even there.

It was subtle, the way she held herself, the faint rigidity in her posture. To anyone else, she might have appeared completely focused on Hecat’s words, but Sebastian could see the fine tremor in her hand, the tightness in her shoulders. She was pretending to listen, her body betraying the effort it took to keep herself steady, to not let the memories pull her under.

Without thinking, he nudged her book open, turning it to the correct page and setting it gently in front of her, his hand brushing hers for the briefest moment. Her fingers twitched, as though brought back to life by his touch, and she blinked, glancing down at the text before her.

Then their eyes met, just for a second, but he could see the raw, unguarded emotion there—the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. She managed a faint nod, a silent thank you, before turning her attention back to the page, though her eyes remained unfocused, fixed somewhere just beyond the words.

Professor Hecat continued with her lesson, her voice calm but relentless as she detailed the effects of the Cruciatus Curse in clinical terms. “The curse itself can leave lasting physical and psychological trauma. In severe cases, victims report recurring pain, even after the curse is lifted, as well as nightmares, hallucinations, and an inability to trust those around them.” Her gaze shifted momentarily to the back of the room, as though choosing her words with care. “It’s a reminder that magic—especially dark magic—leaves scars that linger far beyond the moment of its casting.”

The words hit Sebastian like a stone in his chest. Admittedly, since that day, he had gone out of his way to avoid learning about the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse on its victims. He’d always told himself that knowing would only make things worse, would only deepen the pit of guilt he carried with him every day. And if he didn’t fully understand what he’d done to Evangeline, he could convince himself that maybe, it hadn’t been as bad as he feared.

But Hecat’s words shattered that illusion, leaving him no room to hide. The clinical descriptions—the pain that lingered, the nightmares, the fractured trust—each one twisted the knife a little deeper. He’d known it had hurt Evie, that much was obvious, but hearing it laid out in plain, detached terms drove home part of the truth he’d been avoiding.

Beside him, Evangeline remained still, her gaze steady but distant as though she were somewhere else entirely. He wondered if she felt any of it now, if her body remembered that agony in the way Hecat described, or if the memories haunted her dreams as they did his.

He forced his gaze back to his textbook, the words swimming before his eyes as Hecat droned on, her lecture morphing into a murmur in the background as he wrestled with his own thoughts. Every once in awhile, he sensed movement beside him, a slight shift as Ominis or Evangeline turned a page.

At some point, Sebastian became vaguely aware that Hecat had moved on to discussing the Imperius Curse, her voice describing the effects of mind control, the loss of agency, and the danger of surrendering one's will. But the words slipped past him, distant and muted, failing to penetrate the heavy fog in his mind. He turned another page in his textbook without really seeing it, his hand moving automatically as if that alone might convince anyone watching that he was paying attention. But he wasn’t.

And then, all of a sudden, the bell’s chime jolted Sebastian out of his fog, the sounds of chairs scraping and books closing pulling him back to the present. Around him, students murmured in subdued tones as they shuffled out, the weight of the lesson lingering in the air like a cloud. He saw Ominis rise, his face carefully blank as he gathered his things, his hand moving over his wand in a familiar, steadying gesture. Evangeline, though, hadn’t moved, her gaze still fixed on the page in front of her as if she hadn’t heard the bell at all.

Sebastian hesitated, watching her. The room emptied gradually, even Ominis departed without a word, but Evangeline remained in her seat, eyes fixed on the words without seeing them. It was like she’d shut herself off completely, her usually warm presence now a faint echo of itself.

Still standing at the front of the classroom, Professor Hecat’s expression tightened as she watched Evangeline, her gaze softening in a way Sebastian had never seen. She sighed, a barely audible sound as she approached them, her eyes lingering on Evangeline’s unmoving form. With a gentle shake of her head, she muttered, “No one so young should have to carry so much. Who knows what horrors she faced out there, battling poachers and Ranrok’s loyalists…” Her voice trailed off, the edge of regret in her tone unmistakable.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted. It only made sense, he knew, for Hecat to believe Evangeline’s reaction was tied to her battles last year, the relentless fight she’d waged in the Highlands. And it wasn’t wrong—those experiences had left their own scars. But he knew better. He knew that today’s lesson cut deeper because of him. Because of the choice he had made in that Scriptorium, a choice she hadn’t been able to refuse. The guilt weighed down on him, a silent, unbearable burden.

