#he stopped biting after scotland bit back

[who-parties-on-a-tuesday]

I like the idea that Arthur is an impossible combination of gentleman and feral wild child.

His brothers used to just leave him in woods for hours if he was starting to piss them off (which was often).

He would come back home, covered in dirt with some dead bird in his mouth. Wales used to muzzle him after he tried to bite someone.

After many years, they thought he grew out of it. But on rare occasions, if Francis can push all the right buttons, Arthur will attempt to maul him.

[daisyblog]

Love Day

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry and YN celebrate their first Valentine’s Day as a married couple.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby!” Harry whispered to YN, whose eyes were still closed as they laid in bed. With his hand resting on her now rounded tummy, Harry placed a small peck to her exposed skin, where his white t shirt at risen up her bump. “And happy Valentine’s Day to my other favourite girl!”. 

YN’s lips turned up slightly when she felt his lips kissing her baby bump, where their little girl was growing nicely. “Happy Valentine’s Day Mr Styles!”. YN tugged at his arm so he was now hovering above her, her hands sitting on his bare shoulders.

“G’morning Mrs Styles!”. Harry smiled into the kiss, their lips moving slowly against the other. Their hands gently exploring the others body. “God I love calling you my wife.”. 

Wednesday had started with a lazy morning for the newly wed couple, Harry had made them both breakfast in bed, which later resulted with their clothes being thrown on the floor and the pair tangled in between the sheets. 

Before they got out of bed, Harry pulled a white envelope from behind his back. “I know we said we weren’t going to do presents…but I couldn’t resist this one and it’s kind of for both of us”. 

“Harry!” YN whined and her now plump lips from a busy morning pouted. “We agreed”. She carefully opened the envelope and inside was an appointment card for a private baby scan dated for that day. “Is this a joke?”. 

“No…no joke baby”. Harry reassured her, as he smiled brightly, his white teeth on full display. “We’re going to see our baby!” YN pulled him closer and placed her lips on his whilst she mumbled ‘thank you’ over and over again. 

After showering and getting ready for the day, they headed out for the afternoon for a walk around London. They had stopped off at a small coffee shop for a drink and some donuts. They were sat at the back of the cosy vintage shop and Harry couldn’t help but smile as YN took a bite of her donut. 

“Whot?” YN eyed Harry suspiciously, wondering why he was grinning at her all of a sudden. She dabbed the napkin against her mouth quickly. “Do I have something on me face?”.

“No…I was just thinking about our first Valentine’s Day and now we’re married with our baby girl on the way”. Harry’s hand naturally went to YN’s tummy, where he could feel some movement of their daughter. 

“I guess our wishes did come true!”. 

---

12th of February 2012

As One Direction were on tour in Glasgow on Valentine’s Day, Harry had planned for YN to stay at the flat after their London show to celebrate early. He wanted to wine and dine her, but with YN still being seventeen it just wasn’t possible. So to Harry’s benefit, Louis was travelling to Scotland earlier than the rest of the boys which meant he had the flat to himself. 

Whilst YN was in the bath, and pampering herself ahead of the relaxing night they had planned, Harry was getting the living room ready with blankets, pillows, duvets, snacks and everything else they needed. He had just finished lighting some candles, that created a soft glow in the room, when YN entered. 

YN was cuddled on Harry’s lap, the film playing in the background as they both spoke, not really paying attention to the film. YN’s fingers played with the strings on Harry’s hoodie. “Do you ever think about the future?”.

“Yeh quite a bit actually” he confessed, as he moved his hand to YN’s exposed thigh. “Why? Do you?”.

She only nodded as her fingers continued to twist the cotton. “What do you want yours to look like?”. 

Harry scratched the back of his neck, whilst he thought. “I want to be happy…I’d like to have a wife and children…uh yeah keep making music and touring”. He could see YN try to hide her smile. He wanted to add that he’d like that life with her, but only being a few months into their relationship he was worried it may come across too much. “What about you?”. 

“Well I’m just going to be really forward…I want to be your wife and have a family with you”. YN said matter of fact. Harry could feel the pink appear on his cheeks as he tried to act cool about the conversation. 

---

Entering the small private clinic, Harry and YN were greeted with a warm welcome from the lady behind the reception desk. “Oh waw…you are glowing!”. She complimented YN as she stood in front of her. 

“Aww thank you…I think being pregnant is my new favourite thing!”. YN smiled and let out a chuckle at Harry’s raised eyebrows. 

The receptionist took some details from YN before they were both told to sit in the waiting room. They didn’t have to wait long until a young female called. 

“Mrs Styles?”. Her voice was soft and a warm smile filled her face. They followed her into a smaller room which had a bed and a few chairs by the side of it. “Come on in…I’m Jessica and this is Paula”. She pointed towards the older woman who sat on a chair near a desk. 

“Ahh so you’re the famous Harry that Jess is always talking about!” Paula revealed, a teasing tone to her voice, showing the type of relationship the two colleagues had. 

“Paula!”. The younger of the two gave her a warning look. But Harry and YN only laughed and reassured her that it was okay. “I am a fan…but I am professional and I wouldn’t reveal any of your details”. 

“You’re alright babe…it’s nothing I wouldn’t reveal myself”. YN’s laid back tone was enough to reassure her. 

YN laid down on the bed, Harry taking a seat next to the bed. They had been to a few scans already so it was like second nature to them both now. As Jessica got the probe ready, YN pulled up her jumper and lowered her leggings down that exposed her bump. 

Within a few minutes, they could see their baby girl moving her arms and legs around on the smaller screen. “Oh you have a very active little one”. 

“She’s following her Daddy!”. YN teased Harry. 

“You know you’re having a little girl…how sweet!”. Paula smiled over to the couple, totally in her element at the scene in front of her. 

“YN’s always said I’m a girl Dad…whatever that means”. Harry revealed, looking between the screen in awe at how much their daughter had grown. 

Jessica smiled down at YN. “She’s growing beautifully in there…she’s weighing about two pounds always so whatever you’re doing Mama, keep doing it.”. 

YN and Harry walked out of the clinic with bright smiles, new photos of their little girl, along with a few extra gifts from the two women, a teddy that played their daughters heartbeat and a free appointment for another scan. 

“The best Valentine’s Day yet…don’t you think”. YN spoke as they spoke drove home. 

“And next year will be even better!”. Harry looked down at YN’s bump. 

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson, and 2,675,986 others

ynstyles Happy Valentine’s Day to my Husband and Baby Daddy❤️ View all 12,877 comments

harrystyles Happy Valentine’s Day Mrs Styles! X ⌞harryfan4 HARRY!! ⌞ 1dfan6 MRS STYLES!! 🥹🥹🥹 ⌞ harryfan9 hi Harry!!!

niallhoran Aww my three favourite Styles’😂See you soon xx ⌞ ynstyles Baby Styles is excited for her Uncle Niall’s tour 🫶🏼

gemmastyles Too cute 🥹

annetwist Love you three very much 🤍🤍🤍

lottietomlinson Look beautiful sis😘 ⌞ ynstyles It runs in the genes babes ❤️

louist91 Watch your hands Harold!!😂 ⌞ynstyles A bit late for that Lou, not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m already pregnant xx ⌞harryfan3 these two never fail to make me laugh😂😂😂 ⌞louisfan7 the best siblings❤️

louteasdale How are you married? I swear we were just on tour😉

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream @treehouse-mouse

[jakes3resin]

Drops this here and flees back to my A/B/O fic doc

"You're a Brit?" The question comes from Curt, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek.

"Parents were." Bucky says simply turning back to his drink, but Curt's three drinks deep and knows Bucky too well by now to let him get away with that answer.

"But you said you're from Wisconsin?"

"I am," Bucky nods. Curt gives him a look, and Bucky can feel Buck staring at him. "I was raised there after I turned 3. Came here for a few years for boarding school, but my aunt and uncle brought me back before I turned 18."

"How come?" Croz joins in setting down a tray of drinks, and Bucky wishes they'd let this go. There's a reason he doesn't talk about all this.

"I asked." Bucky smiles. "The weather sucks, and I was bored."

"Sorry chaps, did you just say you went to boarding school here?" One of the RAF pilots that likes to stick their nose into Bucky's conversations butts in. Bucky resists the urge to bang his head against the table.

"This fella, right here." Curt smacks Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky sends him a look to cut it out. He catches Buck's eye and sees the questions building in his blue eyes. Bucky turns away. He can't answer those questions.

"Where abouts?" The RAF pilot clearly doesn't see how done with this topic Bucky is.

"Scotland." Bucky answers with a sharp grin. "Old school, but you won't know it."

"Bloody hell," The man stares at Bucky wide-eyed, and he can feel Buck tensing, whether it's to defend Bucky or to stop him from doing something stupid that's still unclear. "You didn't go to Hogwarts, did you?"

Bucky freezes. He stares up at the Brit, grin sharp and eyes a bit dangerous. Most wizards know not to talk too loudly about magic around Muggles and No-Majs, but this guy's deeper in his cups than half the bar.

"For a few years." Bucky confirms sounding like he was pulling out teeth with each word. "You go there too?"

"Of course! Sorted right into Gryffindor!" The man straightens up suddenly affronted that Bucky would dare even think the opposite. "It's the finest school!"

"This side of the Atlantic sure." Bucky leans back, trying to distance himself.

"If you went to Hogwarts, what are you doing palling around with this bunch?"

"Cause I want to." Bucky watches Curt glare at the Brit, but he's calling over more Brits before any of them can stop him.

"Reginald! Listen to this, this chap here says he went to Hogwarts!" The shocked looks on the faces of the gathered British pilots makes Bucky question how the hell they've kept magic secret for centuries. If a few drunk flyboys can talk this openly, what the hell are they doing to keep the secret?

"Preposterous," Bucky thinks it's Reginald who says that, but he doesn't care. "Hogwarts doesn't allow Americans. You, what family are you from?"

"Family?" Croz murmurs looking lost. Buck's gaze is still sitting heavy on Bucky's shoulders. Bucky sighs, truly over these idiots.

"Why do you wanna know all that?" Curt glares up at Reginald. He doesn't understand what the man's on about, but he knows he's insulting Bucky.

"Only the most noble houses could pull an American into Hogwarts." Reginald sniffs, and out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Buck finally turn his attention away to place a calming hand on Curt's shoulder. Curt settles back unhappily. "Riffraff doesn't make the cut."

"Right, riffraff," Bucky murmurs. Buck swings his focus back to him now.

"So, out with it!" One of the other Brits urges.

"Out with what?" Bucky says with a laugh. "You boys know my name."

"Yes, but what Noble House do you come from?" The original Brit rolls his eyes at him obviously over Bucky's stalling.

"Is this really that important?" Croz tries to intervene, but the RAF boys steamroll over him.

"Unless of course, you're lying about attending Hogwarts." One of the flyboys grins mockingly. Bucky grits his teeth. This is why he doesn't talk about his family. Brits always going on and on about blood and prestige. He hates it. "Trying to fit in, are we?"

Bucky stares up at them. There's a reason he'd kept his old name quiet. He doesn't want the fuss. But it looks like he has no choice here. These boys won't leave him alone until he coughs it up.

"Scamander, got it?" Bucky grins up at the idiots surrounding him. His hands twitch, a phantom weight in his palm that he ignores. "Now beat it."

"Great Scott, don't tell me you're related to Theseus Scamander?"

Bucky sucks at his teeth.

"That's my cousin." He admits, hoping this will be enough to sate their curiosity. He's wrong. The boys explode, some asking questions, others denying that he's related to such an esteemed gentleman.

Buck's gaze has never felt so heavy.

[whoreburslut]

Kinktober: Day 2

•public

gender neutral reader

smut

(i think this is public enough?)

you had planned a road trip with the boys a few months ago, from brighton all the way to scotland. there was you, phil, tommy, ranboo, jack and wil, it was weird that non of you had noticed that all six of you weren’t going to fit in a regular car. so it only makes sense that you would sit in your boyfriends lap, everyone seemed to agree that this was the best solution.

packing the car up and everyone jumps in their seats, wilbur slips in the back behind the drivers seat where phil was stationed. you throw your bag in the boot of the car, grab your blanket and get situated in wilbur’s lap you drapes the blanket over yourselves and get ready for the long ride ahead.

thirty minutes in to the ride, after all the excitement has died down, wil has snakes his hands around your waist with his head nestled in to your back. you relish in his hold for just a moment before phil states that your going on the the country roads so it might get bumpy.

you thought nothing of the uneven ride until you feel wil start to slowly harden beneath you, you rotated slightly so you could see his face, he was flush and glanced at you with want it his eyes. on a particular big bump in the road send you bouncing on wils crotch quite roughly, he bites his lip and grabs your hips with force and pulls you down in to him to stop you bouncing as much.

realising that no one can see how you two are sitting because of the blanket covering you both, you decide to have a little fun. you grind down on to wilbur, causing his mouth to latch on to your shoulder so he stays silent. you reach behind you and start to unzip his pants, he lifts his hip a bit to help you shimmy them down to mid thigh.

you take his cock in to your hands softly move your hand up and down him, you look up to meet his face that’s still resting on your shoulder . his eyes are now hooded and dark and you can feel his grip on your hips tightening, surly this will leave bruises behind. after a few minutes of teasing you bring your own pants down to your knees, you lift up slightly and slowly slide his length inside you.

you take some of the blanket in to your mouth as a makeshift gag so no moans escape you, feeling utterly blissful as he bottoms out. you decide just to let the country roads do their thing, you bounce up and down his dick with the unstable road, the car goes over another large rock making you slam down on to his boner. you gasp and heads turn to you, “sorry wil pinched me” you stutters out trying not to make it obvious. everyone turns away seemingly having bought your excuse, you turn to look wil in the eyes again and he has a stupid grin of his face obviously proud of himself that he made you crack in front of everyone.

wilbur wraps his arms around you really tightly and starts thrusting up in to you, pulling you down the same time he thrusts up, this along with the harsh jolts of the car have yous both on the edge of pleasure. wil reaches his hand down in between your legs and stares touching you, you start shaking as your already very sensitive. “you can come whenever you like darling” he whispers lowly in your ear.

as soon as he says the words you are thrashing on his cock as you cum, his thrusts start to be come messy and out of rhythm, soon you feel hot spurts of cum shoot inside you. wil comes to a full stop trying to regulate his breathing, he pulls out of you slowly and you slouch in to his chest. he pulls your pants up as he knows your tired, and positions you to where he can also pull his up.

he tucks your head in to the crook of his neck and brings your legs to rest over his lap leaning slightly on the other guys, he begins to stroke your hair as your eyes start to feel heavy. you feel his hot breath against your ear once more and hear wilbur mutter one thing right before he loses you to sleep for the next few hours of the ride.

“you did so good baby”

and everyone was completely oblivious to what yous two did in the car.

[e-rated-beardo]

📣 New 'Scorn' chapter alert 🚨

(I'm running out of clever ways to title these posts, why am I allergic to writing the same thing twice)

A murder mystery/romance/who-turned-them-human Good Omens fanfic, set at a university in Scotland, with lots of smut and one trans angel

Chapter 8: Do the tango just for two

Details and art under the cut ⬇️

Longboi chapter 8 summary: Crowley wakes up after that drunken shower and has an awkward chat with Brimstone. Fell tells Crowley a secret and gets more than he bargained for, in the best way possible.

Warnings: rated E; probably low M if you use the skip links. Contains one (non-dramatic, dysphoria-free, brief) instance of deadnaming, and a good amount of smut.

Do we warn for lots (and LOTS) of tartery, lousy naughty puns, and a bit of flirting-using-Shakespeare?

No?

No. Thought so. 😏

Excerpt:

“I said I bite my thumb at you,” Fell feinted, voice only a touch weak. “Sir.” Crowley grinned, showing his teeth. “Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?” he challenged. He angled Angel’s face upwards, towards his own. The hands on his collar had fallen to his chest and spread their fingers there. His skin prickled against the fabric. Fell swallowed. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, but it was almost completely overshadowed by the… other emotion which had already set up camp there. His glance dropped to Crowley’s lips, then back. His voice had darkened when he replied. “‘Is the law of our side if I say ay?’”

Read on ao3 ➡️ or read from the beginning ↩️ (~35k words, WIP)

Reveal of the thing I made at @theineffablecon! 🎉 (See this other post for WIPs)

Stop scrolling here if your gran's watching over your shoulder (why is your gran watching over your shoulder? Hi, random user's gran! Would you mind stepping away for a min so your grandkid can check out this watercolour ineffable neck kiss in peace?)

