#the thief casillero del diablo

[ladamedusoif]

Plus ça change, etc.

The only coronations I will ever recognise.

[pedro-pedrito-pascalito]

You like this? The saxon crown. I like to wear it around the house sometimes.

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 10

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Heavy flirting, mention of a safe word, technically public groping/making out, drunkenness, weapon, threats/arguing, accidental injury, character death, blood drinking Summary: An interrupted date and a magical mishap end up with very surprising results. Notes: This chapter has been marked explicit for violence! Please proceed knowing that tags are intentionally vague so as not to give away plot points!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

VW: @haileymorelikestupid, @miraclesabound @nastiasnow @vabeachazn @oberynslady @grogusmum @kittenlittle24 @8-900 @survivingandenduring @ktmadden86 @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sweetnsaltyclussy

My Masterlist!

[missredherring]

What Strange Claws Are These

The Thief x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: dark

Prompt: "Oh, I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

Warnings: dub-con. f! fingering. loss of free will. kidnapping.

Summary: It's a bad idea to invite a thief in; you can't choose what they take.

A/N: This was written for @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!

Ok, so this probably came out as more soft grey fic than strictly darkfic, but I really tried! I wanted to incorporate the magical realism vibes of the commercial too.

Thank you so much to @covetyou and @ozarkthedog for brainstorming with me and passing ideas back and forth like we were making ice cream in a coffee can.

Not beta read; all mistakes are mine.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Hiding in plain sight is a skill he’s perfected a long time ago.

He passes by ushers and servers quietly, with a relaxed posture and his head forward. Act like you belong in a place and no one will ask what you’re doing there. They didn’t want to risk the embarrassment of accusing a wealthy patron of not being a known entity. 

It’s been a long time since he’s been observed without his knowledge. 

The sensation of eyes on him when his attention is focused on the stage is unexpected. You're watching him when he glances over, the low lights of the opera house glinting off your binoculars.

A held look, a raised eyebrow, and the tilt of your head is an invitation he graciously accepts. 

As he ascends the stairwells to the opposite wing where your box is he takes note of the rustling of unease coming from the stage. The echo of the tenor’s last note has barely had time to bounce around the domed ceiling, but the orchestra’s music ebbs to an uneasy end as the penultimate act of the opera concludes. 

One, two, three boxes to the left, and there you are, nestled in the velvet drapes of your box like a pearl, waiting to be plucked and transformed in the hands of an artisan. 

Your pleased smile isn’t the only curve you possess and he’s delighted, noting how the silk of your gown drapes over your shoulders to tuck just beneath your bust and show your decolletage to its full advantage, using the swell of your breasts to pillow a garnet pendant between them.

Away on the stage the understudy is rushing out to meet the audience with open arms, his costume only just tugged into place and his wig already coming away at the sweaty nape of his neck before the glue has had time to properly set.

The tenor’s voice starts again with the swell of the music, a quiet pitch only the thief can hear now. He’s buoyed by the success, lifting him out of need and placing him at the whims of want.

He extends his hand to you and barely waits for the touch of your fingertips before turning and leaving the box just as quickly as he’d entered.

Eyes skim over him and away again, instructed to ignore lovers sneaking off unless they cross certain boundaries. 

Leading you away, down into the dark corridors beneath the numerous staircases, he pins you against the wall and kisses you senseless.

The silk of your skirt slithers over his arms as they snake under it, lifting them to find your body underneath. Curves, he knew, but plains and valleys and dips and crevasses all reveal themselves beneath his touch. A rough sketch is forming in his mind, and he can’t wait to study every part of you in detail. 

You whine against his mouth and he allows you to pull away and gasp for breath. His hands never stop: tracing the line of your underwear, he follows the curve of your stomach to the crease of your hip. Down and up again, he watches as your eyelashes flutter on your cheek each time he gets close to the warm apex of your thighs that calls to him.

There’s a a kind of magic, he’s discovered, in taking what he wants. The sensation itching at his fingertips and weighing in his palm is as clear as if he’d reached his own hand out and taken the object of his desire.

He wants it and so it is his. 