Hecat glanced at Sebastian, her gaze shrewd, and after a moment’s thought, she seemed to reach a decision. She pulled a small parchment from her desk and scribbled something quickly, the scratching of her quill sharp in the silent classroom. She folded the note and pressed it into Sebastian’s hand, her expression firm.

“You’re very close with her, Mr. Sallow,” she said, her voice low but unmistakably kind. “Take her wherever she’ll be most comfortable. She doesn’t need to attend the rest of her classes today. Nor do you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he looked down at the note in his hand, realizing it was a written permission slip allowing he and Evangeline to miss their remaining classes. Hecat met his gaze, her expression softened with the weight of understanding. “Look after her, Sebastian,” she murmured, her tone carrying an unspoken trust.

He nodded, his throat tight as he murmured, “Yes, Professor.” He glanced back at Evangeline, who was still staring blankly at the page, oblivious to the world around her. Carefully, he placed a hand on her shoulder, the contact gentle as he whispered her name.

“Evie?” he murmured, a softness in his voice that even he hadn’t expected.

Her gaze slowly lifted, unfocused at first, before recognition flickered in her eyes. She looked at him, blinking as if surfacing from a trance, and he held up the note Hecat had given him. “We’ve got permission to leave. Just you and me. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

Evangeline glanced at Hecat, who offered her a small, reassuring nod before returning to her desk.

Evangeline took a slow, steadying breath and nodded, her fingers brushing against his as she rose from her seat. She looked drained, her usual spark dulled, and a pang of guilt shot through him again. He led her out of the classroom and down the winding corridors, his mind racing for the best place to bring her.

His first choice would usually be the Undercroft, but even their secret hideout could hold painful memories. After all, that was where he and Ominis has first brought her after she'd endured curse.

Beside him, Evangeline walked as though she were half-asleep, her eyes distant and unfocused, as if each step cost her an effort she couldn’t quite summon. Without thinking, Sebastian reached for her hand, clasping it firmly in his own.

As they passed through the crowded corridors, a few students glanced their way, eyebrows raised or whispering to each other as they took in Evangeline’s expression or the way her hand was clasped in Sebastian’s. But each time someone looked too long, Sebastian’s gaze turned sharp, his glare an unspoken warning. Most people quickly averted their eyes, but those who lingered caught the full brunt of his stare, as if he dared them to comment.

Finally, they stepped out of the main castle doors and into the open grounds. It was December, and the winter chill was sharp, seeping through their robes, but Sebastian only realized his mistake halfway down the path, noticing the way Evangeline shivered beside him, her breath visible in faint clouds against the cold air.

He bit back a curse. Like an idiot, he had started leading her toward Hogsmeade—toward the Three Broomsticks, where he knew Sirona could offer them a quiet, private room upstairs, away from the prying eyes and judgment of the castle. But he’d overlooked one small, glaring detail: neither of them had a coat. She was visibly shivering now, her cheeks reddened from the cold, and guilt gnawed at him for not thinking this through.

“You must be freezing, Evie. Merlin, I didn’t think,” he murmured, slowing his steps and pulling her gently to a stop. He was still holding her hand, and he could feel the chill of her fingers even through his own.

Evangeline didn't respond, of course, her hazel eyes glossy and unfocused, as if she were only half-aware of where they were.

Sebastian tightened his grip on her hand, hoping to anchor her back to the present. “Well… let’s keep going, alright? It’s not too far now. And here,” he said, shrugging off his outer robe. “Take this. It’s not much, but it’ll help.” He draped it around her shoulders, the green of his robes now overlapping the red of her own.

She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d refuse. But she pulled the robe tighter around herself and gave a slight nod. Her silence felt heavier than any words she might’ve spoken, and he knew that there were no quick fixes, no words to ease the wounds of their shared past. But he could at least keep her company through the chill, through the weight of memories that they both carried.

When they finally arrived at the Three Broomsticks, Sebastian ushered her inside, the warm glow of the inn wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Sirona’s eyes immediately softened as they crossed the threshold, her usual warmth tempered with a quiet understanding.

Sebastian didn't even have to ask before Sirona gestured to the stairs. “Go on up,” she said kindly, “I’ll bring some tea and soup. You two look like you could use it.”