I've been wanting to use the praying-to-Heaven screencap from S1 for nefarious purposes for so long, you have no idea. Sdfgdgfds how am I doing

Read on ao3 ➡️ or read from the beginning ↩️ (~35k words, WIP)

[gregorovitch-adler]

Car

Warning: A bit suggestive.

--

Sherlock and John were walking briskly along the pavement outside Scotland Yard.

Breathing heavily through their giggles, their hands slid into each other's. Quite natural, when it came to them. John interlocked their fingers, making Sherlock turn to look at him. They shared an intense look - with John gazing into his sea-green eyes - but knew better than to do anything at the moment.

John looked away and smiled to himself. Sherlock busied himself by raising an arm to hail a cab for both of them.

The case they had just solved was no less than a nine. Sherlock had been working on it for weeks after having visited the crime scene for the first time.

When he went out of the flat on the second occasion, along with John, they made sure to bring the killer with them to the Yard.

Catching this one was particularly tricky. The killer must have made them run in every nook and corner of Westminster that evening.

In the end, John shot him in the foot and cuffed him like Sherlock had asked him to do.

Sherlock had been able to force the confession out of the killer with the other officers as witnesses.

A cab slowed down at the curb.

Sherlock opened the door of the car for John. His grin still had not worn off.

John tried to calm himself down by biting his lower lip as he got in - to control his own, rather idiotic, grin.

Sherlock sat beside him and slammed the car door shut, before turning to look at John.

John returned his gaze with the same intensity as before, looking at Sherlock as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Well, he was.

The driver cleared his throat pointedly.

"221, Baker Street," they said in unison, without even glancing at the driver.

The car started from there, and for the two of them, the rest of the world had stopped mattering.

Sherlock placed an arm around John, closed the distance, and leaned in to kiss John. Hard.

John made a surprised sound at the back of his throat but grabbed one of the lapels of Sherlock's coat to kiss him back with equal passion.

They normally didn't do this with people around, but John could not care less today.

John had buried his other hand in Sherlock's curls and was tugging them now and then - making Sherlock drop his hand to John's waist, to tighten the embrace even more.

The way Sherlock's plush lips kept pressing insistently against his own - John felt like the luckiest man in London. No, the luckiest man in the world - even though this was decidedly not the first time they were doing this. He would not be able to bring himself to stop this, even if he tried.

Just when he was about to shift his mouth to Sherlock's neck, the driver honked loudly. Bit rude, John thought for a split second, just when the driver honked again.

Realising they were on an empty street, and that the driver was glaring at them through the rearview mirror, the couple broke the embrace, feeling abashed.

Sherlock hadn't let go of John's hand though.

A few minutes passed in complete silence. John was staring out the window, flushed up and aroused.

They had still not arrived at Baker Street.

Suddenly, Sherlock shifted close to John in the backseat again with their legs touching. He leaned into John's ear and dropped his voice to a whisper. "We could always make use of our hands in silence."

John shivered and suppressed a laugh. From the tone of his voice, Sherlock sounded completely serious.

So, that was exactly what they did, during the rest of their ride.

***

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompt Car by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @lookingforlifeoutthere @keirgreeneyes @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @missdeliadili @curlyjohnlock @calaisreno

[goldieghoulie]

New Chapter! (9 of ?)

Isabel and Secondo navigate the closer quarters of travel…mostly without incident.

Story summary

Having fled the instability of Scotland when the Bruce declared himself king, Isabel has spent the past years living off the goodwill of her royal godmother, but that can’t go on forever. With no offers of marriage forthcoming, and no other abbeys willing to take her, Isabel hopes the Ministry at Linköping will at last offer her a home.

Read on AO3

Or a teaser snippet below the cut.

“Ah, the siblings who packed are clever. Bene,” Secondo muttered to himself, and Isabel strained to catch the words as the wind from the moving sled took them. When Secondo had pushed the blanket off his lap, she had first assumed he was warm. She herself had opened her cloak and was debating pushing it off her shoulders as the winter sun warmed them surprisingly well. However, he instead had freed his legs so he could turn and reach over the back of the sled and rummage around what had been packed back there. After a grunt and some unintelligible Italian, he righted himself and turned to present Isabel with a bag,  

“Good job?” Isabel said to his triumphant look.   

“No mocking, you will thank me,” he said and passed her the bag so he could sit down and pull the blanket back onto his lap. Adding a second one for good measure. Once situated he gestured for the bag and Isabel passed it back.  

“You have not broken your fast this morning, eh?” he said, working the knot keeping the bag shut.   

“No. I didn’t stop by the kitchens before meeting the traveling party. I figured I could wait until lunch.”   

“You are not hungry then?”  

“I didn’t say that.”   

“Good.” He managed to free the knot and pulled a covered ceramic dish out. Another piece of twine had been wrapped around it to ensure it stayed shut. He set to work on that as well and, after a shorter struggle, freed the twine. Carefully he lifted the lid, and Isabel was amazed to see steam rise from the dish. With as cold as it was, the provisions should be well on their way to freezing. Even if they’d only been underway for half an hour or so.   

Setting the lid down gently on a pile of blankets, Secondo then settled the dish on his lap and picked up a bun to hold out to Isabel.  

“You liked this at communion, so I asked the kitchen to prepare an extra batch,” he said. Pulling her attention from her amazement at the temperature, she focused on the food being offered her.  

“These are more of the bread from communion?” she asked reverently and reached for the offering. He, however, retracted his hand, and Isabel couldn’t fight a scowl as she watched him tear the bun in half, steam again rising from its inside, then tear it again into a bite size piece. Finally, he raised the piece to her, an expectant look in his gaze.   

“This isn’t communion. I can eat it myself,” she said, doing her utmost to resist the tempting smells and ignore the roiling of her empty stomach.  

“I do not doubt you,” he said and still held out the piece.  

“Then hand me another bun.”   

“No.”   

With a put-upon sigh Isabel leaned forward to grab one herself from the bowl in his lap, but he was quicker and moved the bowl behind himself. Not about to try to manhandle him out of the way, she sat back.   

“It’s getting cold,” he said and waved the piece in front of her face. Isabel glared at him. “Why are you so scared of eating from my hand?”   

“I’m not scared.”   

“Mm” he hummed, sounding unconvinced. “Do you fear poison? Here, I’ll eat this bit.”   

He popped it in his mouth and chewed it with a happy, blissful expression. When he was done, he ripped off another bit and again held it out to her. “Delicious as last time. And not poisoned.”   

Isabel’s stomach growled. They both heard it, and Secondo brought the bite closer to her face so she could feel the warmth still seeping from it. She scanned his face, looking for some hint at his larger intentions but found nothing. Slowly she said “this isn’t setting a precedence. I don’t need you to feed me everything.”   

He nodded. Hesitantly she leaned forward and opened her mouth and waited as Secondo placed the bite in it.

[consanguinitatum]

David Tennant's Early Work: the short film 'Bite'

My normal David Tennant thread heads in a new direction: to one of his rare first performances on film as opposed to TV and theatre: the short film Bite. I've got personal history with this short, so it's dear to my heart.

Bite is one of DT's long-lost gems. Most of his fans know it exists, but few have seen it. It was produced by Su Bainbridge and written by Andrea Gibb, who DT fans may recognize as the author of the brilliant DT audio Sunburst Finish. Paddy Cunneen, who also wrote the music for The Pillowman, was its musical composer. Directed by Brian Ross and with a running time of 6:58, Bite was produced on 16mm film and screened at the Edinburgh Film Festival in 1997. It was broadcast in Nov 1997 as part of an STV arts program called Don’t Look Down.

But what is Bite about? "Bite is a film about Alistair Galbraith, a passive postman who tires of being a spectator in his own life and decides to take control. When Alistair’s wife, Alison, commits adultery on their wedding day and shortly afterwards he is savaged by a ferocious dog, Alistair hits rock bottom, unable to cope with even the most undemanding of life’s tasks. From the depths of despair, he is galvanized into action and in true anti-hero style sets out to take revenge on those who have wronged him. Through taking this action, he is re-born."

David played Alastair Galbraith and his wife, Alison, was played by Sharon Small, who recently reunited with David onstage in the play, Good.

At this juncture everyone usually asks, "Can I see it?" Yep! You can reserve a viewing time if you're close to the Moving Image Archive in Glasgow, as a copy is held for private and research viewing only. And I'm pretty sure it's available, either directly or indirectly, because of me!

But before I get into that (it's the personal aspect I talked about earlier) here’s a bit of Bite you can see. The film's editor, Gary Scott, has a :44 extract of the film online right here!

ALSO - SPOILER ALERT - If you're interested in a blow-by-blow spoilery summation of 'Bite' because you can't visit Glasgow to see the short, here's a detailed plot summation.

And now: how I wheedled it so Bite became available to view.

When I discovered back in 2014 that a copy of Bite was archived at the Scottish Screen Archive (now the Moving Image Archive) but not available - while his earlier short film SPACES was? - it made me wonder why, so I made inquiries at the archive to see why. It turned out SPACES had a viewable copy, but the copy of Bite in the archive was still on 16mm.

Now, this would've stopped any ordinary human being.

I am not an ordinary human being.

I was not a professional archivist then but I am now. The decision to become one this late in my life is partially due to my love of knowledge, organization and research, but also to my experiences since becoming - basically - an archivist and researcher with regards to DT's body of work. These things combined makes me rather dogged when there’s something I wish to attain.

I learned Bite was on 16mm and they couldn't make a viewing copy. Why? Because it was in copyright. And even funnier? They didn't know who held the rights! But I thought it should be available, so - even though I'm in the US and everyone else was in the UK - I decided to try and make that happen.

Archive personnel suggested I ask Creative Scotland about the rights, who suggested I ask the film’s production company. I was told it was rumored they had a VHS/beta copy of the film. I contacted each and every one of them to find out if this was true.

After months of back-and-forth emailing with the production company and soldiering on even through staffing rotations and I had to retell my entire story of the hunt again and again, I was still in a state of limbo. Finally the production company said they for sure did not have a copy of it but they could begin to negotiate with the National Library of Scotland for one. A few months later they learned they'd be able to procure a copy, but it would cost them X amount for a post-production company to digitize the 16mm, etc., etc.

Progress, right? Frankly, it felt like a scene in a comedy, as each thread in this chain of people needed to make their own copy in this format by this company for this archive or that person or...you get the gist. And no one could tell me if it would actually get done. So I kept reaching out. To make a ridiculously long story short, one full YEAR afterwards, the archive finally managed to obtain a copy that was viewable for others to view onsite!

That was a reward in and of itself. An obscure piece of David's body of work had been pulled from its original 16mm - where it might have languished forever - and preserved on a format available to us today. But I got a few tangible rewards, too. One, an email from the production company's owner that made me laugh harder than I'd laughed for a while: "Feck my old tin boots! I’ve just looked at who we cast in that film!"

Yes, sir. You DID cast David Tennant! Indeed you did!

And two, my very own copy of Bite (which, of course, I had to sign my life away for!) I got permission to release some screen shots, but that was it. And while it felt like an acknowledgement, I'm really just pleased we rescued it.

I took my copy to a convention DT was attending, and when I laid it down, he immediately looked up at me. "How - and where - did you get THAT?"

I laughed. "Persistence?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that one in a while. I remember that dog."

"You were a great postman."

And he was.

Lastly, I thought I should post some new screenshots. Sorry they're not great quality, but neither is my copy.

[kirklandsheartsecrets]

Oooh Baccano crossover! Do you know how healing looks like for these immortals? Cuz I've seen how severed fingers heal in Baccano, they just simply float back to their hands with the blood they lost trailing along with it.

How would they react to the elixir healing her? Like perhaps she was cooking with them and she cut herself and then they saw the cut just fade away in seconds.

Or maybe her temporarily dying, she accidentally gets shot, falls down and then they witness her blood going back to her body while at the same time her wound fades away.

uk brothers II Baccano au II headcanons

lets make this simple and funny shall we ?

this is after they met their s/o again

wales

you were enjoying the beach together for once (vacation)

but your back met a rock

scrapping your back skin badly

it was burning and bloody

when dylan ran to you just in time and he saw the blood rushing back in

but only because that's not how he heals.

like bitch ? Does it hurt at least ?

he gets unecessarily scared please be careful

scotland

voluntarily asks and you show him

however you want it, it could be a cut or anything else

the blood rushes back after a few minutes

the skin looks perfectly healed

will try probably 10 times minor injuries on you

amazed by the process and how silly it looks

ireland

almost passed out when you cut your arm away

it popped back in quickly like a doll

are you for real ?

before he could try on himself you stopped him

because yes it does not work on everyone

gets used to it, useful sometimes for some special activities

northern ireland

at the farm, one cow bit your shoulder really badly

big ass bite on your shoulder

its a nice cow, it was just stressed today

when you kept going on your work and he watched your skin go back where it was-

idk who was more confused, the cow or him

england

went back to rural england to pick up your stuff

when that heavy ass wardrobe fell on you

yeah yeah that heavy ass wardrobe

the sounds of your bones wasnt pleasing

he quickly as possible got rid of the wardrobe itself to find out you were fine ?

you just stretched, popping back in place your bones

????

[appleciderp]

Way the Sun Rises p1

The thrill of adventure is what led Johnny to the West, something interesting in his life that wasn’t just simply spending time with his family and hunting. Going to the West was an obvious choice for a young man who craved adventure and could shoot straight.

His mother had been opposed to the idea, but quickly realized her stubborn son wouldn’t have taken anything but a yes for an answer. So he’d set sail shortly after with pockets lined with what little money he’d made hunting for a local butcher. 

When he stepped off the boat, his first search was for a horse; mare preferably, but he wasn’t picky. There was a livestock market just next to the landing; clearly, people would know the first things people would look for were food sources and transport. The variety of horses was underwhelming, mostly carriage horses - not saddle broke - for people transporting families wherever they needed to be.

Until he stumbled upon the prettiest horse he’d ever seen, a uniquely spotted coat that looked stunning. He knew he shouldn’t waste money on the horse's looks alone, but he was tempted. He’d been raised atop the dullest of greys and sorrels, and the fire-red of the horse’s coat was spellbinding. 

He must’ve caught the owner’s attention, who just nodded at the horse and asked “You wanna take a closer look? Careful, she’s a bit of a hellion.”

Johnny grinned and ducked under the fence to check her out. Her feet were solid and her body condition was healthy. When he checked her teeth, the mare tried to bite him.

“Her name’s Dynamite.” The seller added. Perfect fit.

The sale was completed shortly after with a skeptical Good Luck, you’ll need it. 

The sun was beating down on his back, and even in the early hours of the morning, he was sweltering. Johnny hadn’t regretted coming over to the West before this point. Now he saddle-sore sat atop a mare who’d probably be the death of him, wishing he was back in Scotland. 

The closest thing to an adventure he’d gotten in the past month was getting thrown off the mare on a near-daily basis. Even in the vast nothingness where they ambled on currently, she’d find something to spook. A snake, a coyote howling in the distance, or a tumbleweed. Just the other day she’d bolted at a well-timed breeze, Johnny had lost his hat in the kerfuffle and she’d then spooked at the hat blowing away from them. Johnny had been so ecstatic about being able to stay seated that he promptly forgot about his hat until he felt the sun beating down on his semi-shaven scalp.

He knew a town was nearby, they’d told him it was a few day's walk southeast, so he’d have to pick one up there. He squinted in the distance and slowed Dynamite to a halt, raising his hand to look past the glare of the sun. Buildings! 

He went to kick the mare into a trot but stopped himself as he noticed two riders coming quickly in his direction, kicking up dust in their wake. He frowned slightly, people galloping towards you was always never a good sign…

START | PREV | NEXT

[osirian-rises]

Jerome Centric House of Anubis Chapter Two

The school food at Amun academy looks a million times better than at his old school. Usually, a special supper there would be some kind of vegetable and meat stew with mashed potatoes. Here, that was just the first course. There was ham, green beans, buttered corn, bread with butter. Best of all, there was real knives to spread on the butter and cut the ham, and not plastic ones that broke off into the food.