There are no severed vocal chords in his pocket, but he might as well have pulled them from the tenor’s throat himself, the desire sharpening his nimble fingers into greedy claws. 

You’re no different. 

Even in this dim lighting, he can’t stop looking at you. A prime example of chiaroscuro done by an expert hand. The curve of your nose and the delicate bow of your mouth come in and out of shadow as you turn your head. The darkness plays over your exposed shoulders and chest as you undulate against him. 

It's a bad idea to invite a thief in; you can't choose what they take. 

He plunges one, then two fingers deep into your cunt and holds you firmly as you arch and cry, lashing out to grasp at the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. 

It truly is a skill, he thinks, and aren’t you lucky that he has an practiced touch?

He turns his wrist this way and that, curling his fingers inside of you to find the pressure points that make your muscles spasm and clench around him. His thumb moves to gather the wetness pooling around his fingers and circles around your clit. Just as with a lock, he listens to the tones of your cries, the way your eyes squeeze shut, and the way your chest expands as you desperately drag air into your lungs. 

Like calling like, he’s stoking that want just as he’s stoking your lust, bringing both to the surface. That energy buzzes through him to focus on the hand, the fingers inside of you. Those claws stretch and flex again and your hips jump into his grasp, allowing him to delve deeper, higher. 

Up and up he reaches and finally finds your heart. It’s beating so fast, his claws catch on your heartstrings and it only takes your own paroxysm of pleasure to tear through them just as he rips the orgasm from you.

The sound that wrenches its way out from your throat is ragged and raw. Drenched in shock and pain, it rings out into the darkness of their little alcove. His luck holds as the faint strains of the soprano echoes the cry.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my beauty,” He says, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

Tears well in your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

He wipes at it with his thumb, the mix of your cum and tear mixing into a shining elixir in the whirls of his thumbprint. You don’t resist when he presses it to your mouth, past your lips, and onto your tongue. The slick muscle twitches, but lays submissive under his thumb.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, dropping his finger from your mouth. He feels a curl of curiosity when you don’t answer, your eyes glazing over as you look at him.

When he takes the pocket square from his jacket to wipe his hand there’s another heartbeat tucked beneath it, hidden away in his breast pocket as it calms and settles into a rhythm that matches his own.

The staircase creaks above them and the sound of footfall reaches his ear. Just in time. He takes you from the alcove. You follow him docilely and as you join the crowd, you look like every other couple leaving the opera house after indulging in an evening of art and culture. 

He’s been thinking of you as the wrong art form, he realizes. Instead of a lush oil painting, you’re a sculpture. Formed with just as much care, your form will weather into perfection after enough time under his touch.

You'll fit right in amongst the other objet d'art in the East Wing: his own Venus of Willendorf.

[musings-of-a-rose]

The Detective and The Thief

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

Word Count: 4300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

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

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

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

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

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Tim Rockford Masterlist

The Thief Masterlist

5 years ago…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “A rebel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take me.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need to think. I’m yours.”

—----

Present Day…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—----

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

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

“Rockford.”

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

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no. I wasn’t able to-”

“You’ll have to make an appointment-”

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

“Please. Have a seat.”

I sit, nerves lighting up my body. 

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

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

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

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

Damn he’s good. “Not..not exactly-”

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

“I know who The Thief is.”

Silence.

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

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

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

I nod. “Yes. Him.”

“Tell me everything.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Does he leave you often?”

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

“Do you think he’s cheating on you?”

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

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

“I’ve never stolen anything.”

“You were an accomplice.”

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

“He’s an intelligent man.”

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

“So what do you want then, miss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what his plans are?”

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

“How does he plan on getting in?”

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

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

I nod. “You’re going in after him?”

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

“What will you do if you find him?”

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

—----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss? What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

“Where is he then?”

Another step closer. “He’s here.”

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

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

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

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

Tim shakes his head. “But… I don’t-”

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

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

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

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

“It’s you. You are The Thief.”

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

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

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

“I don’t…I’m not…”

“Check your coat pocket.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I am Mateo?”

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

“And you…you love me?”

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

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

—----

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

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

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

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

“You are here?”

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

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

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

I nod, swallowing back more tears.