Sebastian gave her a grateful nod and led Evangeline up the narrow staircase, the warmth of the inn slowly easing the cold from their bones. The small room at the top of the stairs was cozy, with a crackling fire casting gentle light over the wooden walls and plush armchairs. He guided her to the seat nearest the fire, tightening his robe over her shoulders.

She sank into the chair, curling into the fabric as if it offered her some shield from the weight of her thoughts. He kneeled on the floor in front of her, studying her expression as the firelight softened the tension in her features, though her eyes remained distant, clouded with memories that neither of them could quite shake.

Moments later, Sirona appeared, setting down a tray with two steaming mugs and two bowls of soup. She placed a gentle hand on Evangeline’s shoulder, her voice low and kind. “Take your time, love. No one will bother you here.”

Evangeline glanced up, her hazel eyes flickering with a hint of gratitude before Sirona quietly withdrew, leaving them alone in the warmth of the room. Sebastian wrapped his hands around his own mug, savoring the heat. They sat together in the quiet, letting the warmth of the fire and the steam from their tea fill the empty spaces between them. Neither of them spoke. Sebastian simply watched as Evangeline took small, measured sips, her gaze still distant.

Eventually, he noticed her mug was empty, though she continued to hold it stiffly. Without a word, he reached over and gently took it from her hands. She didn’t resist, her fingers loosening their grip even as her gaze shifted to him, a faint question in her eyes. Sebastian offered her a soft, reassuring smile as he placed the empty mug on the tray beside them.

He picked up the bowl of soup Sirona had left for her, cradling it carefully in his hands before holding it out. “Here,” he murmured, his voice as warm as the soup. “Eat a little. You haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

Evangeline looked at the bowl, her brow furrowing slightly as though she hadn’t even realized her hunger until he’d mentioned it. With a faint, almost hesitant nod, she took the bowl from him, her fingers brushing his in a touch that was both brief and grounding. She lifted the spoon slowly, and he was relieved to see her take a small sip, the warmth of the broth seeming to bring a bit more color back to her cheeks.

Sebastian remained close, his own soup untouched as he watched her in quiet concern. Each careful spoonful she took felt like a small victory, a sign that she was re-emerging from the dark place the lesson had dragged her into. Her eyes flickered toward him a few times, and he held her gaze each time, offering silent reassurance with a look that said, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

When she’d eaten a few spoonfuls, she set the bowl down, her hands still trembling slightly. She met his gaze, and there was a faint flicker of something softer in her eyes—gratitude, perhaps.

“I… don’t know why it’s still so hard,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d moved on from it… or at least made peace with it.”

Sebastian felt a pang in his chest, an ache that was all too familiar. He reached out, his hand resting gently over hers. “I… I’m so sorry, Evie,” he replied softly.

The words felt painfully inadequate, a mere whisper against the weight of the hurt they both carried. He wished he had something better to offer, something that could actually ease the pain he’d inflicted, but all he could do was sit here, his fingers curled around hers, hoping that his presence might be worth something, anything at all.

Evangeline’s gaze softened as she looked at him, her hand trembling slightly in his. “I told myself that forgiving you would be enough,” she murmured, “And I do forgive you. But… somehow, that hasn’t stopped the memories from coming back."

Sebastian’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a small, steadying gesture. “Evie… I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” His voice grew thick, and he had to swallow hard to keep his composure. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish you didn’t have to carry this… because of me.”

Evangeline’s gaze flickered over his face, a trace of sadness mingling with something almost like resignation. “I know, Sebastian. I know you would change it if you could.” She managed a small, weary smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They sat there, suspended in that quiet space between regret and acceptance, neither of them moving as they lingered in the warmth of the fire. Finally, after a long pause, Evangeline’s gaze softened further as she took in Sebastian’s face, her thumb idly tracing a small circle over his hand as if she were lost in thought.

“Thank you for looking after me,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet sincerity. “I know you’d take any excuse to skip class,” she added with a playful smile, “but… it really means a lot that you’re here.”

Sebastian’s smile softened, his heart tugging as he saw that glimpse of her usual spirit breaking through. “Hey, I’ll take any excuse to be the hero, especially for you,” he replied, the teasing note in his voice underscored by the warmth in his gaze.