“Everyone, this is Jerome.” Trudy spoke up after a few teachers and Mr. Sweet had given more speeches. “Jerome, this is Isabella, Esperanza, Matthew, Harry, Christopher, and Jada. Oh, but where are Zoe and Brandon?” Trudy looked around. “Victor! Do you know where Zoe and Brandon are?”

“Sneaking around I presume.” Victor said accusingly, standing and grabbing his coat. “I will go out to look for them, stay here Trudy.” He left, stopping only to mutter something to Mr. Sweet that Jerome couldn’t hear. His attention was a bit preoccupied besides, on the final girl at the table, the one he hadn’t already met.

“I…I like your jacket.” He said quietly.

“Mine?” Jada looked down at her leather jacket and grinned at him. “Thanks. I did all the patchwork myself. You should see the stuff I have at home. Way easier to be punk when you aren’t constricted by a school dress code.”

He nodded in immediate agreeance. “No one was allowed to wear anything like that at my old school. I like the pins.” Isabella and Esperanza were watching him with twin grins, snickering to themselves.

“You punk, kid?” Jada teased. Jerome reluctantly shook his head no. “What are you, exactly?”

“What…what am I?” Jerome repeated.

“You gotta find a style, little dude. “ Jada grinned. “Your clothes tell me nothing about you. Everyone’s clothes should represent them. Like Esperanza, she’s beachy and we all know she never shuts up about her vacations to the Bahamas to surf. Isa is preppy, but not in an academic way, only in a fashion way.”

“What can I say, I look good in a blouse and pleated skirt.” Isabella said with a coy shrug, smoothing out her already straightened hair.

“And Christopher is trying and failing to look like the school bad boy.” Jada teased, Christopher laughing at her.

“I am the school bad boy.” He said suavely, shooting her a wink. Jada rolled her eyes. “The hair gel never lies.”

“So, you must have had a nice summer.” Jada presumed. “Did you go anywhere on holiday?”

“No. I hung out with my little sister.” Jerome said simply. That was pretty much all he could do at home, that and watch TV for hours on end. Poppy certainly felt like the days were too short, with how much she talked her head off, about her friends, and her school, and the class hamster, and how her music classes were teaching the recorder-

“Lame.” Harry commented under his breath. “I heard Zoe and Brandon met up over the holiday. Didn’t their families go together?”

“Yup. Amsterdam. My family went to Germany.” Isabella nodded. “It was amazing. We went to Neuschwanstein Castle, I got so many good pictures.”

“What about you, Jada?” Jerome piped up.

“My mom lives in Scotland. I spend holidays with her.” Jada said, taking a bite of her food. Jerome stared at her. Did that mean she lived with her dad? Like, saw him all the time lived with? Got letters in the mail lived with? Got presents on Christmas lived with?

Victor walked back in with Zoe and Brandon, both talking his ear off trying to explain where they had been.

“Anza, tell him what we’ve been doing!” Zoe demanded, crossing her arms.

“Planning a welcome home party for all of us.” Esperanza said smoothly, the excuse suspiciously convenient. “Before lights out of course.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice!” Trudy said happily, cutting off Victor before he could protest about the party. “I could bake some cookies for you all.”

The dining hall began to clear out as people finished eating, Jerome tailing behind his housemates as they walked back to the house. The air was cold now, and a whisper seemed to drift through the wind. Brandon and Zoe started laughing as they reached the house, much to Jerome’s confusion. They followed him to the room, watching from the door as he got his pajamas out to change. His bed looked strange. There was a small lump underneath the covers, just by his pillow. Forgetting about the teens at the door, he reached out and pulled the blanket back. There was a dead bird in his bed. There was a moment where Jereome was no longer in the bedroom.

He was in the hallway, staring at Victor. Victor was holding the bird, but he was alive, ruffling his feathers. “Back to your room!” The strange Victor said in an echoing boom. The bird squawked, flying straight at Jerome.

Then, just as quickly as the vision had come, Jerome was back in the bedroom, his eyes pained and slightly blurry, staring at a dead raven in his bed.

Jerome screamed, stepping back so fast he tripped over his own feet and fell onto the ground. Zoe and Brandon burst out laughing.

“Aw, the shrimps gonna cuddle up with Corbierre!” Matthew cooed.

Jerome stood back up, wiping at his eyes and grabbing the bird. It was stuffed, he realized now.

“What’s going on-” Victor cut off as he looked into the room. “You. What are you doing with that Clarke?”

“I-They-” Jerome flounder, pointing at Zoe and Brendan.

“He must have snuck into your office and took him.” Zoe said smugly, smiling at Victor.

“No, it was them, they-”

“Enough!” Victor snatched Corbierre out of Jerome’s hands. “I have heard plenty of your reputation at Pine Hills, you are to go straight to bed once you finish with your homework each night and straight to school in the mornings for a week.” He said sharply. “Am I understood?”

Jerome’s breath swallowed in his throat. He sullenly stared at Victor, nodding his head as he grabbed his pajamas off the floor. “Yes sir.” He said stiffly, moving into the boy’s bathroom and locking the door behind him. He sat down on the floor, his back to the door and his pajamas hugged to his chest. Tears burned at his eyes and he sniffled, hiding his face in his knees.

This place was just the same as Pine Hills. The same as home with his mom. With dad-before he’d disappeared. No one would ever believe him. No one would be on his side. No one would look out for him. He’d had bullies at Pine Hills, it was stupid of him to think it’d be any different here. He’d let his guard down.

He was the infamous Jerome Clarke, no good kid that was destined to become nothing but a degenerate or drunk.

Words: 1,155

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

Chapter One

[ambroziadelphine]

Lucky Dove (Madara x reader x Izuna) Chapter 1

Masterlist

All of us were sat in the back room on the bar, it had a bigger area for special events so we decided now may be a good time to use it given it has more room and we can seat the Senju brothers away from Madara and away from the front windows. I doubt them all sitting on a couch together is a good idea and we didn't want people questioning why we were open so late. Dove had changed into a black sweater, it got kinda cold at night in the lower level of the building but we had heated floors so it was thankfully okay. Sometimes I loved Scotland for this.

"So.. you know everything that's happened up until the most recent war?" Hashirama asked us as we finished explaining what the books and anime were and how we knew what had already happened after my death. I nodded as I leaned back in my chair, Dove was sat on the arm, leaning on me slightly as she lazily flipped through the books.

"Yep." She said, popping the 'p' as she tossed the manga onto the table with the rest in front of us. "My brother was so obsessed with it as a kid. And he's shown me tons of stuff about it online; in this world you can find so much information about the Naruto universe, even down to your favorite and least favorite food. It's both creepy knowing you guys are real and all now, but also kinda impressive with the knowledge this world would have of yours given you know nothing about ours." She said, getting slightly off track making me flick her arm, she stopped and slowly turned her head to me.

"Sir, I will not hesitate to bite you." She said making me let out a laugh, though the others looked more concerned then anything.

"Will she actually, bite, you?" Tobirama asked, he was very obviously put off by her words if his slight disgusted sneer on his face was anything to go by.

"She has a name, you stupid fucking cunt. It's no wonder you never found a woman in your world with how bloody vile your personality is so far." Dove snapped at him as I stopped laughing and put an arm on her leg.

"Hey, you're supposed to be the calm one. Stop it." I told her, though she just rolled her eyes and deadpanned at me.

"I'm missing ma fuckin sleep for this, and ma daily schedule is about to get severely fucked with this situation, so yea, 'm a little irritated about this." She said, a lot less bite to her tone now making me smile again. Madara and Hashirama were staring at us in a strange way, though I was more focused on how Tobirama was glaring daggers at Dovie and I; I swear, if he tried anything on her or makes her uncomfortable I will stab him in his sleep.

"Well, can you at least be civil?" I asked her making her huff, crossing her arms.

"As long as he keeps his bloody mouth shut, I'll do the same." She said making me give a small sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Dovie. Now, as I was going to say," I started, turning back to the men while just missing the way Dove relaxed a little bit more at my words, or the way the two elder brothers in the room looked at us, a smirk swiftly beginning to cross Madara's face as Hashirama seemed a little almost giddy in his seat but I paid them no mind as I was also quite tired. "I've learned to keep my arms and hands out of her way, she will bite to get you to go away or move if she's not in a talking mood." I said, seeing the men all sweatdrop at the unbothered expression on the red heads face, looking at one of her healing tattoos on her wrist, my brother and Hashirama staring at her in confusion.

"Why?" Madara asked, Dove shrugged and looked up at them all.

"Gets the point across quick enough." She said nonchalantly, Madara snickers as the Senju brothers sweatdropped, thinking Dove was probably an idiot when she's actually anything but that. "Besides, I only do it with certain people. Izuna just happens to be the one of those people. You are all safe from my biting." She said, putting her hands up in reassurance before turning her head away.

"For now.." She mumbled so only I could hear making me chuckle, rolling my eyes at her.

"No biting." I told her making her sigh.

"Fiiiiiine." She said before she yawned slightly, leaning on me again with her arm on my shoulders and her cheek on my head.

"You should probably go to bed now, Dovie." I told her, she looked down at me and raised an eyebrow.

"Thought you didn't want to deal with Murder McMurderson over here?" She asked making Tobirama let out a scoff, you could almost feel the arrogance he gave off in that moment.

"I'm not a Murderer. If anyone here is it his brother." He said with a roll of his eyes, crossing his arms as I deadpanned at him.

"Okay, remember earlier when Dove said we can kick you out and leave you to fend for yourself? Yea, that still applies to right now, and I'm not dealing with you being a little bitch anymore, Tobirama." I said, crossing my arms. They all looked slightly shocked at my words, though Madara not as much; I'd even say he looked slightly impressed which I found amusing. I guess I was a bit less, vulgar, when I was in their world. Dovie really has rubbed off on me a lot. "I hate you, my brother hates you, you hate us. We get it, now get the fuck over it if you actually want our help." I told him, it was plain and simple. He needed help and he was in no position to be treating us like this in our own home, so I was going to make sure I was very clear that he understood that. He looked at me stoically, but I could see his anger flaring under his collected composure, his eyes burning daggers at me but he shut his mouth, Hashirama sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Tobirama, you are going to get us into a worse situation if you keep treating others like this." He muttered as Dove chuckled.

"This world isn't like you're old one. You need ID for most important things and none of you have that. Going off on your own is more likely to end up with you getting into very, very bad situations especially given you have no idea how to act normal here. Since only Izuna and I have proper ID for this world, you'll have to rely on us for most things if you stay here. Is that understood?" She asked them, Hashirama immediately nodded, Tobirama reluctantly following suit as Madara squinted at her then turned to me.

"How do you have ID here if you're supposed to not exist?" He asked making me sigh, pulling my wallet out of my pocket and pulling my drivers license out, sliding it over to him.

"Because in this world I am not Izuna Uchiha. I'm Izuna Uzuma." He said, Madara eyeing the small card with the alias and my photo before handing it back to me. "I didn't pick the last name, Ian did. Thankfully, I might know someone who could get you an ID for yourself here, but it'd take a while. Not exactly a legal or easy thing to do to just make a whole new identity for someone." I said as I put the card back in my wallet, they were all silent for a moment as they all processed this before Dovie yawned again and sat up.

"I'm going ta go back upstairs and get the rooms ready for 'em. Don't stay up too late, we need to figure the rest of this out as soon as we can." She said, patting my head lightly before she got up and left, throwing up a peace sigh as she left. "See ya." She called, not looking back over to us as she walked away. I watched her leave for a moment then shook my head and chuckled at her antics before looking at the three men in front of me. Hashirama has a slight smile on his face as Madara looked at me and the door Dove just walked out of slightly amused, Tobirama was just sulking in his chair. It was clear he hated the situation they were in, mainly because he had to rely on me, an Uchiha he had thought he got rid of a long time ago.

"Are you dating her?" Madara asked suddenly making me choke on my spit, coughing slightly as I looked at him with wide eyes.

"W-what?" I asked, he raised a brow at me and crossed his arms.

"Are you dating her?" He repeated, Hashirama's smile had widened and I realized what they were thinking making my face turn bright red.

"Wait, no! You've got it wrong, i-its not like that!" I stumbled, raising my hands in defense as I tried to explain through the embarrassment I felt at being asked such a question about my best friend by my older brother of all people. "She's my best friend, nothing more!" I said, seeing him look at me with a very unconvinced look.

"Is that why you're face is so red around her then?" He asked, I could feel my face burning, trying to stutter something out when he smirked. "She is beautiful though, I will say. Who would have thought while we were all fighting a war, you had that pretty little thing dotting on you here the whole time." He mused, I felt something in my stomach tighten, something about the way he spoke about her unnerved me. 

"She's helped me learn about this world, she's just been a really good friend to me. That's all." I said, though I knew he didn't believe me.

"I think she likes you." Hashirama said with a knowing smile, Tobirama rolled his eyes. 

"Okay! I think that's enough talking for tonight." I said, abruptly standing up, trying to save myself from this embarrassment much to the two men's amusement. "Dovie's right, her and I still have the bar to run tomorrow so we shouldn't stay up too late. I can show you to where you guys will be staying for now." I said, trying to keep calm as they all followed me back up the stairs just as Dove came out of one of the empty apartments, all set up for when a student would arrive but now turned into a temporary living space for the Senju brothers. She looked at us, seeming slightly surprised to see us back up so soon but she didn't dwell on it long, walking up to us by our own apartment door.

"That door will lead to where you two are staying. There's three rooms, take your pick which one you want." She said, leaning against the wall before holding a key out to Hashirama. "You're quite lucky we have these extra spaces for you. We run a program with a few local colleges so over summer and winter break students usually stay here. I'll let the school know a few of the rooms have been filled until further notice so they know how many students can apply this year, so that place is all yours." She said, dropping the key in his hand.

"Thank you, we really do appreciate your help.. Even if Tobirama may not show it." He said, his brother still scowling making me roll my eyes at him.

"Grow the hell up Tobirama. Getting people to hate you in this world won't get you nowhere, and considering we have no clue how to get you two back, you're gonna need a major attitude adjustment. You have no power here, even Chakra is nearly impossible to access here, so learn to live or you can go die alone for all I care." I said, they all seemed to freeze at that. The mention of such an important thing being out of their grasp seeming to disturb and shock them to their core. Hashirama looked confused, Tobirama stoic though with how he closed his eyes for a moment then opened them a second later in shock, he felt it too. The absence of a vital energy flowing through him. "You didn't notice until now, did you? How you can no longer feel your Chakra now? Its because its so weak in this world you can't feel it; so hidden no one here can access it like we could in our old world." I chuckled, shaking my head as Madara paused.

"So, we are like.. regular men in this world?" He asked making me slightly grimace, knowing there was a lot to still explain and a lot they needed to know about why they may not be just like any 'regular' man still.

"Not exactly.."

[forensicated]

04x01 - Light Duties

Filmed late May 1988

TW: Racism and sexism as per the time it was written in the late 80's.

The start of Series 4 marks the beginning of the half-hour format and the first update to the theme tune.

Ted is out with now full DC Jim Carver on the Thames. Ted is loving it, but Jim most definitely is not.

They locate the body they've been looking for, nailed to a door, causing Jim to fully lose his breakfast.

Ted: "Cabin class ain't what it used to be."

Reg moans about having Christine as an Inspector, claiming it's just a PR exercise. "I ain't ever worked under a woman before!" he tells June and Viv. "No under nor over." June retorts. Robin thinks it could have been worse; she could be black as well. "That'll never happen!" Reg insists. Robin would rather have Inspector Kite back. June, Viv and Suzanne roll their eyes with June saying she can't wait to see them all kowtowing to Inspector Frazer.

Reg is running a book for Galloway's replacement as DI. Ken wants to put a bet on Burnside and asks for the odds to the surprise of everyone else. Reg says he hasn't got Frank's name in the game but as he's 'a fair man I'll give you 20... no, tell you what, 30/1." Ken bets a tenner on it. "Like taking candy from a baby." Viv tells him it's illegal to get this response...

"Charming." June sighs.

Ted spots something on the door that his corpse has been nailed to - the words 'GRASS' have been engraved into the wood. "Oh hell.." he sighs as a man approaches. Ted tells him to disappear but he won't hear of it. He identifies the body as a former snout and claims that Sun Hill have to hand him over because he's a small part of a big scene. Ted warns him to back off again before the man's boss arrives and tells him to leave.

Taffy and Tony are called to the shopping center (now West12, formerly Concorde Center) where an old man is laid unconscious on the floor. His dog is with him and won't allow them to get near him.