“What happened, querida?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Marry me, querida.”

“I- what?”

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

“Are you truly back with me?”

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

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

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh- yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics  

[ghostofaboy]

Closer

Pairing: The Thief/Tim Rockford Rating: Explicit Word count: 1130

Warnings: Anal sex, mentions of oral sex, rimming and handjobs,

Summary: The Thief thinks he has a plan for Tim, but all that changes.

Note: This is a sequel to one of my Kinktober 2023 pieces for Fancy Dress.

The Thief grinned down at Tim from his seat on the other man’s cock. Below him, Tim panted, squeezing the Thief’s thighs tightly as he pinched his eyes shut. He was close, the Thief could tell, and while he would never get tired of watching Tim come, the Thief had other plans.

Holding himself as still as possible, the Thief patiently waited for Tim to reopen his eyes. Slowly, Tim’s large brown eyes opened, looking up at the Thief questioningly. His brow creased as Tim gradually caught his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all, dearest.” The Thief leaned forward to plant a kiss on Tim’s forehead. “I’m just admiring the view.”

A playful smile appeared slowly on Tim’s lips as he regarded his lover. They hadn’t been together all too long, and Tim was still learning the other man’s quirks and nuances. Although together might be too strong a word, the Thief thought as he gave an exaggerated stretch before grinning back down at Tim. After all, since they had met, they had only ever met up for sex. While there was conversation afterward, it was casual and light, never touching on anything personal. Then there was the fact that they didn’t even know the other’s name.

Although that wasn’t entirely true. The Thief knew full well who Tim was, after all that had been what drew him to the detective all those months ago at a costume party. A fumbled hand job in the cloak room had led to a night of passion and embarrassed goodbyes the next morning from Tim, who was clearly new to the idea of having a casual lover. So the Thief had needed to arrange for them to ‘bump’ into each other a few more times. 

First at a movie theater where Tim had blown the Thief in the restrooms. His lips stretched around the Thief’s cock as he bobbed his head along the shaft. Each of them trying to be as quiet as possible in the stall as the Thief had bucked into Tim’s mouth. To his credit, the stoic detective had swallowed every last drop.

Then it had been a flat tire, that just so happened to be exactly where the Thief knew Tim was investigating a case. That the painting Tim was looking for was already hung on the Thief’s wall was a total coincidence. That chance meeting had led to an ever so grateful Thief rimming Tim before getting fingered and fucked on the police officer’s couch. Perhaps it had been in that moment, with his legs hitched up on Tim’s shoulders, that the Thief had abandoned his plan to scuttle Tim’s investigation of him. It might have been when Tim flooded the Thief’s ass with his seed and moaned so deeply that the Thief felt it in his chest that the first embers of true feelings emerged and started to burn. 

The final meeting that had led conclusively to where they were right now had been at another formal event. Both wearing dashing tuxedos, the Thief had found Tim bored out of his mind chatting to some of the well-to-do of the city. Mirroring how they had first met, the Thief had swooped in to rescue a very overwhelmed looking Tim and was thanked properly in a side room by being bent over a gorgeous Victorian mahogany desk. As Tim pounded into him, the Thief decided that this might be the closest to love he’d ever gotten.

Tim’s hands running up his naked torso snapped the Thief back to the present and with another gentle kiss on Tim’s forehead, he resumed rolling his hips to ride his lover’s cock. Tim hummed his appreciation, leaning forward to kiss, lick and suck on the Thief’s sensitive nipples as both men gradually edged closer to their finish.

It didn’t take too long for Tim to come. He always came first. And with a low, rumbling groan, the Thief felt Tim empty himself into him. The Thief wasn’t far behind, with Tim bucking up into him and a gentle hand on his cock, he tumbled over into the abyss, covering himself and Tim in thick sticky white ropes. 

Resting his head against Tim’s, the Thief pinched his eyes shut as he rode the euphoria, feeling the large warm arms of the detective wrap around him protectively, pulling him even closer. He could feel their breath merging as they both gasped, breathless from the exertion. 