She shook her head with a small laugh, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “You make it sound so noble,” she said, her voice light but her smile grateful. Then her gaze turned inward, her brow creasing as if trying to make sense of her thoughts. “I’m… honestly not sure what happened. It was like my mind just… shut off." Her voice grew even softer, tinged with an uncertainty she didn’t often show. “If I'm honest, I don’t think anyone else could have coaxed me out of it."

Sebastian’s heart ached at her words, at the trust she had placed in him even after everything. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he also knew he would hold onto it, safeguard it like the rarest of treasures. "Well... I'll always be here when you need me, Evie."

She looked up at him, the gratitude in her hazel eyes deeper than words could convey. “I know."

They sat there, the silence between them filled not with lingering memories but with a mutual understanding, a warmth that had been hard-won. In that quiet room, with only the fire and each other, it felt like they’d carved out a small sanctuary. And after a moment, Evangeline's lips curved into a small, almost mischievous smile.

“You know,” she began, her voice lightening slightly, “I still catch myself feeling scandalized when I’m alone in a room like this with you.” She laughed quietly, the sound like a soft release of tension. “Back in the Muggle world, something like this would be seen as… improper.”

Sebastian chuckled, though a flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes. “So, technically, I should be very concerned about my reputation then?”

“Oh, definitely,” Evangeline replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you were a Muggle, you’d be a rake. And my propriety would be ruins,” she added with a mock sigh. “It’s such a relief to be a witch. Having a best friend who’s a boy would’ve caused such a fuss in the orphanage. And yet, here we are… utterly scandalous. Unchaperoned, close quarters, tea…"

Sebastian grinned, grateful for the shift in mood. “Imagine what they’d think at the orphanage if they knew I’ve been sneaking around the castle with you all this time.”

Her laugh grew, and she leaned back slightly in her chair, looking thoughtful. “It’s funny—there are so many things in the wizarding world that feel… freer, in a way. I keep expecting someone to rush in with rules about how close we can sit or how much time I can spend with you. But here, no one seems to mind.”

Sebastian tilted his head, intrigued. “What kind of rules did you have growing up?”

“Oh, all sorts,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the fire as she spoke. “Once we were "grown up" we couldn’t spend too much time with the boys, and we certainly couldn’t be alone with one. It was all about appearances and being ‘proper.’” She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Everything felt so rigid. In the wizarding world, nobody blinks twice about us being alone like this.”

"Well, for what it’s worth, I’d be a gentleman either way." he murmured, smirking as he gently squeezed her hand. His tone softened as he added, “I think you’ve had enough scandal in your life."

“Well I do appreciate that. But for the record,” she said, her voice lighter, though the sincerity in her eyes grounded her words, “I think if I was going to scandalize myself, I couldn’t ask for better company.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on her, his heart thudding a little harder, a warmth blooming in his chest, "Well then, I’ll do my best to live up to the honour,” he replied, his voice soft, but laced with the same gentle playfulness she’d brought into the moment.

Evangeline looked down, a hint of colour creeping into her cheeks as she toyed with the edge of Sebastian’s robe draped over her shoulders. After a moment, she glanced up at him, a mix of hesitation and something bashful in her expression.

“Can I… ask you something?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered away again, clearly wrestling with whatever it was she wanted to ask.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He could count on one hand the times Evangeline had looked truly bashful around him. “Of course,” he replied gently, his curiosity growing. “You can ask me anything.”

She nodded, taking a steadying breath before looking back at him. “Well, it’s… it’s just that growing up in the Muggle world, like I said we had these strict rules. You might have heard of debutantes and all that. There's this whole… season of events where women are presented to society, and there are all these strict expectations about what’s proper.”

Sebastian listened, fascinated, as she continued, “Things like being alone with eligible bachelors, dancing too close, kissing... well, it's all forbidden.” Her cheeks coloured further, but her gaze didn’t waver, even as she stumbled over the last words. “But… it’s different in the wizarding world. There don’t seem to be as many… restrictions.”

Sebastian’s expression softened as he absorbed her words. It struck him how different her upbringing must have been and how little they’d ever spoken about such an intimate topic.

“Yeah, I guess it is different,” he admitted, a slight smile touching his lips. “For one, it's not considered a scandal to sneak around and... kiss different girls.” He chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood, but as he spoke, he noticed her expression shift ever so slightly, a shadow crossing her face.