Malcolm Haynes tells Alec that he's settling in fine and can handle himself so not to worry about him. Alec grabs Reg in passing and adds his bet to the book before letting him continue into CAD. Reg finds Tom staring into space and clearly out of it - having just returned from sick leave when he'd been shot at the end of the last series. Tom says he's fine and quickly gets distracted by Tony calling for an ambulance for the elderly man as well as a dog warden. A lady tries to talk to the dog to get him to let them near the man's body but he bites her. Christine appears - as yet unknown to Uniform. She asks if she can be of help and Tony tries to get her to move on which she does after suggesting she might have been a doctor. Taffy says she's a bit of alright but Tony claims she seems like a 'bossy bird' and he doesn't like bossy birds.

Bob and Alec discuss Tom being on light duties. Bob is concerned that feeding the prisoners isn't light duties incase one was to flip and try and attack him. Tom catches the end of the conversation and snaps back that he can still hack it despite what they think. He asks for them to stop mollycoddling them and says he's alright but Bob pulls out his painkillers "They just for indigestion?"

Ted stalks back into CID and is still moaning about having to give up the body to Scotland Yard's Robbery and Murder squads. Mike is amused and bets they let them do all the dirty jobs first. He tells Ted to cheer up and that things will improve when they get a new governor. Ted doesn't believe it and is pissed off he's not being considered for promotion to DI as he's been a DS for over 10 years. He takes his scotch from his desk and stalks out of the room.

In the toilets, Tom is desperately sinking his painkillers out of the sight of others. Ted approaches him with a sigh and leans against the next sink, taking a slug from his bottle before offering Tom some. Tom stares at it before taking the bottle. "Some job, eh?" Ted sighs.

The dog warden has gotten the dog to move away from the old man and the paramedics have gotten him into the ambulance.

Bob and Alec speak to an old friend to ask about Christine and what she's like. They're told that she's good and has got bottle. Reg reports that Christine has arrived a day early, in civvies, and that she's in her office and 'he wouldn't climb over her to get to [Bob]!" "Where there's smoke there's fire and where there's gossip, there's Hollis..." Malcom muses when he continues his way around the station telling everyone that she has arrived.

Ted stands outside the Superintendent's office, before being distracted by a secretary. He's about to make his move before Alec distracts him by asking if he's seen Christine yet.

Ted: "... why are we whispering?"

Alec: ".... I don't know!"

Mike is amused by Alec creeping around and listening at doors. Jim tells him it's because the female inspector has arrived. Mike tells Jim that the deceased snout was linked to a large armed robbery and whilst Scotland Yard floated around that they'd captured the entire firm and gotten most of the loot back the truth is that they'd captured most of the firm and gotten half the loot back. Fingers were pointed at the investigating officer - aka - the man Ted came up against that morning. It just so happens that the snout belonged to DI Frank Burnside and disappeared 3 weeks ago. Ted is furious to hear Frank is a contender for DI at Sun Hill. "Bent Burnside?"

June visits the man from the shopping center in the hospital. He worries about his dog and she tells him she's safe and sound and not to worry. She asks him for his name and advises he carry identification with him in case it happens again. She asks if he has any big worries that could have raised his blood pressure enough to make him pass out - he has, his nephew hasn't returned home or been in contact for a while. The doctor refers him to Social Services and the nurse asks him to tell him off for wearing an expensive pocket watch in plain sight not wanting him to return as a mugging victim.

Jim warns the uniform officers in the canteen to speak to him rather than head upstairs to CID if something requires their help as it's not wise whilst Ted is in the mood he is in. Tony asks June how the old man is doing and if he's been identified yet. June tells him the name and Jim recognises the surname as being the same as the snout they fished from the river that morning. June thinks before asking him how old he would put the man at being. It fits with being the same age range as the old man's nephew. She tells Jim that his info about the blagging fits too as the old man had a solid gold pocket watch hanging from his watch chain. They literally run up to CID to update Ted who sends Jim and June to take the old man's statement and Taffy and Tony to go search the man's house. Tony hesitates on leaving, recognising the woman he'd called "love."

Tom is the first in the pub(The Latimer Arms), drowning his sorrows with several whiskeys. Jim is in the pub with uniform updating them that the old man had no idea about his nephew, he'd just put him up when he'd turned up out of the blue a few months ago. He had an idea that he'd been in trouble but he was more upset about the watch being confiscated. Ted arrives and buys everyone a drink. He's made up because he's netted £25K (today about 90K) worth of stolen high-end watches that Scotland Yard had missed. The Yard are pissed off but Brownlow is pleased with Ted finally!

Christine heads into the pub where Ted spots her and claims 'That is a bit tasty....' Mike agrees and gets up to introduce himself before Ted sits him down and heads over himself. Reg tells Mike not to be jealous when he protests and tells him exactly who she is when Ted goes over...

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 9

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13.4k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Brief references to previous assault and infertility. This is a HAPPY chapter, guys! Teasing/dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), biting, vaginal sex, unprotect sex, wedding night sex Summary: Arriving in Scotland is a relief for everyone, and the time for weddings is upon us! Notes: It’s the calm before the storm, friends! There’s just nothing about this chapter I don’t love. Apologies for any missed errors in this one, folks, I really started to go cross eyed after a while. 

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

The storm lasted an entire day before it eased, passing during the small hours of your second day in Claro and Harold's farmhouse. On the dawning of the third day your small family prepared to travel again - bundling in warm, dry layers and packing away the food that Claro has insisted will be good provision for your evening meal when you stop after a long day of riding. Two full nights of restful sleep have the four of you feeling refreshed and reinvigorated as you mount your horses again, and even Binx mews happily in her sling as you situate yourself on Caballo's back for the ride. It is just past first light and the morning dew has collected heavily on the world around you, but there is a bit of happiness to share before you are under way again. "We have something we wish to tell you," you begin, looking fondly between Briac and Arwena as he helps her get situated on her horse.

Briac smirks as he looks over at you and then back at his soulmate. “We promise we pretended to be asleep.” He teases making Arwena giggle. “You weren’t that loud.” This entire trip, but especially the last two days have been extremely good for him. He feels more confident, almost as if he were Pero’s equal. Really feeling as if their future was not bleak like he imagined when he first learned he was the beautiful young girl’s soulmate.

Burying your embarrassed face in Pero's chest, you can't help but groan in a way that is very far from a sound of pleasure. "I told you we should have gone to the barn," you grumble good naturedly, fully blaming your soulmate for being an impossibly talented lover.

“They were only waiting for us to sleep so they could do the same.” Pero predicts, in turn making Arwena fluster and look embarrassed.

"Well..." you huff, only marginally less embarrassed as Briac lifts himself into his own saddle and the three steeds are turned toward the road at a slow walk. "That was not what we wished to speak about. Obviously."

Briac chuckles, feeling as Pero apparently does, not embarrassed in the slightest for his want of his soulmate. For as crass as he had assumed the mercenary would be, he was surprisingly gentle in his treatment of you and his advice on love. ‘Unless the wench wants it rough’, Pero had advised with a roguish grin. “What is it that you wish to discuss?” He asks, his mount alongside Arwena’s. “Have you decided where you will go after we are wed?”

“Partly.” It was more like you had decided where you will not go, but that was a technicality. “But more importantly, we wished to ask if you would consent to share your wedding day with us. We have decided to wed after all.”

Arwena inhales sharply, tears springing to her eyes and her head bobbles automatically. “Yes! Yes! Oh you must!” She is practically shouting it at you even before she remembers that it is not her decision alone and turns to Briac. “I—”

The younger man laughs and reaches out to drag his soulmate to him for a quick, reassuring kiss before he looks at both of you. “As she said.” He agrees happily. “We would be honored to share it with you.”

“Pero knew you would not object, but I felt it only right to ask.” After all, while you’re sure there are bridezillas somewhere in the year 1006, Arwena is not one of them. And nor are you, ultimately. Having your soulmate - the man you love - as your husband is enough. What else matters beyond that? “We also thought…it might not be so necessary as we first thought for all of us to part ways.” Insisting that it was safer had really only been a cover for the fact that you intended to travel to the Stones. Now that was erased from your plans and you were free to think of another future. One that could be spent together, if it made everyone happy.

“Truly?” For the second time in as many minutes, Arwena is emotional again. This time Briac mirroring her hope and joy at the news. While you and Pero are older, wiser - it feels as though the four of you belong in the same family.

“Truly.” You nod and reach to squeeze her hand as you ride side by side. “This new life could be a fresh beginning for all of us together.”

“This is wonderful.” Arwena chokes up slightly and smiles at you and Pero. “I— I have come to see you both as the family I wish I had.”

“You need not wish any longer, sister.” The smile you offer her is as soft as the early morning sun, and Pero squeezes your waist in silent agreement. “We can choose to go where no one knows us, and be whatever we choose to each other.”

“I cannot wait to be married!” Arwena cries out happily, the world bright and sunny to her despite the bitter cold.

"It will not be long now." Road signs on your journey led you to believe that you were only another day or two from the border when you stopped, so hopefully getting there would be relatively smooth sailing. Once Arwena and Briac were married her father could cuss and scream and threaten all he wanted to - she would not be his legal possession any longer.

“It will be good to call you my wife in truth.” Pero hums in your ear. “Find a place where I can proudly bear the title of husband.” He wants to find a quiet little village where he can build a life with you, hopefully living out the rest of his days peacefully. Maybe even going East and seeing William again. He wonders if you would like that.

"We could go anywhere." Aside from the language barrier, there is no reason to limit where you settle down, now. Scotland had been the aim because of marriage laws and because of the Stones, but now that you had decided to stay? You could continue on to wherever you wanted and start completely fresh.

“Where would you want to go?” Pero asks you seriously. “You know more about my time than I do on the whole.” He had been thinking about it a lot, you hadn’t given him many historical references but it would be good to know where to avoid making a home.

"There won't be any big witch trials for a few hundred more years, but there will be small wars all over England and Alba for many decades to come." Trying to remember anything you can from high school history class has been a challenge and nothing has truly sprung into your mind besides knowing that the Norman Conquest of England will happen in sixty years' time. "We could go to Rome and simply blend into the crowd of immigrants from all over the Holy Roman Empire, or we could find a farm in the country for the four of us to work together. Or..." You twist slightly in your seat, catching his eye from the corner of yours. "Perhaps you would like to return home to Spain?"

Pero bites his lip, the idea of returning home one that makes his heart hammer in his chest. “We could.” He offers, slowly thinking the idea over. “If they want to come, we could see who lives on the land my parents raised me.”

"Briac's Spanish is coming along quickly." The boy seemed to have a natural talent for language, with as fast as he was learning, and you smile at Pero as the horses start to pick up speed. "It might be a beautiful way to remember your parents, to see Briac and Wena's babes born in the same place you were." If you could give him children, the thought would be for your own babies, but as it stands you will be a doting aunt and uncle to whatever children the younger couple bears.

He senses where your thoughts take you and his arm around your waist beneath the sleeping cat tightens. “Do not blame yourself, Sassenach.” He murmurs softly, kissing your ear. “I would change nothing about you.”

You nod, not wanting to dwell on it, and put your hand over his to squeeze it tightly. "We will bring the idea up to them when we stop for the night. See how they would feel about returning to the continent and heading south."

“Warmer.” Pero huffs, feeling the wind buffet around their little group. “Want to live somewhere we can swim in the river naked and I can lay you out in the sunshine.”

"Valencia may be the right choice, then." The stories he's told you of growing up, of the small farm where his parents raised him near the coast where his father taught him to fish and swim, sound positively idyllic compared to the hell that is travelling on horseback through England in the dead of winter.

“Perhaps we can even visit where—where they are buried.” Pero has taken a very realistic outlook, but the idea of visiting his parents’ grave strikes a chord inside him. To show his mamá that he has found his soulmate.

"When spring comes, we can bring your mamá flowers." The idea of going home again has struck him deeply, and you are now convinced that it was the right suggestion to make. Even if you cannot convince the people living in his old family home to sell it to you, you will at least visit his parents' graves with regularity.

“If they would like to come with us.” Pero agrees, his own attachment to the other couple coming out. He worries about them, is the story he tells himself. Trying to believe they would be lost without the guidance you both can provide.

"I think they will." In fact, you know that if you suggested it right now, Arwena would have an entire daydream of what to grow on your shared farmland by the time you made camp tonight. "It will be something we talk about together." You smile gently. "As a family."

“Tonight when we are around a fire.” Pero has every intention of pushing the horses hard today after two full days of rest. “Where we don’t have to yell over the wind.”

“Aye.” Squeezing his hand once more, you reluctantly move your own again to cradle Binx’s sling against your chest so she does not bounce uncomfortably as you ride. With good rest and full bellies, you will be able to make it much further today than perhaps any day of travel beforehand, and the more distance put between the four of you and the coast, the better. Being so close to England’s northern border only makes you and Pero more eager to drive forward - and prospect of your own marriage and future together makes it all the sweeter.

******

It is later in the day than normal when Pero calls to stop for a meal. The road had been somewhat easy and he wanted to cover as much of it as he could before having to rest. "We will see if we can find some game." Pero grunts as he helps you down. "Take a piss and walk around. I know you are sore."

“I’ll start a cooking fire and see if I can find some clean snow to melt for tea.” Any opportunity for a kiss is a good one, and being that you consider yourselves betrothed now as well, you indulge a little before letting Pero go to hunt with Briac for some small animal to make your lunch. Claro and Harold had furnished you with bread and cheese and it would make for two hearty meals at least when combined with roast meat.

Your lips linger on his as he and the boy make their way through the snow silently. It will be a quick trip away from you. He will hunt longer when you make camp for the night, but this will be a hasty meal.

“Something changed,” Briac observes quietly, careful not to speak loudly and disturb any life nearby. “You never spoke of marriage before.”

“I did not think it was possible.” Pero admits, having kept the idea of you leaving firm in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to beg you to stay. Not when your future was better without him. “Now…it is.”

“Why would it not be possible?” Briac’s brow furrows tightly. “She was not…bound to someone else? Was she?” He can’t imagine that you would have begun such a passionate affair with Pero if you had been, but Briac has to admit to himself that there is much he does not know about you.

"No." He will not be able to explain why it wasn't possible, not without explaining where you are truly from and he will not do that without your permission. "There are...reasons why she felt like she could not wed me. I have convinced her that they are not an issue for me."

“I see.” He is clever enough to know when not to press for more details, and Pero is clearly reticent to speak about your circumstances. “Well…I am glad of it. And I know Wena is, too.”

Pero's lips curl briefly and he nods. "You and your girl will be expecting a babe soon, I imagine." He grunts, having pointedly ignored them every night when they think everyone is asleep. You are, but he just pretends to be resting.

“We pray for it.” The younger man isn’t shy about that, chest puffing proudly at the thought. “The first of many, by our hopes.”

“Never have more mouths than you can feed.” Pero cautions. “Brats are innocent and shouldn’t suffer because you enjoy fucking.”

“Aye.” Briac nods as solemnly as he ever does when Pero gives advice, taking it as gospel and filing it away in his mind to be followed in his own personal law. “And not so many as to leave Wena in pain.”

“As good as it feels to spill inside her, remember that she will go through things we cannot imagine.” Pero tells him. He’s not attended a birth, but he has heard the screams and it sounds as bad as the worst death on a battlefield.

“The magic Sassenach taught Wena to guard against a babe is strong, but we will be ready if the child is more hardheaded than the potion,” the younger man chuckles slightly. “It would just be proof that he is like his parents.”

Pero nods, flashing Briac a brief grin. "Sí." He hums, looking down and spotting the tracks of a rabbit. "And Sassenach and I will stand in as family when that time comes."

“The babes will need godparents.” Of course they had already discussed asking the older couple to stand in for such duties, but it had not been spoken of between the four of them yet. “We will be grateful to seen them well loved and cherished.”

“We will talk around the fire.” Pero promises, nodding towards the tracks. “Let us find our meal first.”

When they return, Arwena has found and cleared a few large stumps to sit on and you have a cauldron of mint and melted snow becoming tea to drink with your meal. “Any luck?” You ask, seeing Pero walk up to the small clearing before Briac.

Briac holds up a fair-sized rabbit, already dressed out. “This will go good with the tea.” He declares proudly.

Arwena squeals proudly, already on her feet again to wrap him in her arms and kiss him before taking the animal to butcher for the fire. “How marvelous,” she hums with a smile. “Cheese, bread, and rabbit.”