“I… I…” Tim’s voice sounded gentle and hesitant, and the Thief slowly opened his eyes to find the other man looking up at him with large, soft brown eyes. “Fuck. That was…”

“I know.” The Thief smiled warmly, peppering Tim’s face with kisses. “Isn’t it always?”

“Yes.” There was something in Tim’s voice that paused the Thief, with his lips hovering over Tim’s cheek. “But… I’m not sure I can keep doing this.”

As though suddenly aware of his nakedness, the Thief felt cold. Leaning back to look into Tim’s eyes, he still saw all the affection he had become accustomed to mixed with something else… doubt.

“May I ask why?” The Thief tried to keep his voice steady and tender, not wanting to acknowledge the growing panic rising in him. “I thought we were getting along rather well.”

“We do, we are.” Tim gazed up at him as his hands idly stroked up and down the Thief’s sides. “It’s just… what is this? To you, I mean? Am I a casual fuck buddy? Something more? I mean, shit, I don’t even know your name.”

“In the beginning, this was more casual, perhaps.” The Thief let out a long sigh. “But no, I can’t say that’s what this is anymore. You are very important to me. I… I adore you.”

“Adore?” Tim smiled, but there was still a wariness in his expression. “Ok, that’s good, for now.”

“For now?” The Thief smiled, easing himself off of Tim’s cock and onto the seat beside him. “Would you like more?”

“In time.” Tim thought for a moment. “Yes, in time, I think so. But for now, I’d just like a little more.”

“All right.” 

“Will you tell me your name?” Tim reached out and stroked the Thief’s cheek before cupping his face in his large hand. “I’m Tim. Tim Rockford. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I-”

“It’s ok.” Tim soothed, pulling the Thief into a full embrace. “What do I call you? Will you tell me please?”

The Thief swallowed hard as he stared into the large, kind eyes of his lover. All his careful planning and meticulous schemes evaporating before him. As the panic of the unknown began to rise up and flood his body, the Thief took in a shaking breath.

“Yes, I’ll tell you my name.”

[firsttarotreader]

“The Thief” - 9 of Pentacles

The next character in our series “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is the unnamed Thief from the Casillero del Diablo commercial. The Thief represents the 9 of Pentacles.

9 of Pentacles is the card of achievement, success, independence, wealth and security, and enjoying the results of one’s work. A person with this card’s energy is someone who is wealthy and prosperous, self-sufficient, and enjoys the finer things in life. They have worked hard to achieve a level of comfort and luxury and they are able to live it to its fullest. With an aura of comfort and luxury, high-quality clothes and a taste for finer things, they are stylish, sophisticated and elegant. Well-groomed, confident in their independence, they take pleasure in their possessions and achievements, and their demeanor is one of contentment and pride of what they have accomplished.

The Thief is a character we meet as he presents himself in a monologue, speaking of someone who walks into a room and everyone admires them for their wealth, wonders how they got it, where their shoes and watch are from, wants to have them or be them. But the Thief is not like that, he is the Greatest Thief in The World, he wears the saxon crown he stole around the house, he explains it all started with his love of art until he realized theft was his art. He flaunts his fine possessions, the many works of art, the artifacts and necklaces, “anything that shined”, showing how content and prideful he is of his achievements and his taste for the finer things. He is independent and successful, he enjoys what he’s got and even calls his skill a “form of magic”. The Thief also invites fellow thieves to a fancy dinner at his fine mansion to enjoy some comfortable and luxurious leisure time. He is confident he can steal anything he wants, although there’s one thing he wouldn’t steal, because who would steal from the Devil? For these reasons, he is our 9 of Pentacles.

[rise-my-angel]

By Fate of The Night

Pairing: The Thief x Female Reader

Length: 8.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, implied memory loss, smut, slight exhibitionism, p in v

Notes: How a wine commercial got me so down bad, I have no idea.

When you wandered away from the extravagance of the party, you did not know. Opulence seemed to not suit how severely under dressed you were for such an event. Glitz and glamour unbecoming of the discount sale dress and cheap makeup you worked so hard to be able to afford, when the other attendee’s wore silks and satins that spanned for miles and makeup that painted them as previous dolls.