Her jaw tensed, her mouth set in a thin line. It was subtle, but enough to make Sebastian pause. His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher the change. He searched her face, hoping for a hint of what she might be feeling, but she just continued.

“Right,” she murmured, her voice carrying a slight edge he hadn’t expected. “You seem to be doing a lot of… sneaking around these days.” She glanced away, and he caught the barest flicker of something in her gaze—something sharp.

He cleared his throat, his voice careful, "So... what exactly is your question?"

Evangeline shifted slightly, clearly weighing her next words, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him. After a moment, she looked back, and there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes that caught Sebastian off guard.

“Well,” she started slowly, a bit more guarded now, “I guess I was wondering… what are the rules? Or rather, what’s considered acceptable here? I know it sounds silly, but… I admit, I don't quite know what I'm doing half the time, and I just assume that Lysander knows what he’s doing,” she finished.

Sebastian felt a dull ache in his chest as Evangeline spoke, her voice so open and vulnerable as she admitted to her uncertainty in navigating their world. And that she was sharing this with him, of all people, only heightened the ache. Because here he was, watching her worry about navigating a relationship with someone else, with someone who had everything he wanted with her.

He took a steadying breath, doing his best to quell the twist of jealousy within him. “Right,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Well, I can certainly try to... explain things.” He paused, considering how to explain the wizarding world’s expectations, especially after everything she’d already seen at the Solstice Ball.

He began tentatively, "Besides the fact that friendships between men and women aren’t looked down upon, which you already know... intimate things aren't quite like the Muggle world either. It’s… well, people don’t expect you to keep a perfect reputation when it comes to affection.” He looked away briefly, rubbing the back of his neck, his own cheeks warming at the conversation. “That said, it’s something people try to keep private. Public displays—especially if they’re, um… premarital—are seen as a bit tasteless.”

Sebastian chanced a glance at her, his pulse quickening again at the way she was listening, intent and curious. She nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“And it’s the same with more, um, physical things,” he continued, his voice quiet. “There’s this unspoken understanding—if it’s not flaunted, if nobody saw it, then it's inconsequential. It’s… a matter of discretion. But…” He hesitated, catching her gaze again, his own feeling more intense than he’d meant. “When it comes to something like premarital sex, that’s still frowned upon,” he said finally, feeling even more colour rise to his face. He'd never imagined himself ever even uttering the word 'sex' in Evangeline's presence. And when Sebastian dared a look back at her, her eyes were wide, listening closely, and he had to look away, feeling suddenly very aware of the space between them.

“So… it’s not like there’s this looming threat over my head, then?" She murmured, "The whole… ‘one wrong step and you’re ruined’ idea?”

Sebastian shook his head, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “No, nothing like that. Intimate things are fine, even expected eventually… just not in public.”

She nodded slowly, processing his words. “So, privacy is key, then.”

“Exactly,” he replied, though he could feel that same dull ache intensify as he imagined her thinking this over in the context of her relationship with Lysander.

Sebastian forced himself onward, adding, “And as you already know, these expectations are even more important when attending formal events.” Sebastian’s voice softened as he explained, his gaze lingering on her face. “The Solstice Ball is a perfect example. It is expected that anyone attending keeps up appearances, shows a certain level of propriety. Even with all this supposed freedom, there are still standards.” He paused, "Not to mention the wizarding world's own courting season."

Evangeline frowned, a flicker of curiosity mingling with confusion in her gaze. “Courting season?”

Sebastian nodded, his tone becoming almost matter-of-fact to mask the vulnerability beneath his words. “Yes, in the summer after we graduate, people are expected to find a partner by then if they haven’t already. It’s not a rule, exactly, but… it’s encouraged. Families tend to host gatherings, and it’s… a bit like what you mentioned with the debutantes. Young people are formally introduced, and those looking for partners use it as a time to meet others with similar interests, background, family connections—all that.” He shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile on his face. “It’s all a bit stiff. And for families like Ominis's or Lysander's, it’s practically an expectation.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the bitterness slipped in at the end.

Evangeline looked down, her expression thoughtful, perhaps imagining herself amidst such an event. She shifted slightly, her fingers still tracing the fabric of his robe as if seeking comfort. “So… do people actually find love through this courting season?”