"Good meal." Pero notices that you have already made sure the horses are watered and given them a bit of the grain that you are carrying for them. He moves over to you and pulls out a small bit of the hide, some of the organs saved for Binx. "For her majesty."

"You spoil her." It's not even scolding, and you give him a kiss in thanks before laying the hide down on the damp ground beside you where Binx is sitting. There will be plenty of nuzzles and headbutts of gratitude from the cat to Pero later on, as she happily dives into her meal immediately.

Pero chuckles at the ferocity in which Binx is inhaling her food. "She is a good gato." He hums, wrapping his arms around you. "How are you feeling amor? Too cold?"

"I'm warm enough." You still keep close to his side though, enjoying the calm of having Arwena putting together the afternoon meal while you sit in Pero's arms. "And warmer now."

"Good." Pero presses his lips to your neck and sighs softly. It is nice to be off the horse for a bit.

"What did you wish to speak to us about?" Briac asks after a few moments of quiet. The crackling of the fire took over after the murmuring between couples subsided and now and the younger man is curious to know what you have been speaking about.

Pero looks over at you, getting a small nod before he turns towards the couple. "We are thinking of going to where I was raised after we marry." He tells them.

"To Spain?" Arwena's eyes widen, her head popping up immediately at that news. "Truly?"

Pero reaches for your hand and sends you a small smile. “Yes. And we were—would you like to come with us?” He asks. “You don’t have to, but you are welcome.”

Arwena is ready to agree immediately, eagerly near-bouncing in her seat, but looks to Briac first for his reaction. As much as she would love to see the beautiful shores and skies of Pero’s home, Briac still has parents and siblings in Brittany that he will be missing.

Briac hums and thinks, only taking a minute before he is nodding. “Yes. I believe that we will come with you.” He looks over at Arwena with a smile. “You are our family.”

“And you are ours.” You reach across to pat his knee in the most unintentionally mothering way possible and then move to start pouring tea into the cups you have all kept tied to your belts as you travel. “We have become very good at taking care of each other.”

“I will have to work on my Spanish more.” Arwena nearly bounces on her stump with giddiness and relief that she didn’t want to separate from you at all and now she doesn’t have to.

"It will be a chance for you to continue to learn." You hand Arwena her cup of tea and sit back again, giving Pero his own cup in turn. "I do not think you have ever had a chance to swim in anything larger than a pond before. The coast will be new for you as well."

“I am sure it will be very good.” Briac nods. “We still have much to learn from both of you.” His hand reaches for Arwena's again and he chuckles. "It seems as if we are bound for your home after our weddings."

"It will be our home," you promise him, and Pero grunts his agreement as he tugs you closer to his side. Whatever hands of fate brought the four of you together, it truly seems as if you are meant to stay this way.

******

"This is it?" Pero lifts a brow and wonders what exactly he was expecting but it wasn't this. He twists in his saddle and looks around, assessing and taking it in. "We are here? This is what we have killed ourselves to get to?" He might have driven them hard over the last two days, sacraficing sleep and rest to make it here.

"I know it doesn't look like much." The blanket of snow that covers the valley around you makes it look positively plain if not downright unwelcoming. Bare trees and a general lack of life in nearly every direction is discouraging, but what else could be expected for the middle of January? On Caballo's back, you twist to look around, finding Pero's eyes doing the same as you head in the direction of the small village of Gretna in the distance. "But this place will come to be known as a place of pilgrimage for lovers who would otherwise not be able to wed. This is Gretna Green, of course it is not as beautiful as it could be in the cold of winter. Just...trust me, amor. I know that this is the place we are supposed to be."

"There is a priest here? In the village?" He asks, skeptical about your knowledge but he is willing to trust you. You are far more knowledgeable than he is. Right now he is unsure that he will be able to find lodging for the four of you in the small village.

"Yes." There should be both a Christian church and a pagan community in this village if it was like the other Scottish villages you had lived in during your journey south, but Gretna has the advantage of being just over the English border...and having a more generally lax attitude toward the rules, if everything you have heard and remember reading is correct. "There will be lodging, because this is the first village after leaving England, and there will be a priest."

Pero nods, nudging the horse forward. "Let's go find this priest." He murmurs, holding tight to you and looking back at the road one last time. The feeling of someone chasing your group had never diminished and he feels like he needs to get your vows said quickly.

"A church or a tavern should be easy enough to spot." One or both of them will be along the main road, and hopefully the tavern will have rooms enough to give each couple their own bed behind a closed door tonight.

"A bed." He growls, his arm tightening around you. "A bed to consummate our vows. A bath to soak in after I fuck you full."

"You'll be letting me bathe before those are said, amor." You can't help but sigh in turn, though, knowing that with privacy and the security of having said your vows, you will not be getting much sleep tonight.

He scoffs and leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. Your neck is covered in layers and he doesn’t want to make you cold. “I do not smell you.” He teases playfully.

You hum at him, laughing quietly as you shake your head. "I will not have you feasting on an unclean cunt, cariño. Just like you would not make me suck a filthy cock."

“Hmmmm, I get my cock sucked tonight?” He lifts a brow and the said appendage twitches happily in his breeches. “That does call for a bath. Those pretty lips around my shaft have been sorely missed. Just like my tongue is eager for your cunt.”

"I want to take the time to bring my husband as much pleasure as possible." All but purring to him as you ride, you toss Pero a playful wink and turn around again to watch the village get closer.

It is Arwena who spots the inn first, pointing it out in the heart of the village at you approach. The sign above the door is a griffin painted in silver and outlined in green, and some fifty yards to the right - across the square - sits a small church with a priest milling around outside. He is breaking icicles off of the eaves of the church and cleaning the windowsills, whistling to himself as he works and doing his best not to stare at the new arrivals to his village.

“Shall we go see about having our vows arranged?” Pero asks, although he is already guiding his horse in that direction. Briac and Arwena are close behind him. The feeling turns to one of anticipation when the priest has an excuse turns to them with cause to study them as Pero comes to a halt in front of his heavy robed body. Squeezing your waist, Pero dismounts and holds the reins, stepping up to him. “God give ye good morrow, Father.” He uses his most respectful voice and nods politely to the man of the cloth. “You are just the person we are seeking on our travels.”

“God give ye good morrow, my son.” The priest nods, making the sign of the cross to complete his greeting and looks on the group with curious eyes. “What service can the Church provide your party with this day?” There are many who see the way Father Malcolm comports himself and compare him more to a monk than to a priest, but the man has never minded that. It is simply that he is more humble - and perhaps more jolly - than another in the area. And surely that cannot be a fault.

“We are two pairs of soulmates who wish to wed, Father.” Pero can hear Briac dismounting his own horse and coming forward. “As God intended.”

The sound from the young priest’s throat is pleased, and he looks between the man in front of him to the rest of his traveling party once more. “I think you have traveled far to do so, and if it is your sincere wish then it shall be so.”

Pero nods, relived that the priest has agreed. “We wish to clean up from our travels, but we want to be bound in the eyes of God as quickly as we can.” If they could be wed within the hour, perhaps two, it would lift a giant weight off Pero’s shoulders.

The priest’s smile turns knowing, understanding that the demands of the flesh can be heavy when neglected. He is a man, after all, even as a man of God. “Can any of your party read and write, traveler?” He asks, knowing that the skills are not common amongst most of his parishioners. Even his own skill in writing is meager.

Pero nods, proud of the work that you have made him put in. Even while laying in bed. It was a wonderful motivator for you to reveal inch upon tantalizing inch of skin when he read the words you had written in the book for Arwena. “My soulmate is learned and she has taught very basic skills to us.” He motions to all three of them.

“There is typically a cost of a few coins paid to the church for a wedding, as I am sure you know.” He shrugs a little, as if he does not approve of such things. Like the reading of the bans - it is all well and good to announce one’s intentions before God but not all circumstances allow for the luxury of three weeks’ planning. “There are always roofs to be repaired and things of that nature, I fear. However, I would be happy to wave such a fee if your soulmate would consent to take down a letter from dictation? It must be sent to my bishop and I am afraid that my own abilities with a quill are meager.”

Instead of answering for you, Pero turns to you, wanting you to be the one who says yay or nay. “It would be her decision. Although we have funds to donate for a roof, or strong backs if you have need.” Now that a wedding is guaranteed, Pero does not mind staying for a week or so to rest before they continue on their journey. “Sassenach?”

The priest smothers a laugh at such a man calling someone else outlander, but as soon as the hooded figure sitting astride the war horse behind him comes to earth to step forward he swallows his mirth. The cloak pin she wears is one that was once his mother’s - long since gifted to the white witch that saved his life from a vicious ailment. Your name - your real name - falls from his tongue in wonder and he stares as you remove your hood.

“Am I known to you, Father?” Carefully stepping to Pero’s side, it takes you longer than a few moments to recognize the man that was no more than Briac’s age when you came through the Stones and were taken in by his clan nearly eight years ago. “Malcolm?”

Pero frowns fiercely for the few moments before you recognize the priest. His hand had automatically fallen to his sword even though the man was proclaimed to be a man of the cloth. He didn’t care about the church or his eternal soul in that moment, for it was a sin to hurt a priest, he cared about protecting you. When you gasp his name, he relaxes and looks at you in confusion. “You know this priest?”

“He was not a priest when I knew him last.” The feeling of pride in your chest is undeniable, seeing the healthy and hearty man standing in front of you, instead of the willowy wisp of a thing sick in his bed so long ago. “Malcolm’s clan were the ones who took me in when I first arrived here.” The look you give Pero is pointed - this priest knows the hidden parts of your story that even Arwena and Briac still do not. “He left home to follow God’s word some months before I left to begin traveling south.”

Pero nods, smiling at the obvious affection in your voice. “The world is smaller than we realize.” he hums to you.

“I prayed to God to deliver me from sickness and swore to Him my eternal soul if He would send an angel to save me. He sent me an angel with healing hands and I kept my promise.” He chuckles softly. “This is your soulmate?” The priest’s voice is full of obvious surprise, not because he is passing judgement but because he knows you are not of his world.

“Aye.” Slipping your hand into the crook of Pero’s arm, you beam an affectionate smile at the man who holds your heart before looking back at your other friends. “Our companions are soulmates as well. We have come very far to be married and hope to do so with haste.”

Pero’s eyes soften when you look at him before turning back to the priest. “The other couple can prove that they share marks if that is your concern.” He decides that he will be honest with a man who you trust. “We are being chased by the girl’s father. He wishes to force her to wed a man who is…ungodly.”

Father Malcolm’s eyes narrow and he nods. Ungodly men are many and their sins are more so, but he knows you to be kind and good so he will not question that part of the matter on the street. “Come inside,” he urges, motioning to the church behind him. “All of you. I will learn your stories and then take you to the tavern for rooms and a hot meal before you wed. If haste is your concern, it will be done before sundown.”

“Thank you, Father.” Pero is grateful for his understanding and motions Briac and Arwena closer. “We are very grateful for your understanding and haste. I will defend my soulmate and the boy’s with violence if necessary, but it is our hope that once wed, they will see that it is futile.”

“What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” Father Malcolm intones seriously. He helps tie the horses to the post along the southern side of the building before leading the four of you inside and shutting the door fast behind you. “You need not fear me, child.” He tells Arwena honestly, beckoning her forward. “I mean to be your friend if you will tell your honest story.”

Arwena wrings her hands together, nervous to trust him because she believes it was her own priest that had alerted her father to her soulmate status. She had confessed earlier in the day when he had found out. Her eyes flutter over to you questioningly and you nod encouragingly. “I—F—Father, I must confess, everyone here knows this story.” She murmurs sadly. “The man my father wishes me to wed forced himself on—on me.” Her fingers twist tightly around themselves to the point where they look as if they will break. Briac reaches over and gently pries them apart and laces his own fingers with hers in support. “It—it was not my— I did not— ask for it.” Her voice shakes and she is quickly wiping her eyes. “I cannot wed a – a monster who would do that. Not when my true soulmate, the man God intended me to give myself to, is a Godly man.”

"I see." Father Malcolm's head bows only once before he looks Arwena square in the eyes. "How old are you, child?"

“I— seventeen years, Father.” She raises her chin and squares her shoulders slightly. The fact that he is not condemning her like she had feared helps her face him bravely.

"Old enough to make this decision for yourself." Raised to be strong-willed and steadfast in conviction, the priest offers the girl in front of him a smile of reassurance before anything else. "If it is your wish, and your soulmate's wish, to be married this day, then let it be so. Should anyone come to question your union, they may answer to me." Many would say that a man may make choices for his daughter at any stage in her life, but thankfully Father Malcolm is not many men. "I will only ask that you bear to me some mark that will not impugn your modesty, that I may see with my own eyes that you are soulmates."

Wena nods, looking exponentially happier as looks over at Briac. “The shoulder.” She decides, figuring that would be one that would be the most modest to bear. “I— the man who— he—he cut me— while—” she breaks off her words and lets Briac help her out of the layers that she had been wearing on the road until just her dress and chemise remains. Turning around, she pulls the fabric off her shoulder to reveal the ugly scar that had been marked into her skin.

The young man’s shoulder bears the identical mark, and Father Malcolm nods again. A definitive expression sets itself in the priest’s countenance and he steps back from the couple politely. “I thank you,” he says after a pause. “Your blessed union will be a celebration of God’s love and your own.” Their clothing set easily back into place, Father Malcolm moves quickly to the door of the church and motions for the group of you to follow. “The inn across the square will have rooms for you. I will prepare for your nuptials while you refresh.”

"Father...." Pero squeezes your hand and follows him. "We thank you for your help. Sassenach said that we would be welcome here and it is satisfying to learn the truth of it."

“Gretna is a welcoming place.” Father Malcolm begins to usher the two couples across the square, right to the door of the Silver Griffin. “It was God’s Will that I be here to help you, it seems. I am only newly arrived myself.”

That is most fortunate and Pero raises his brow in surprise. "We will only require two rooms, Father." He tells him quietly, knowing that he and Briac will stay downstairs with the priest while you and Arwena clean up.

"Of course." He chuckles slightly, walking up through the crowded room with all its long banquet tables and benches for seating, studded with the occasional spare chair in odd places. There is a group of men in one corner playing a game of cups and dice and a trio of ladies in another bent over some shared sewing in the light of the windows. The priest approaches the group of women and murmurs something in her ear. She is a tall and sweet-faced women in her middle-forties whose most imposing quality is that she is so gentle in appearance that you would hate to be the one who upsets her just like you would hate to upset a favourite aunt. "Friends, you say?" She hums at the young priest. "Rooms for friends of Father Malcolm. Aye. We can manage that."

Pero lets go of you and nods towards Briac. "We will go get the bags." There isn't much they could in leu of fresh clothes, there were none, but you could at least bathe and feel better before your vows are exchanged.

"We would be grateful for two rooms, mistress." Armed with Pero's coin purse, you are prepared to make certain that everything is ready for the four of you to have a wonderful wedding night.

“Baths as well?” She asks, smirking slightly at how excited the younger couple looks as they reluctantly part.

"Aye. Please." You can't help but smile a little more broadly, tucking the thing up in the corner of your mouth like a pleasing secret even though it is no secret at all. "Baths and rooms, and meals if they can be supplied. We have come a long way to be married here and wish to celebrate."

“Ye traveled to Gretna to be wed?” She asks, slightly surprised. “A good friend of Father Malcom then.” She motions for you to follow her to the stairs and calls out for bathing tubs to be brought to the rooms. A wedding. It has been some time since a wedding had occurred in the village. “We will make it a blessed occasion.”

"It is a beautiful little place," you tell her honestly. If you weren't already talking about Spain, you must just suggest staying here in Gretna. But you can't resist punctuating the thought with a private joke all for yourself. "I think in the future people may flock here for just such a purpose."

“I will be doubtful. The Sassenach do not much like our ways.” She chuckles slightly and shows you down the hall to two doors across from each other at the end. “Our best rooms.” She offers with a smile.

"Thank you, mistress." From Pero's purse, two silver pieces make their way from your hand to hers and you smile again. "We may be here some days and will be glad to pay the full amount in advance when we decide how long we will linger."

She shakes her head and smiles at you. “A friend of the Father’s does nay need to pay in advance.” She murmur. “Go in and rest. Your baths before your vows will be sent up shortly.”