Your friend sending you a text not long ago, just a crying face when you asked them where they were. A quick understanding that no doubt they found someone to head home with forgetting that they had dragged you to this manor in the first place just to avoid being alone. The crowds, discussions of matters you had no interest with and glasses of champagne being turned down from each waiter kind enough to wander to the corner you hid yourself in. It had become too much, and so you walked.

As far from the noise until just silence overcame you, it led you down twisting hallways that increased in darkness yet filled with unique clutter. The ballroom large and lacking of much to look at, the rest of this place felt on the air of cozy with things. Statues, grand paintings that scattered the walls with no sense of style, just displayed as the owner so wished. Glass cases featuring old, weathered artifacts that many minutes were spent trying to determine. Not at all noticing that you had strayed so deep into the building that a dark figure came upon you from the shadow until their breath hit your neck.

“It’s called a Votive Plaque. Considered to be over four thousand years old,” Looking behind you with a silent gasp, a tall man leaned over your shoulder with a squint. From what you could see, his hands were clasped behind his back, glints of gold shimmering from the coat on his shoulders but little else was noticeable. Glancing back, you looked at the stone carving in question. “There was no inscription on the back, likely meaning it was engraved on the walls of a shrine or temple.”

Nodding, you had little to say as he did not move from so close beside you. You hummed, and yet he tilted his head as if you said any words to react too. What felt like one of his hands nudging you by your lower back his other arm outstretched you further into the hall. “There’s far more than stones and plaques to see, hermosa.”

Taking a step forward, you finally could glance to his face. Coarse facial hair around his jaw, and a moustache that sat neatly beneath a fine aquiline nose that framed the other soft, handsome features. As well as deep, dark eyes with colour indistinguishable in the dim light. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you shook off the sudden feeling of desire that such a stranger shouldn’t elicit. “I really shouldn’t, I-”

“Have a party full of people who are too busy preening at their own reflections to notice you?” He stood rather still, shoulders relaxed and a hand still on your lower back. Which you failed to realize was not making you uncomfortable. Your head moved back in surprise, and the stranger chuckled warm and deeply. “A lost little lamb such as yourself belongs amongst treasures such as this. Not with people only interested in impressing their wallets. Come,” He pushed you forward. “You haven’t even gotten to the hall of missing treasures.”

Trying to protest, your heart raced but yet, you didn’t struggle against such a gentle touch. “But the owner-”

Once again, the stranger seemed to put your mind at ease with barley any effort. Just a soft smile towards you. “Didn’t want any random people walking through his home, but you are no stranger are you?”

What he meant by that you didn’t know, nor did you know how you ended up pressed up against a bookcase of rare books. Both of his hands gently holding your wrists above your head, as his nose trailed down your neck. Not quite pressing his lips to the skin, but teasing with his breathe. Your heart raced, how many hours had you been walking this place?

Why did listening to this stranger tell you about items and artifacts that you thought impossible to own warm something in your chest and twist at your lungs? Each time his hand brushed your skin it shivered in need that you never had with people such as this. His voice rasped as his hands let your wrists stay, and his fingers trail down your arms where the long sleeves of your dress had fallen. “Are you finally ready?”

Voice high pitched and bordering on a moan, “For what?”

Another chuckle as his hands now ran down your sides. Thumbs tracing just under your breasts you stiffened in his hold, but the willingness you let his knee slip between your legs spoke differently. The long material bunching under it’s pressure and pushing against your core as he trailed up to your ear, his lips brushing against it. “To tell me what you desire. That’s all I ask, hermosa. Just tell me what it is you want, and it’s yours. Forever.

But that didn’t happen. The clock struck, and through the dark study he brought you in, chimed. Not startlingly loud, but enough that it had you jump. His hands how gently holding your hips. As he pressed a single, light kiss to the skin under your ear. One last rasp in it’s depths which you did not understand.

“Venus of Willdendorf.”

This party was not what you wanted to do with your night. Little plans were in the works, but it did not include wandering the small laid out area guests were permitted too looking for your friend. Your choice of flats in lieu of heels made you feel short and belonging amongst the classically dressed women who looked at you in judgment.