“Sometimes,” he replied with a small nod. “It’s mostly alliances and matches that benefit families, but there are real relationships that come from it. Some people find what they’re looking for, and others—well, they might settle or go their own way.”

Evangeline fell quiet, and Sebastian thought that might be the end of it. But then she turned those hazel eyes on him, a look he knew too well—a look that meant she was about to say something he’d rather she didn’t.

“So…” she started, her voice calm but edged with a spark of curiosity. “What about you?”

Sebastian froze, caught off guard. “What about me?”

She kept her gaze steady, undeterred. “You’re sneaking off with girls all the time so... What exactly are you doing with them?”

He felt his heart kick up a notch, and despite himself, he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. She’d caught him, and for once, he was the one left stumbling over his words. “I… it’s nothing serious,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice casual. “Just a bit of harmless snogging."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by his attempt at nonchalance. “So, you’re not… doing anything else?” Her cheeks tinged pink as she asked, but her expression remained intent.

"I haven’t… I mean, I don’t— not usually." Sebastian stumbled over his words, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he tried to clarify himself.

Evangeline watched him, her gaze unyielding, as though she were dissecting every word he said. For some reason, he found himself wanting to assure her further, to make her understand that all his "sneaking around" was shallow, the girls were all fleeting things, lacking any real depth.

Evangeline’s gaze held steady, “So, you… you've seen girls naked then?”

Sebastian’s face flushed, and he looked away, struggling to find the words. “Well, I mean… yes. Once. Maybe twice…” He trailed off, feeling more awkward with each word, as though he were somehow confessing to a crime.

Evangeline’s expression remained carefully neutral, but Sebastian could see the way her fingers tightened around the edge of his robe, her knuckles whitening ever so slightly. She looked away, nodding as though processing his answer, though her face was impossible to read.

“Right,” she murmured softly, her tone light and nonchalant, but Sebastian could hear the faintest strain in her voice. “Well, I suppose it’s good to… explore and all that.”

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, and Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he were standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite grasp. Finally, in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, he asked, “What about you, then? I mean… have you…?” His voice trailed off, his curiosity suddenly giving way to uncertainty. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know the answer, but the question hung in the air all the same.

She blinked, turning her gaze back to him, surprised by the question. Her cheeks flushed faintly as she considered him, but she didn’t look away. “Me?” she echoed, clearly stalling.

He nodded, something in him both desperately wanting and dreading her answer. “Yeah. I mean, you’re with Lysander… is it serious? How far have you gone?”

Evangeline hesitated, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread. Finally, she took a slow breath, her eyes flicking away before meeting his again. “Well… besides kissing, I haven’t really… done anything more.” Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic, as though she felt her answer might disappoint him. “Not with anyone.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of relief, but he quickly hid it, keeping his expression neutral.

Evangeline glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. “I suppose that must seem rather… tame to you.”

“No,” Sebastian said quickly, his voice firmer than he’d intended. “No, it doesn’t seem tame at all.” He hesitated, struggling to find the right words to reassure her.

Evangeline looked down, a faint, uncertain smile playing at her lips. “The truth is… I’m not even sure how to go further. In the Muggle world, no one talks about these things. It’s all… well, improper.” She paused, the vulnerability in her voice almost heartbreaking. “I just… never learned what I’m supposed to do, or even what I’d want to do.”

Sebastian’s mind reeled. Relief surged through him, quickly followed by a wave of something selfish, something he struggled to keep at bay as he pictured her innocence, her genuine uncertainty. The thought of her not knowing these things, of her confiding in hi about this made his heart race and his mind drift to places he tried to steer away from.

And he knew, despite his best intentions, that he was dangerously close to letting his own feelings slip, but he had to push those thoughts away, had to keep his own selfish fantasies under control.

"You... You don’t have to know everything," Sebastian managed, his voice a little rougher than he intended, and he quickly cleared his throat to steady himself. "It’s not like there’s some checklist or… set of instructions you’re meant to follow."

Evangeline looked at him, her brow furrowed, eyes scanning his face as though she were seeing him in a new light. “Then… how did you learn? I mean, you... seem to know a lot."