With more thanks given, the innkeeper disappears toward the stairs and you reach to hug Arwena before she can disappear behind the opposite door. She is grinning from ear to ear with shining eyes and restless energy, and you cannot help but laugh. "I am glad that you are so excited to finally be his wife."

“You too.” She giggles quietly and tosses her head knowingly. “You cannot wait to marry your Spaniard.”

"I cannot deny it." You cannot and will not, especially not to her. Not to one of the only two people in the world who stood by you and watched you fall in love with Pero.

“I wish-“ Arwena shakes her head after opening her mouth too quickly. “It is foolish, but I wish I had time to finish the dresses I was making at home.” She had secretly been sewing dresses to take with her when she left come spring. Including new dresses for her wedding to Briac for you and her.

“That is not so foolish a wish.” Opening your arms, you give Arwena the space to hug you as earnestly as she wishes in that moment before you sigh slightly. “Where I am from, brides wear great white gowns to their weddings made of every kind of luxurious fabric you can possibly imagine. As a little girl I had dreamt of wearing my mother’s gown when I wed my soulmate. But it does not sadden me to be without it now.” You pull back from hugging her and send her a wink. “Briac and Pero would likely tear off whatever beautiful dresses we wore anyway.”

“Tonight will be very special.” Arwena grins as she wrinkles her nose. “We will no longer be sinning in the eyes of the church.”

“Any babe that comes now will be a welcome one, I think.” You hug her tightly once more before shooing her toward her own door. “A mother or sister might give advice to you tonight, sweet girl. But you need none. Love Briac well and embrace this new chapter of your life.”

“I am happy I am sharing it with you.” Tears spring up in her eyes and she blinks them away with a grin. “We are about to married women!”

“And happily so.” There is time for one more squeezing hug between you before two young women appear in the hall with the large bath tubs that have been ordered. In a matter of perhaps an hour, your vows will be said and everyone will be safer. And you will finally be able to relax in Pero’s arms.

Arwena paces in the nicely appointed room until the door opens and the round wooden tub is carried in. She’s nervous and excited, all of it twisting together in a small knot in her stomach. All of this is right, but she can’t help but feel as though there is something looming on the horizon. Not sure what it might be has her worried.

******

Father Malcolm, the sweet man that he is, has decorated the small parish church in dozens of candles in the time between parting with your group and your return to the church an hour later. The ceremony will be brief and there will be no witnesses to speak of beyond the five of you, but he has put out what decoration he can to make the event memorable. He had even brought Pero and Briac down to the village blacksmith to see about rings in the brief time you and Arwena were bathing. All was as it should be, despite the palpable tension in the air that seemed to be coloring the two couples’ excitement.

Pero shuffles nervously as he stands in the church, confession had been lengthy and he wasn't quite sure that God wouldn't still strike him down for setting foot in his space. Briac hums beside him, his own nerves setting him on edge and both men listen for your approach with eager ears.

Your clothes aren’t exactly clean after weeks of travel, but the clothes that had been packed in Arwena’s mare’s saddlebags are a bit tidier. Her blue-gray tunic is soft and light, letting her give off the impression that she is about to take flight at any time. The crisp air blows around you both, and the long sleeves of her dress mix with yours as you hold hands walking across the square the church. Her blue against your deep green is water lapping at the shore, and you fiddle with your hair just one more time before stepping up to the church door. Arwena had insisted that braiding it would be beautiful, and the loose plaits you both wear are studded with dried rose buds from your case of herbs. It’s all you can do not to look back - terrified in the bottom of your gut that her father might suddenly appear over the horizon at any second. Inside. You remind yourself, pulling in the heavy iron latch and letting Arwena duck inside first. Inside we are safe.

The heavy wood door closes and Pero sighs, his eyes fixed on you as both you and Wena walk towards the men. There is something about the fact that he is going to marry you that has him emotional. Looking at you to memorize every moment from now until you are wed in the eyes of God. He thinks you've never looked more beautiful.

In that moment it doesn’t matter that you’re not wearing white, or that the wedding match isn’t playing, or that it’s Scotland in 1006. The absolute only thing that matters is that Pero is standing at the top of the beautifully candle-lit aisle and he is there to marry you. He even shaved for the occasion, freshly clean face flushed with either nerves or excitement. Or maybe, like you, both.

The ring that is in his hand nearly cuts into the skin he is gripping it so tightly. “Mi amor.” He breathes when you are close, reaching out with his other hand lightening fast and dragging you the last few steps to him for a desperate kiss.

Father Malcolm chuckles softly, clearing his throat to bring the Spaniard’s attention back to the actual wedding ceremony. “There will be time for that, my friend,” he tells Pero with an indulgent smile. “After God’s law is followed.”

Pero flushes slightly, shuffling as he left you go so you can stand beside him instead of plastered against him. “Forgive me, Father.” Briac chuckle at his friend’s eagerness and receives a half hearted glare in return.

“It is not a sin to be in love, my son.” The young father smiles and beckons the two couples forward to kneel at the altar in front of the church. To the left of your grooms, you and Arwena are bright spots of color in the flickering candlelight. “Now,” he clears his throat, standing before the altar. “Who gives these women to be wed today?”

“We give each other, Father.” Arwena speaks up, her voice clear and bright as she looks up at the priest. “We are chosen sisters, united by our faith and spirit.”

"And each of you consents freely to these marriages with your soulmate, with no unspoken burdens left to confess?" The priest asks, looking between the four of you. One by one you all agree, having made your confessions and come here freely - after a great deal of effort. "Very well, then," he smiles one more time. "Gentleman, have you acquired rings for your brides?"

Pero nods, holding open his hand to reveal the plain gold band he had purchased for you. Briac does the same with Arwena’s ring. “You deserve a ring, hermosa.” Pero murmurs softly.

"Te amo." The quiet whisper is just for him, though the appreciative tears rising behind your eyes are obvious to anyone. He could have tied a string around your finger and you would have showed it off like the most precious diamond in the world. “Let us begin.” As it turns out, a medieval wedding ceremony is not so different from all those weddings your cousins had when you were little, or even the unconventional ones your friends had been having since college. The familiar vows to have and hold are sworn by all of you - for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til death do you part - and the largest difference is that Pero and Briac touch the wedding rings to your and Arwena's pointer fingers, then middle fingers, then ring fingers before slipping them on those fourth digits to remain for good.

There is a small smile on Pero’s lips, unable to believe that he is kneeling before a priest and saying his vows to marry you. “Hasta la eternidad.” Until eternity. He whispers to you, his thumb brushing over the band on your finger.

"Para siempre." Forever. You don't resist the urge to bend and press a kiss to his fingers as they caress the ring and your skin, only momentarily lamenting the fact that men in this time do not wear wedding rings. If you could give him something other than your marks to wear to signify that he holds your heart, you would give that gift again and again for the rest of your lives.

“Te amo.” He whispers softly, eyes flicking down to your lips and he wants to kiss you but the father has not blessed you yet.

"Te amo." In fact you're probably vibrating with it, and the amused priest finally bestows the kiss of peace on each groom to then grace their brides with.

The slightly sour look Pero has from being laughed at by a priest disappears the second he pulls you close. Briac has already dove into his kiss with Arwena, the younger couple gasping but Pero takes the time to brush your scar with his hand and tug you close to press his forehead against yours. “Esposa.” He breathes before he takes your lips in the tenderest kiss he can manage.

The warmth that floods your system is half arousal and half complete bliss. "Mi esposo." The words you genuinely never thought that you would say, breathed after your first kiss as man and wife. There is something utterly enchanting about this moment that you have never anticipated before, and for the first time in weeks you feel as though everything in the world is right.

Arwena giggles and cries as she kisses Briac, the boy himself shedding tears of joy and relief. Now that they are wed in the eyes of God and the Church, there was nothing that her father could do. Their names were now recorded with the Church and the priest, he could not do anything but try to kill Briac and Pero had taught him how to defend himself well.

Two couples, now wed and bound, rise from their knees to sign the church register that Father Malcolm had prepared. Two couples with tears of pure joy in their eyes bid the same father good day with repeated thanks, and when they exit the church they find nothing but welcoming sunshine and the well wishes of a few passing villagers. You will go and settle your grateful debt with Malcolm tomorrow. Until then the only thought in your mind is Pero.

“The room, Sassenach.” Pero and Briac had cleaned up outside the rooms while you and Arwena had gotten ready, but he wants to lock himself in the room with his wife and make love to her. “Our meals will be brought to the door?” He asks. “Because I am not letting my wife out of my bed for the night once we climb into it.”

“The innkeeper said she would deliver trays to us tonight.” You grin at the eagerness in his tone, knowing you are every bit as ready to have him behind a closed and locked door as he is to have you. “I asked if she would simply leave them in the hall and gave her enough extra that both rooms could have a bottle of mead delivered as well.” It is a celebration, after all, and it’s not like champagne will be invented for almost seven hundred years.

“Good.” He has no doubt the patrons of the inn, mainly the ones drinking and socializing in the small space downstairs will hear you tonight. He doesn’t care. You are his wife, you bear his name - under the laws of man and God, you are his. It’s something that has his entire body primed with desire, surprising even him. He had never expected to be a greedy man when it came to marriage, he never expected to marry, but he is gluttonous with the need to make his talent for satisfying you known.

Briac and Arwena - teary and giggly and proud - are first through the doors of the inn with you and Pero following closely behind. There are more patrons now, all of them seemingly having heard of the weddings happening under Father Malcolm’s authority, and the cacophony of fist pounding tables and boots stamping the floor when the four of you walk in is just as sweet as the applause of any family. They may not be sitting outside your rooms to get an exact transcript, but these are the witnesses to the final act of your marriage - those who will vouch for overhearing the consummation - and they are as necessary a part of the legal contract in this time as the priest you just left. Without consummation, the marriage contract is not binding.

Pero grins at the way that Arwena seemingly melts under the realization that these people will be straining their ears for any sounds of pleasure. Sure that there will be ribald jokes and gentle ribbing. “We will make sure we take the attention off you.” He leans in to whisper in her ear.

“We’ll send up yet supper when it sounds like ye have worked a good appetite.” A man behind the counter chortles, which earns his a good-hearted glare from the innkeeper even though she smiles a second later. “No one will disturb ye,” she promises, waving toward the stairs as if to gentle shoo the four of you away from prying eyes.

The entire room is silent as the four of you start up the creaking stairs. Pero is probably the one most used to it, to being judged and weighed when he comes across a new village. His hand is on your waist as you proceed him and he turns to give the group a good-natured scowl.

That only earns a wave of good-natured chuckling from the assembled revelers, and they go back to their conversations and cups easily enough after you disappear upstairs.

At the top of the stairway, Pero lets you guide him towards the room that will be yours for at least the next few days. “Come wife.” He growls playfully. “I am needing you in my bed.”

“I think you like that word,” you tease, tugging him close to your side as Arwena and Briac sprint ahead to disappear behind the slamming door of their room with giddy anticipation.

“I do.” Pero admits, leaning in to tuck his head against your neck. “More than I ever thought possible. It is…kismet.”

“Come, amor.” Pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw, you push open the door to your room and nudge him inside. “We have much to celebrate.”

Once the door is open and he sees the bed that is already made with fresh sheets, Pero pushes into the room with you and kicks the door shut. Fumbling behind his back with the bar so he can keep his lips locked onto yours once he has found them.

It’s a testament to how little clothing Pero actually wore on a daily basis in the cottage that you’re having trouble getting him out of his clothes now - blindly pulling at laces and ties ties to strip away his layers piece by piece. The fire is roaring and a pitcher of water sits on a far table for refreshment, but everything is ignored in favor of getting your husband naked as quickly as possible. Your husband. The thought only makes you that much more insistent.

Chuckling, Pero covers your hands with his. “Let me strip for you.” He hums. “Show you what you have taken as your husband.” He wants you to watched to see the way your expression turns to one of lust when he strips bare. Never having someone a eager to lay with him as you are, it’s thrilling.

It’s not that Pero was touch starved before you, but in a sense he had been affection starved. He and William showed their brotherhood with with trademark teasing and roughhousing of men at arms. But you? You have never been shy about your desire for him since the day you confessed your mutual attraction and requited love. You have pleaded and begged for him, worshipped every inch of skin in his body and voiced the pleasure he has given you countless times. And somehow it only seems to make him want you more - not taking for granted the way you desire and love him, but appreciating it all the more. Now, at his request, you reluctantly take your hands away and move to the bed. Sitting in middle of the soft, downy mattress, you obediently sit on your hands so you can’t reach for him in impatience. “It has been whole weeks since I have seen my husband’s glory,” you tease, chewing on your bottom lip in obvious anticipation. “I think I have forgotten the exact planes of his body and need to be reminded.”

He feels powerful, like a king when you look at him like that. When your body squirms in anticipation since you know how he feels. His mouth salivates at the prospect of tasting you again, making you cry his name for the inn to hear. “Be patient.” He grumbles at you, even as his lips give away his delight at your impatience. “You will have me. My cock stretching out that cunt like it deserves to be. My hands stroking your skin.”

“How am I supposed to be patient with that promise to look forward to?” You complain with a playful pout. He looks so proud to see how much you want him that you would never deny him the pleasure of watching you squirm.

He chuckles, the sound low and deep and dragging the ground. “Show me your tits, wife.” He orders with a smirk on his face. “It has been weeks since I’ve seen those beautiful, tasty nipples.”

“I don’t know how you’ve survived without them,” you tease him, returning his smirk even as you unknot the belt over your waist. The deep evergreen coloured tunic you wore for a wedding dress lifts away to reveal your stays and chemise underneath, both of which you unlace as fast as your eager fingers will allow - leaving you only in your stockings once your slippers have been kicked away. But Pero very often prefers you in just your stockings, so you leave them in place for him to enjoy.

He growls, cock twitching behind the leather of his breeches as he drinks in the sight of your tits. His own tunic is slow to slide over his head before he reaches down and cups his cock. “You want this, esposa?” He grunts. “You want to see the last cock you will have?”

“You say that like you are testing me.” It’s still a tease, even more so because you’re about ready to crawl off the bed to get to him. “That is my favourite cock in eternity, and from me that is literal.”

He looks at you from deep under the lids of his eyes, a smirk hovering on his face and looking every inch in the predator he could be. “Good.” He rasps, thick fingers unraveling the laces to tease you with the thatch of dark hair that grows above his length.

You all but lick your lips, undisguised desire taking over. Medieval wedding night striptease definitely wasn’t ever on your checklist of moments in life, but since you’re here you’re not about to waste a single second of enjoyment.

Pero watches as you spread your legs unconsciously. Loving how it’s not even a planned action. He smirks as he teases down the pants, drawing out the anticipation and basking in your attention.

"Mi amor..." You would call him cruel except he's enjoying teasing you so much, and you shift forward on the bed again so you're basically on the edge of the mattress. The whine in your voice and pout on your lips is exactly what he loves in a reaction and you'll give it to him every single time. "Let me see all of you. Please?"

When you beg, there is nothing on this earth that Pero would deny you. His breeches pushed down, he reveals the thick length of his cock, already ready to sink into the warm walls of his wife. “Is this what you wanted?” He huffs playfully, kicking his breeches off and standing proud for your perusal.

“Fuck” If he had shared your bath you would be on your knees in front of him in a heartbeat, ready to have your lips wrapped around that cock for the first time in weeks. Instead you shift forward again, crawling the final two inches off the mattress like a magnet is pulling you to his side. “Tan guapo. Tan fucking guapo.” So handsome. It’s a goddamn understatement, but since there is no good Medieval equivalent for ‘sexy’ you’ll make do with the words that you have.

His hand strikes out, whip fast as it grabs your arm and drags you back onto the mattress as he propels himself forward. Teasing is over, now he wants to make you cry out. “Hermosa.”

The speed of his movements knock you clear off your feet, bare ass landing on top of the blankets and furs laid over the mattress as he leans over you. If you ever teetered on the edge of forgetting he is a warrior, these are the times that make you remember. The times that he is the hunter and you are the hunted, and nothing in the world can keep him from being the victorious conqueror. “Esposo.” It comes out of you in a whisper - a sort of wonderment - and your lips curl up in a genuine smile.

Pero groans, deep in his chest. As if that is the secret to the wonders do the world and you have found it. Something he never thought he would have, would deserve, is right here in his grasp. His fingers fan out over your cheek and jaw. “Te amo.” He manages to choke out a split second before crushing his lips to yours as if he needed to kiss you to keep living. In that moment it was quite possible that it was true.