You looked for a long time to find shoes that would look nice, and it didn’t feel worth it at all. You may as well have shown up with normal running shoes and you’d stick out just as much. But, your friend had begged you to come. Their date fell through and going to a place like this alone likely intimidated them as much as being here alone did you. So you folded.

Now though, you lost track of them when you searched for the washroom only to come back to a ballroom of people you didn’t know. Pressed now up against a wall in the corner, a waiter occasionally walked over to you, tray in hand and a knowing smile flashing sympathy as you turned down their offer of champagne.

Waiting for any kind of response, your eyes stayed glued to your phone at the notification they did indeed read you asking where they went. Finally, a simple crying face popped up and that was all you needed. So they found someone to go home with, and left you in a manor that you didn’t even know the address too.

The sheer embarrassment you were going to face, asking one of the waiters where you were just to know what to say when you called a cab. You watched the flock of people impress themselves with their opulence before it annoyed you. Boasts of their accomplishments and money they earned that quarter did little to impress you, and you suspected it was only spoken hoping to one up their own conversational companions, or to impress the elusive owner throwing the party. Who had yet to make their presence known.

Your attention for a while was on the stain glass windows high on the walls. It was difficult to see in the night sky behind them, but you suspected there were many a details that would shine like the heavens in the morning light. Why did it burn your insides with curiosity what it would look like?

As if moving on their own, your feet took you into the hallways. Wandering the corridors that emptied of people the further you got, but filled with clutter of items that intrigued you. Painting’s littered the walls with no sense of style, just displayed with pride that they were indeed there. Glass displays littering about with unique items that looked too good to be real, and statues that graced above you, some decorated with jewellery that no doubt cost more then your own life.

Near a stairwell twisting both directions, was a display case on a dark marble pedestal. A small square glass case which protected the figure inside. In what looked like stone, was a woman with large proportions but no discernible facial features that made it look perfectly human. Without any indication of what you were looking at, you leaned in with a squint. Trying to remember if you’d seem pictures of something like this before.

Jumping back with a quiet gasp, a deep voice reverberated so close to your ear, and the presence of a tall, broad figure partially behind you leaned over your shoulder. “There’s actually almost two hundred of these exact statues that have been found throughout the world.” Turning to look at the stranger, from what you could see, his hands were clasped behind his back, glints of gold shimmering from the coat on his shoulders but little else was noticeable. Glancing back, you looked at the stone carving in question. “This one is around thirty thousand years old, not quite young enough to be considered a Venus but that’s what they called them anyways.”

Nodding, you had little to say as he did not move from so close beside you. You hummed, and yet he tilted his head as if you said any words to react too. What felt like one of his hands nudging you by your lower back his other arm outstretched you further into the hall. “There’s far more than small figurines to be seen, hermosa.”

Back pressed against a shelf of rare books, he enticed you with a knee pressed between your legs and his hand trailing down your raised arms. The clock against a distant wall chimed, and the stranger muttered something you didn’t understand into your ear. “Nebra Sky Disk.”

Your eyes stuck on the disk, surprised by it’s size, you figured it would be small, handheld. Yet no, it was larger then your head, and so were the images dotted onto it. Contemplating if taking a photo would be inappropriate, you wanted to compare the sights of where the stars laid in the sky then and how it compared to them now.

Before the idea took much more image, the soft sound of a shoe clicking against the tile perked your ears up. Turning around in place, you seem to have caught the man off guard despite him being the one sneaking up on you. He was tall, broad frame draped in a long coat glittering with a gold woven into the black material. Hard to see in the dim light, but you could see a moustache, scatterings of facial hair and a dark glint in their eyes.

One which in any other circumstance would have frightened you, and yet? You found your mouth moving before they could come any closer. “How did you get something like this?”

His eyebrow quirked up, the sides of his mouth moving in surprise. “Why assume I know?”

As if it was common knowledge, you shrugged turning back to look at the disk. “You’re the owner, right? I figured you’d know where your own artifacts come from.” Heart skipping a beat you whipped around once more, yet he had not moved. “I’m sorry that was incredibly rude, I have no idea where that came from.”