Sebastian felt his face warm, not entirely prepared for her question. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find a way to answer without sounding like he’d spent all his free time learning about such things. “Well, a lot of it just… comes from being in the Hogwarts dorms. You pick things up.” He laughed softly, realizing how strange it sounded. “When you’re around the same group of boys from age eleven onward, nothing’s off limits for long. Topics… come up.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “So it’s all just dormitory gossip, then?”

“Partly, yeah,” he admitted, smiling a little, though the truth was a bit more complicated. “But, there’s… more to it. There are books about this stuff."

She seemed to be digesting this, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Books?” she echoed, as if the idea had never occurred to her.

“Yeah, books,” he replied, trying not to laugh at the look on her face. "Tomes and Scrolls sells more than just dusty old tomes on proper wand techniques."

Evangeline’s eyes widened, a spark of both amusement and disbelief dancing in her gaze. “Wait… you’re telling me that the same place we go to buy standard spellbooks has books on—” she paused, her cheeks flushing as she lowered her voice, “—relationships?”

Sebastian grinned, enjoying her reaction far more than he should. “Oh, they’ve got everything,” he replied, barely suppressing a chuckle. “And not just basic advice, either. Some of it’s actually quite… detailed.”

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “And… you’ve actually read these?”

Sebastian crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair with a mock defensive expression. “I never said that,” he protested, though the color rising to his cheeks likely betrayed him. “Just because I know they’re there doesn’t mean I’ve read them cover to cover.”

“Oh, of course not,” she replied, her voice dripping with playful skepticism. “You've just flipped through them looking for a chapter on ‘How to Sneak Away with Girls Without Getting Caught’?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Please, I’d hardly need a book to tell me that,” he quipped, smirking as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Anyway, you’re making it sound like I’m leading some kind of scandalous double life.”

She shrugged, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Well, from what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t be the only one thinking that.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “Careful, Evie, that sounds suspiciously like jealousy.”

Evangeline's smile faltered for just a moment, an almost imperceptible shift that made Sebastian wonder if he’d struck a nerve. But then, just as quickly, her expression smoothed over, and she rolled her eyes, waving his comment away with a flick of her hand.

“Jealous? Of what exactly? I'm not the one having to keep my snogging limited to the confines of a closet."

Sebastian chuckled, feigning an air of defensiveness. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Some of the best conversations happen in closets, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” she replied dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Sebastian chuckled, marvelling at the way she matched his teasing so effortlessly, as if they were playing a familiar game only they understood. It was easy to lose himself in the warmth of her laughter, the light in her eyes. And it struck him as surreal, almost absurd, how the day had begun with such heavy shadows—the lesson on the Unforgivable Curses, the memories it had dredged up, her visible struggle to keep herself grounded. It was only half an hour ago that Evangeline had been deadly quiet, her gaze distant and haunted, as though revisiting every painful moment from their shared past. The weight of that memory still pressed at the edges of his thoughts, even as he sat there bantering with her like nothing had changed.

And yet, somehow, here they were—laughing, teasing each other.

It was strange but also reassuring, a reminder that they could always seem find comfort in each other, even after everything they’d been through.

“What?” Evangeline’s voice cut through his thoughts, a bemused smile tugging at her lips as she caught him staring.

Sebastian blinked, shaking himself back to the present. “Nothing,” he replied, though he could feel a small smile creeping onto his face. “Just… it’s odd, I suppose.”

“What is?”

He hesitated before letting out a huffed laugh, "Us."

Evangeline’s smile softened, her gaze dropping briefly before meeting his again, a look of understanding passing between them. She didn’t need him to explain further; she knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah,” she murmured, a warmth in her eyes that made his chest ache. “But odd suits us, I think. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do if we were normal."

Sebastian’s smile grew, the warmth in his chest intensifying as he looked at her. “I think we left any hope for normalcy behind the first time we snuck out past curfew. Or maybe when we ran headfirst into that nest of Ashwinders.”

Evangeline laughed, her gaze brightening. “If I remember correctly, it was you who dragged me into that little adventure,” she teased, nudging his shoulder. “Though I suppose I did follow willingly enough.”

“See?” he grinned, crossing his arms. “Perfect partners in crime.”

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, a flicker of something deeper passing between them before she shook her head with a smirk. “Alright, partner, I’m parched from all this reminiscing and self-reflection. What do you say we go get a butterbeer?”

Sebastian chuckled, relieved at her suggestion, “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day."

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