He crawls over you, dragging you backward until you’re sprawled out on the furs beneath him. Your grasping fingers knead his flesh, constantly trying to coax him closer and your legs open immediately, welcoming him to lay between them and take everything you have to offer.

“Fuck, you look so good.” Pero groans, ducking his head down and biting on your shoulder. “All mine.”

"Yes." Your thumb on his chin brings his eyes back up to yours, a stillness in the moment of almost desperate wanting. "Since the day you came into my life. And now forever."

“Hold on to the bed, amor.” Pero presses his lips to yours roughly before he starts a frantic journey south, his mouth paving the way with hot open mouthed kisses and little love bites. “Hold onto the fucking bed while I eat your cunt.”

The appetite he has for pussy eating makes you the luckiest damn woman in the world, and you reach up to grasp the headboard of the sturdy wooden bed with two eager hands. Any usual inclination you would normally have to run your fingers through his hair and tug is stifled by his instruction, because you've learned over time that there are sometimes when being a little submissive in bed yields amazing results. Yielding to Pero's appetite is one of them.

The scent of you is heavy in his nose, filling his senses and all he can think about is you. That first touch, first lick isn’t gentle. It’s not tentative. He opens his mouth and immediately gorges himself on the cunt that is attached to his wife with a pleased groan.

Your own sound is more like an ecstatic gasp when he attempts to swallow you whole - cunt first. Pero’s tongue is talented for more than just trading barbs and you will let every prying pair of ears downstairs know it. It’s been weeks since you felt him lick through your folds like a man starved and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

Instead of grabbing your hips like he normally does, he grabs your tits. Groaning into you while he huffs and snarls into your cunt at the taste and your reaction. Dark eyes fixed on your face and he smirks while sucking on your clit when your back arches.

When he is determined like this it always feels possible that you might just float away without warning. There is no part of you that he does not taste or touch, though his hands always return to your tits to pinch and roll your sensitive nipples between his calloused fingers and make you keen.

Every moan and sigh makes Pero work harder. Ignoring the ache in his jaw from not being used this way for weeks. He pushes deeper into your folds, his tongue curling up inside you.

He can tell you're working up to your peak, the pitch of your moans getting higher and your breathing shallower as your tits heave in his hands. The way your thighs start to shake at his ears makes him chuckle in that dark, wicked pleased way that he has and your back arches again, grinding your pussy down on his gorgeous smart-ass mouth for all your worth.

He loves when you seek out pleasure from him. You had introduced him to face sitting as you called it, and he loves when you do it. Not because you suck on his cock, but because he loves how you writhe on his lap. He pinches your nipples and twists, eager to feel you soak his face when you cum.

His tongue curls inside you, tugging at that last divine thread holding you together and flicking it apart with practiced ease to topple you off the edge of pleasure. You wouldn't exactly call it screaming when your orgasm starts to roll through you, but the people waiting downstairs now unmistakably know your husband's name.

Pride fills his chest as he drags you through the pleasure. Keeping his tongue flicking and curling around your clit while your legs squeeze his head and shake around him. Feeling your heartbeat through your cunt and tasting your release on his tongue.

"Fuck--" You groan out the curse, a deep and indulgent giggle rolling up from deep in your throat as you pull at Pero's shoulders to get him to crawl up your body.

Giving into your whines and pulling is no great feat, already needing to be inside you. He wants to feel you shudder around his cock. “Feel good, amor?” He asks, the thick line of him resting against your wet cunt.

“God yes.” He always feels good no matter what part of him is on or inside you, and you cant your hips upward to slick the underside of his cock with your wetness as you keep your legs spread wide. “My husband is exceptionally talented.”

“El hechizo de tu bruja.” Your witch’s spell. Pero chuckles, leaning forward and his teeth bite your chin and he rocks his hips forward to rub against your folds.

"If anyone is under a spell, it's me." And you don't mind admitting to that either. That the way you love each other is more powerful than anything else you have ever felt.

“Then we will be bewitched together.” Pero angles his hips and he catches at your entrance. Sliding inside you with the ease of practice and the sense of coming home.

The feeling of it is so natural that you barely even notice shedding a very real tear as you put your arms around him. Having Pero close to you - so close that you have literally become one - is a kind of comfort and peace that you never thought possible. The magic of soulmates, you think, right before he steals all other thoughts from your mind as he starts to move inside you.

It is hard to keep from speeding up, from making this rough and hard and making you scream, but he keeps his hips slow. Steadily rocking into you as if he has all the time in the world. In a sense, he does. You are staying with him, making your home here, with him and he can’t kiss you enough while steadily burying himself inside you.

This evening is so different from your usual time spent in bed together. There is no frantic chase and playful banter or teasing. The roll of his hips is steady and true, bringing him back to you over and over again - home again on even thrust and breathing you in with every shared gasp. It's hypnotic. A true bewitchment in any sense of the term as the rest of the world dissolves around you to be forgotten in favour of each other. Every droplet of sweat an offering on the altar of your bodies and every pronouncement of your names or curse of pleasure a new enchantment that ties you together just that much tighter.

Pero gasps, eyes closed and his jaw tight when your nails dig into his back. Not harshly, you wouldn’t draw blood, but it seems to scorch his nerves. “Te amo, te amo.” He grunts, dragging his cock through the tight clutch of your body.

It becomes a symphony: words of love and promises made by firelight mixing with endless sounds of pleasure. There is no difference between your voice and his as you both rise higher into the night, exultations only pausing when the pleasure is so great that it steals your breath altogether.

There’s no better place to be than right here. Pero has never been in a more perfect spot that right here between his wife’s thighs. Every look on your face, every whispered word of love is etched onto his heart and without a doubt, you have changed everything for him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You have never felt it more intensely than you do in this moment. The past is your present and now your future, and Pero’s strong arms wrapped tightly around you while he buries himself in your grasping body over and over again. Nothing in the world has ever been so right.

His lips are near your ear, breathing where you can hear it. He feels how his groans affect you. “Break for me, esposa. I want to f-feel you.”

It’s almost more of a prayer, begging you to join him at his peak as you can feel his thrusts start to grow erratic, and you hitch your legs up a little higher on his waist to deepen the angle of his cock as it enters your slick walls. Like this you can practically feel him in your belly and you cry out a little louder, nails burying themselves in his back all over again. The small difference is enough to have your pussy fluttering, the vibrating feeling of orgasm right behind it.

Pleasure is something that Pero has become well acquainted with since discovering you as his soulmate and the two of you exploring sexually. But this, this is like the black powder explosion that knocked him off his feet and made the world spin. Disorienting him to everything but the gasp of your walls around him and the flash of light that seems to fill him as he growls out your name and gives you everything he has in him.

Pero’s speed picks up, rhythm left behind in favor of chasing the tingling dramatic of orgasm. You plummet over the precipice first, the head of his cock dragging back against your g-spot so perfectly that your vision whites out when you cry your husband’s name one more time and tense completely underneath him.

He’s sure everyone on the planet can hear both of you. Not that he gives a damn, he only cares about the way you cry his name, taking his seed as he gives it to you and moaning at the feel of filling you. It’s heady, breathtaking and wholly consuming as he strains above you, your arms locked around him until you both come down together.

“I love you so much.” Whispered into a kiss, it occurs to you that the words just truly aren’t enough - but they’re the biggest words you have.

“Hasta la eternidad.” Until eternity. Pero promises, kissing your lips again and again until he feels like he had caught his breath.

“Para siempre.” Forever. It seems a little too much like a dream, this hazy feeling of bliss you’re living in, but you kiss him again before shifting slightly in the sturdy bed. “Lay down, amor,” You murmur against his lips. “Lay with your wife.”

It’s not a hard request, one that he willingly fulfills. Kissing your forehead, he lays beside you and pulls you close. “You are warm.” He chuckles, “I will keep you warm like this anytime you wish.”

“I’m sure it will be a great hardship,” you tease, laughing with him. The flush you feel makes you hum and you tuck into his side easily. “Fucking your wife will be a terrible chore.”

“Someone must do it.” He intones solemnly, as of it is a hassle. “A woman as beautiful as my soulmate must be taken care of properly.” His fingers trail up your arm and the teasing gives way to a serious thought. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, amor.” He promises. “Even if it means I must rip my own heart from my chest.”

“Let us hope it never comes to that,” you intone seriously, looking up at him from your place against his chest. “But I would do the same for you.”

“I know you would.” That’s the part that terrifies him. He knows you would protect him if you had to. His arm curls around you tightly. “Sleep.” He huffs, smirking at you. “I will wake you in an hour to do this again.”

You just giggle softly, pressing a kiss over his heart before you lay your head down again and sigh. The utter contentment of the moment is nearly overwhelming and you adore it. “By then our super tray should have arrived. We will need the energy tonight, I think.”

******

The shuffling outside the door wakes Pero an hour later. Dinner arriving. He smirks at the way you are draped across him, obviously still asleep and deeply at that. Binx lifts her head from the corner she is curled in and yawns, stretching her front paws before she settles back down as if to say it was his responsibility to worry about what was beyond the door. It takes a few moments, but he manages to extract himself from under you silently and shuffle into his breeches to open the door and retrieve the heavily ladened tray. The room is gloriously warm, the chimney from the kitchen below keeping the room nice and toasty.

“Amor?” Stretching to find no warm body beneath you, you frown and crack your eye open. The sun has since set on the day but Binx is resting comfortably, and you twist under the furs on the bed to find Pero coming towards you with a tray - hot, roasted meat, fresh crusty bread, stewed vegetables with gravy, a chunk of creamy white cheese, and a bowl of dried berries that look like a purplish cousin of blueberries. Two goblets and a bottle of mead complete the meal, and he sets it on the table by the bed while you sit up. “Our wedding feast?” You guess, not bothering to cover yourself. Why should you?

“It looks to be a tasty one.” There is nothing wrong with leering at your nude body as you slowly amble out of the bed. It is a sight Pero has been greeted with many time in your little cottage and now here in the inn where you are spending the first night as husband and wife. He thinks that makes it even more special.

"You can have me after we eat," you hum, grinning at the way he is drinking in every inch of you with hungry eyes. "But I know we will be up every hour or two during the night to fuck as many times as we can, so we must have food."

He chuckles, knowing that you are well aware of his intent. “I swear I have never thought with my cock as much as I have since arriving at your door.” He muses, sending you a small wink as you sit your bare ass on the wooden chair.

"I will take that as a compliment." Sending the wink right back to him, you pick up a few of the little dried berries from the bowl on the tray and pop them in your mouth, humming at the sweetness. They're almost exactly like dried blueberries and you had never realized that you missed blueberries until now.

His soft cock twitches at the lusty moan that pours out of your mouth. Your eyes roll back and he watches you hold onto the table while you do some sort of body shake. “Is it good, bruja?” He asks, amused at your reaction.

"I used to eat something like these...before." He knows what you mean, but usually you call it 'back home'. That has to change, obviously. Since your home is with him. "I have not had anything like them in years."

“Then have them all.” Pero pushes the bowl towards you. “We will get some more of them before we leave. Take them on our trek home.”

“My husband spoils me.” You grin and blow him a kiss before picking up a few more of the sweet berries and humming at the taste. “Eat, amor. You cannot survive on my cunt alone.”

“I would die a happy man trying.” He tosses you a dirty grin before he sits down across from you and opens the mead. Pouring it generously into the cups and handing you one. “We did it. We are married and there is nothing that bastard can do to you or to the girl.”

“I was thinking,” you tear the small loaf of bread open and hand him a chunk before taking one for yourself. “We should hire a ship to take us to Valencia instead of riding. It may be a little harder on our stomachs but we will avoid having to double-back through France and perhaps run into her father on the road.”

“Let us run into the bastard.” Pero’s expression is one of anticipation. “Now that the girl is safe, let the bastard squeal at the end of my sword.”

“A ship passing would also be faster,” you point out, although you’re smirking slightly at Pero’s glee. “Arwena’s safety is assured, but that doesn’t mean we parade her around like a symbol of victory.”

“You are right.” Pero nods, biting into a bit of the bread and chewing as he thinks. “We can see if we can stay.” He eyes you to see your reaction. “See if we can trade some labor for lodging, spend the rest of the winter here and travel come spring.”

"You like Gretna that much?" It surprises you, but the idea is a sound one. Travel in spring is safer and faster than travel in winter, not to mention you are going to have to start watching your coin purse soon. It would not make you sad to spend the rest of the winter here - not with Malcolm nearby and the prospect of many more warm nights in Pero's arms on the horizon.

He shrugs slightly as if it is of no consequence to him. “I have spent winters in far worse places.” He admits, picking up a chunk of the cheese and taking a healthy bite. “You have your priest so you will not be feared of being a witch.” Having a priest in your corner is the best kind of protection against claims like that. “And I do not care where I spend the winter as long as I am with you.”

"I love you, too." Pausing with your goblet of mead in one hand, you reach across the small table and squeeze his hand gently but end up smirking. "I would not mind staying. We will see what Arwena and Briac think when they eventually emerge from their room in a few days time. Mi casa eres contigo." My home is with you.

“Sí.” He nods in complete agreement and watches as you finish the dried berries. “Plus you can eat all the berries you wish.”

 ______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear

SatS: @canadianmaebe @badassbaker @od-ends @amneris21 @padbrookcottage @chaoticfestninja @xdaddysprincessxx @mostclevermiss @im-sylien @wherethewildfanlives @ficsbynight @djarinsimp @ellenmunn @jediknight122 @under-the-seas @wellaintthatsumthin @sarahbellesaurus @roxypeanut @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bruxasolta @kaylay2187 @freshlemontea @humanransome-note @virtualanchortimetravel @leoisme @do-not-go-gently-42 @catsandgeekyandnerd @happypalaceroadpie @ghoulpatroul @lizzystorm48 @imoutoid @rainbeaubrightchild @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @dudelorian @thirddeadlysin @piratesangel @jazzieomega @iceclaw101 @strangegirl32 @lights-on-the-ridge @godofbadass8909 @pann-malii @littleone65 @notyouraveragemochii @shawdowolf993 @rebel-fanfare @rav3n-pascal22 @love93sstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @aurelac-heart @we-could-have-been @bilibiche @prettydull180 @dinoflower @my-life-as-a-bird @tuquoquebrute @damnitjaskier @fishingforpike @sherlock221b114679797 @sainteredhood @nekodemon73 @missredherring @middlemichi @moonflower91 @rachelle-on-the-run @miscellaneousfangirling @danamercury @hyacinthsatdawn @i-am-amora-the-enchantress @milkandoil @generalplaidhorseherring @raptorclaw24 @mrsparknuts

My Masterlist!

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hello there, could I please request Anthony bridgerton and reader fic where hes introducing the reader to his family for the first time and shes really nervous but the family ends up loving her more than him? Thanks, I absolutely love your work!! Please dont overwork yourself darling❤ - @lespaceboi

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I had so much fun with this request, I love it so so much. I only hope you do too! Lowkey posting this early bc I’m watching the euros final tonight and I won’t have time. 

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, light angst, some worries, lots of fluff, family fluff, Anthony being cute, dialogue heavy, declarations of love.

Word count: 3.6k

Her hands shake uncontrollably as the carriage clatters through London. Taking calming breaths, (Y/N) does her best to stop her shaking hands by gripping her shawl tightly. Her maid, Jayne, looks over at her in concern. “We can always turn back, my lady,” Jayne whispers, “I’m sure Viscount Bridgerton won’t mind postponing to another day.”

(Y/N) smiles warmly at her maid; grateful for the care in her voice. However, she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer, Jayne. Anthony’s sister and her husband have travelled all the way from Scotland.”

Jayne sits back against the carriage bench, nodding her head understandingly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” She offers in comfort.

“I can only hope,” (Y/N) whispers, casting her gaze out of window and into the London streets.

She had met Anthony Bridgerton when shopping for ribbons. An unusual time and place to meet anyone, but Anthony had strolled into the shop and asked to see the best ribbons in the place as nothing would be better than the absolute best for his nieces. (Y/N) had giggled at the tone of his voice; unused to seeing such a powerful figure in such intimate settings. Her laughter had drawn his attention to which a conversation began. By the end of the Viscount’s visit to the ribbon shop, he had asked to see her again.

The visits continued in secrecy, or in as much secrecy as one could afford when holding a peerage. The relationship blossomed; what was once considered a friendship was turning romantic, and (Y/N) could not help her feelings for the Viscount. He had captured her, body and soul. She counted every blessing that Anthony felt the same.

The first glimpse of Bridgerton House steals her breath away. The red brick stands out amongst the paler buildings; Anthony’s wealth already obvious but further personified by the sheer scale of his home. The sweet scent of the violet hyacinths perfume (Y/N)’s carriage; their aroma bringing a small smile to her face as she remembers a masquerade party in Chiswick, a balcony and Anthony’s hands on her waist.

Her carriage rolls to a natural stop; (Y/N)’s heart in her throat as she tears her inquiring gaze from Bridgerton House to Jayne. Jayne smiles and squeezes her lady’s hand, a silent offer of support for the afternoon.

“They’re going to love you,” Jayne whispers, bolstering (Y/N) as best she could as the door to the carriage is opened by (Y/N)’s footman.

Now closer, Bridgerton House is much grander. The deep green iron gates pronounce the family’s wealth further. (Y/N) gulps as she takes step after step down the path to already open front door. Her steps falter slightly as she catches sight of Anthony waiting in the entrance; his hair the usual untameable mess that endears her so.

“You came,” Anthony breathes in greeting; his eyes wide with barely concealed surprise as he takes in the sight of her on his doorstep.

“I came,” (Y/N) answers just as breathlessly. Even the sight of him was enough to leave her gasping for breath; there were moments in their prolonged courtship that she couldn’t quite believe he had chosen her, that he wanted her. As Anthony stands there, his white shirt unbuttoned from the collar with his waistcoat undone, she realises that this is the most casual she had ever seen him. His outfit wasn’t proper, but she doesn’t want it to be. She wants to see him from every angle; she wants to know every Anthony there is. So far, she had found herself besotted with each and every one.

Both remain silent as Anthony offers his arm to her. (Y/N) uses the silence to quash the nerves rioting in her gut; she had never been this nervous, not when she was presented in front of the monarch for her season, and not when she danced with the Prince of Wales at his birthday celebrations two years ago. Now, however, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her.

Anthony pauses their journey. “Are you okay?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“I’m nervous,” (Y/N) confesses bashfully, “What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me so much that you end things? I’m having so much fun with you, Anthony. I don’t want this to end.”

“Hey,” Anthony whispers, taking her face in his hands, urging her to look at him, “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to love you, I know it. I’ve spoken about you so much they feel they already know you.”

“You talk about me?” (Y/N) asks, her voice small.

Anthony presses a kiss to her forehead. “Constantly. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out with how much I talk about you.”

“You’re really very sweet.”

“Only because of you,” He flirts, pushing his luck by kissing her quickly.

(Y/N) laughs softly against his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

Anthony laughs gently, pulling away from her lips but keeping hold of her hands. “I’m as nervous as you,” He confesses, “But I have you by my side to help me get through just as you have me through this too. Any time you want to go, let me know and I’ll call your carriage back round.”

“Thank you,” She whispers before Anthony continues on down the hall, his hand squeezing hers tightly.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Anthony asks, double checking, voice wavering as they stand outside the door to the drawing room. “My family can be a bit much to meet all at once.”

“We’re nothing of the sort!” A masculine voice shouts from behind the door.

A surprised laugh leaves (Y/N) lips. She covers her mouth to bring back the mask of perfect decorum, not wanting to insult a member of Anthony’s family. “I’m ready when you are,” She whispers, smiling at the eldest Bridgerton.

“Sooner rather than later,” Anthony whispers before opening the door, giving her the first glimpse at his family.

The Bridgerton brood sit around the large drawing room. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – they all mix together as they wait for Anthony and his new beau. Each all fall silent as Anthony and (Y/N) enters the room; their first glimpse of her, their first conversation with her. Anthony had spoken about her constantly but refused to let any family meet her until they were both ready.

Now that moment had arrived.

“Mother,” Anthony introduces to the silent room, “This is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) exclaims, smiling at the Bridgerton matriarch. “I’ve heard so much about you all,” She continues, casting her gaze around the room.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, dear (Y/N),” Violet announces, “Anthony has been nothing but a ball of nerves since he announced you would be joining us.”

(Y/N) nods at the matriarch, feeling herself become speechless as she takes in the sheer size of Anthony’s family. It isn’t hard to tell who the Bridgertons are among the group are; they each have the same eyes and smile. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” (Y/N) announces, repeating her earlier words, unable to keep the nerves from entering her voice this time.

“I’m Benedict,” The second eldest introduces, jumping up from his seat on the couch, holding his hand out for her to take.

“The artist!” (Y/N) gasps, “I’ve seen some of your work. You’re exceptionally talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict blushes, excusing himself with a pat to Anthony’s shoulder, a silent sign that Benedict already approves.

“Help yourself to some tea,” A younger woman exclaims in the brief silence between conversations, “I’d get up to greet you, but it would take twice as long as the conversation itself.”

“Please don’t strain yourself,” (Y/N) offers graciously, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Simon.” Daphne introduces, her hand landing on the thigh of a handsome man.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) greets, making her way to an empty seat at a nearby table. There she pours two cups of tea, one for her and one for Anthony, knowing he would be dropping by in a minute or two. The tea steeps as (Y/N) helps herself to one of the many biscuits, taking a small bite of the buttery concoction before reaching for the milk and sugar. This is a routine she has practiced many times before, knowing exactly how long to stir her tea so it wouldn’t burn the tip of her tongue with every sip.

It’s takes less than two minutes for someone to join her at the table. (Y/N) offers the young woman a polite smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eloise Bridgerton,” introduces the young woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) repeats, feeling herself already grow tired of the words.

“Are you educated, (Y/N)?” Eloise enquires; her keen blue gaze dancing over the young woman.

(Y/N) finishes her sip of tea before nodding at Anthony’s younger sister. “I am,” She answers, “I studied under a very thorough governess, and I am fluent in French and Latin, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to sit in on some lectures at Oxford and Edinburgh.”

“How?” Eloise all but demands, ignoring the stern stare of her mother as she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You must teach me your ways.”

(Y/N) represses an amused smile at Eloise’s antics. “My favourite cousin, Sylvester, was a student at both. I often annoyed him into letting me attend in secret whenever I visited.”

“Did you attend any interesting lectures?”

(Y/N) nods, happy to further indulge the brunette. “Sylvester was a student of medicine, beginning his education at Oxford before continuing on to Edinburgh where he lives now. I’ve attended a few medical lectures, but I pressured him into letting me attend a philosophical debate surrounding Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” (Y/N) shakes her head, amused at the memory, “Sylvester didn’t find that one nearly as thrilling as his medical lectures.”

“Anthony!” Eloise calls, gathering the attention of all her brothers, “I’m keeping (Y/N) for myself. You’re going to have to find a new beau, I’m afraid.”

Anthony chuckles, leaving his brothers to their own conversation. “Pray,” He begins, “Just what are the two of you talking about.”

“(Y/N)’s education. Did you know she’s sat in lectures at both Oxford and Edinburgh? I daresay I might attend a few myself.”

Anthony’s hand lands on your shoulder; a warm squeeze has you turning to meet his stare. His smile is fond; his eyes are bright with happiness. “Are you inciting further rebellion in my little sister?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) playfully scoffs, “Just letting her know that should she want to attend any lectures, I have a connection for her.”

A laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he catches sight of Eloise’s excited wiggle in her chair. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” He murmurs to (Y/N) quietly, dropping an unexpected kiss to her hair before entering a debate with Eloise, explaining why she cannot go about interrupting lectures at prestigious universities.

Leaving the siblings to their bickering, (Y/N) stands from table, wanting to stretch her legs and discover more to the drawing room. By this point in the afternoon, the appeal of company has worn off. The large family now broken off into their own conversations; Francesca and Michael remain sat close together on the couch under the window, Lady Violet remains sat by her eldest daughter – the matriarch keeping a weather eye on her pregnant daughter.

(Y/N) smiles fondly at the scene before turning to one of the many fixed bookshelves in the room; leather bound volumes line the shelves. There wasn’t much for light reading, she thinks to herself as she reads the spines. Much about the War of the Roses and the subsequent Tudor reign, not much in the way of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.

“You’re very pretty,” A young girl announces from behind (Y/N). She turns to find two girls, both no older than four or five, their hair matching pigtails, curled into ringlets.

(Y/N) kneels to their height, ignoring the pinching of her corset as she smiles at the young children. “Why thank you,” She states gratefully, “But you know what I would really like?”

“What?” The eldest of the two asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Gorgeous pigtails like yours,” (Y/N) smiles, gesturing to their hair.

Both girls break into wide smiles, already won over. “What are your names?” (Y/N) asks.

“I’m Amelia,” The eldest states proudly, “I’m five and a half.”

“I’m Belinda,” The second girl introduces, “I’m four.”

“Well it is lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) compliments, “My name is (Y/N).”

“We know,” Belinda chimes. “Uncle Tony talks about you all the time.”

“He does, does he?” She murmurs amused; catching sight of the brunette doing his best not to intervene on the conversation taking place with his nieces.

Amelia nods. “All the time!” She cries happily. “He talks about your hair, your eyes, your smile.” She breaks off, leaning towards (Y/N) to whisper in her ear. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you think?” (Y/N) questions, unable to keep the eager hope from her voice.

“I know,” Amelia nods sagely, “I heard Uncle Tony tell Mama and Papa.”

(Y/N) presses her lips together to keep the wide smile from growing across her face. She had known that Anthony felt very deeply for her though he had never uttered a word. With a quick glance in Anthony’s direction, she gestures for the two girls to come closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

Amelia and Belinda nod silently; too excited to hear what (Y/N) has to say. “It just so happens,” (Y/N) whispers to the two girls, “That I also love your Uncle Tony.”

“You do?” Belinda squeaks.

“I do,” (Y/N) nods seriously, “I love him very much.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Amelia asks; her blue eyes wide with burning curiosity.

“I think on some level he already knows, but I plan on telling him very soon.”

Both girls squeal in happiness, leaving (Y/N) behind as they run towards their parents. Daphne and Simon greet their children with open arms, wide eyed at their level of noise as they demand their voices to be heard over the hubbub of the rest of the family.

“I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me to this particular conversation,” A warm voice sounds from behind her. The way his arm slips around her waist, as if it were his home, tells (Y/N) that Anthony has found her once more.

“A secret for another day,” (Y/N) teases, turning to face the man that had captured her heart so wholly.

“Will you tell me later?” He asks, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout that has her giggling.

“Perhaps,” She whispers, leaning ever closer to the Bridgerton. “Only if you promise me something.”

“Anything,” He whispers seriously, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“I know you would,” She murmurs, “But all I’m asking for is for you to not pester your nieces over what I told them.”

“How did you know?” Anthony asks, voice glum.

(Y/N) brings a gloved hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Because I know you, my dear.”

Anthony leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to her wrist. “I like being your dear.”

“I like being yours too,” She replies earnestly. “Now, I’ve spoken to most of your siblings. Do me the honour of introducing me to Francesca, she came all the way from Scotland, it’s rude that I’ve neglected her.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anthony responds, taking her hand and leading her to the couch where Francesca sits with her husband, Michael.

The day continues in a similar fashion. Bridgerton House had never been quiet when the whole family was in attendance; raucous laughter and loving bickering filled its many corners with noise. The life and laughter of the family bringing the house to life.

As the grandfather clock ticks closer and closer to the evening, (Y/N) finds herself lamenting the fact that she must leave the Bridgerton family so soon.

“I must take my leave,” She announces to sad cries to Amelia and Belinda, already so attached.

“So soon?” Benedict asks, frowning as he wonders when he’ll get to continues his conversation with her. So few wanted to talk about art nowadays.

(Y/N) meets Anthony’s gaze, hating how sad he looks. “I’m having dinner with my parents and their friends. An occasion I simply cannot miss, I’m afraid.”

“Do we know them?” Violet asks in an attempt to delay the inevitable. She had grown fond of the young woman over the course of the afternoon, seeing how perfectly she fit amongst her family, how she brought out the best in her eldest son.

“The St. Clair’s?” (Y/N) enquires, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. “My father has worked with Lady Danbury’s family for a long time. Gareth and I are old friends.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Violet announces, “But please visit us soon.”

“I would love to,” (Y/N) smiles, crossing the room to be by Anthony’s side.

Offering her goodbyes to the large family, (Y/N) takes Anthony’s offered arm, hooking hers through his as they descend the grand marble staircase to the foyer. “Your family are lovely,” (Y/N) compliments as she takes care not to trip over her skirts on the stairs. “You all care for each so much, it’s clear the moment you enter the room.”

“My mother and siblings are the best people I know,” Anthony murmurs, walking beside (Y/N) at a steady pace in order to delay her departure by a minute.

“I can only hope they liked me,” She worries, her teeth biting into her bottom lip in a way that has Anthony restraining himself by gripping her arm tighter.

“You were wonderful,” Anthony murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheekbone before helping her into her carriage.

“Thank you for today,” (Y/N) calls, sticking her hand from the window to prolong the contact between Anthony and herself. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye; wasn’t quite ready to leave him.

“Thank you for coming,” Anthony answers, kissing her hand before tucking it back through the window of her carriage. If they didn’t say goodbye now, they wouldn’t say goodbye at all. If she didn’t leave, he would most likely offer marriage on the pavement than somewhere proper.

Nodding to her footman, Anthony watches her carriage leave. He stands on the doorstep to Bridgerton House until her carriage is no longer in sight. Only then does he let himself release the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Weariness washes over him as he turns to face his childhood home. Inside, in his mother’s drawing room, await his family. Each one ready to give their verdict on the woman he has had the good fortune to fall in love with.

Sighing, he kicks at the ground, knowing he cannot delay this any longer.

His mother and siblings are where he left them; his mother’s drawing room. They fall silent at the sight of him; each clearly unwilling to make the leap and be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

“What do you think of (Y/N)?” Anthony asks; voice loud in the ever so silent room. He meets the eyes of each of his siblings, not missing the way Daphne leans into Simon or the way Michael reaches for Francesca’s hand. They’ve all found their love matches; it was now Anthony’s turn.

Colin takes the fall for his family, standing to face his eldest brother and titled peer. He clears his throat, fidgeting on the spot before he eventually pauses all movement, breaking into a smile to declare, “We all loved her!”

“You do?” Anthony asks, falling onto a nearby couch in shock.

Violet smiles at her eldest son. “We do. (Y/N) is a sweetheart and looks to be just as taken with you as you are with her.”

Blush begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. “I can only hope, dear mother.”

“It’s true,” Amelia chimes, her young face bright with joy. “She told Belinda and I.”

“You have found your love match, my darling boy,” Violet states warmly.

“It does help that (Y/N) is a trifle more tolerable than you, dear brother,” Benedict teases, laughter bright in his Bridgerton blue eyes.

“And so educated!” Eloise gasps, “We had an enlightening conversation about Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women.”

“She was wonderful with Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne murmurs, her hand falling protectively over her pregnant stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling that you prefer (Y/N) to me?” Anthony murmurs, mischief bright in his eyes and evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Gregory points out, “I only hope (Y/N) can keep up with your obsession with Pall Mall.”

“A worthy obsession,” Anthony argues, mind wandering to the games he could play with (Y/N).

“She’s wonderful,” Violet interrupts, a large smile on her face as she takes the final say.

Anthony smiles widely at his mother; constantly grateful for her love and care throughout his life. She had been lost after the death of his father, as had Anthony, but Anthony had never truly understood what it would feel like to lose someone you love as wholeheartedly as his mother loved his father.

Until now, that is. The mere thought of losing her sends a lance of pain through his chest, cutting short his breath and increasing his panic. Anthony shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings.

Calm enough, he faces his family once more. “I plan on proposing to (Y/N),” He announces, showing his family the ring box that has been sitting heavily in his trouser pocket all day.

“Thank goodness,” Francesca murmurs, smiling indulgently at her big brother. “I cannot wait to call her sister.”

“Indeed,” Anthony murmurs, a loving smile on his face, “I cannot wait to call her my wife.”

******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @sexysirius @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​ @writeroutoftime​ @joyfullymulti​ @nuttytani​ @multifandomfix​ @freyathehuntress​ @lespaceboi​

Taglists are open! Drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

[elysiadjarin]

Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

~

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

~

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

~

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

~

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.