The chuckle was deep and warmed your blood. Stepping closer he looked at the disk over your shoulder. “Would you believe me if I said I just found it?” Turning with him, he stood taller then you moreso then before. Not overly, but enough that for whatever reason, made his size send a shiver down your spine. “How did you know I’m the owner?”

Pausing, you scoured your mind and came up relatively blank. “I- don’t know..” He hadn’t been with the rest of the party, you weren’t even in this crowd but you felt as if you already knew who he was to some extent “Just a feeling, I guess.”

“You come across feelings like that very often, hermosa?”

You decided you liked the sound of his voice. The deepness felt like it vibrated through your chest down into your heart, settling it down to a simmered panic rather then explode of anxiety of being caught wandering. Flushing a bit at the name, you kept your eyes off him. “Every now and again.” Your hands wrung in front of you for a moment, “I can leave if you want, I know this is supposed to be off limits.”

He chuckled again. “Not at all. Lost little lambs need to find their way home eventually.”

What that meant you didn’t know, nor did you understand why it felt like you’ve heard that phrase before. Regardless, you felt him press a hand into your lower back. Muscles ready to move down the hall for whatever reason, yet he didn’t. Just stood by your side looking at the disk before speaking. “What do you know about it?”

Biting your lip in thought, you knew your explanation wasn’t prestige. “Not as much as you, I’m guessing. I know it’s a map of the stars, with Pleiades there.” Pointing to the cluster of stars before trailing over to the crescent moon. “Some kind of lunar calendar for the time, most of the stars have moved at this point but if it was used back then, the sky was a lot clearer. Kind of like a map of early astronomy.”

Smiling down at you, the stranger sounded oddly proud. “Where’d you learn that?”

His smile turned into a grin as your shoulders sank in on themselves. “A children’s show. Half the episode was about the disk, the other was some lost city but I always loved the stars so, guess that’s why it stuck out.”

Was it your imagination that you felt his thumb moving gracefully back and forth? You dared not turn or question him to find out, his touch was soothing. “Nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to learn from high scholars to be well read. Hell, most of them aren’t even as smart as they assume. I learned more about the world collecting stuff like this, then I ever did in their books.”

It was quiet between you both, and once more, you were shocked at such bravery. “Would it be okay to look at more?” Sparing a glance up, your wide eyes contrasted his narrowed brows. Eyes still dark, but you think you could guess they were of a deep brown. “With the owners accompaniment of course.”

His soft features beamed with a full smile, a dimple pronounced in one cheek that had you trying hard to hold back a small smile of your own. Pushing you forward, an arm outstretched to the hall further. “Normally I’d lead the tour, but you seem to have an idea what you’d like to look at.”

For a good while, you both walked slowly through his halls. Rich history sat everywhere, but never did he guide you one way or the other. You walked to whatever caught your eye, and he followed suit. A content look as he listened to you gush about the artifacts you knew all about, an excitement that he owned them.

Others had mentioned the man owned many rare collections, and speculated the grand wealth to accumulate them. But such a thought never crossed your mind, not once did you even question how he got them or what it cost. You were gleeful to see the things you recognized, and came upon them with something akin to a familiarity. As if you knew they were there, when clearly, you didn’t.

The stranger never shared his name, nor did you save for the unknown word he seemed to prefer to call you by. Normally, you wouldn’t dare leave yourself so alone with a large, unknown man whose proximity was close and intimately warm. He was safe though, how you knew that? You didn’t, and logically you knew it was stupid to assume the unknown, and yet? You were deep into his manor by the time you came across a balcony.

Doors open with the night wind flowing the sheer curtains in the air, beckoning you. Goosebumps erupting on your skin at the coolness of the night, hands both resting down on the railing. The sky bright and clear, moonlight shining on the water in the distance. A deep blue casting from it’s depths to the scene around it. Shining with beauty as if the home itself build on such a luscious property.

Judging by the slight ache in your feet, the pair of you had been wandering for a few hours. He stood beside you, mimicking your own position. Back stood tall, and his eyes, definitely brown, stood out beautifully as well as the profile of such a strong aquiline nose had against the rest of him. You should be looking at the sight, but his sight was more alluring. “Can I ask you something.” He only nodded, but you felt fair to continue. “Why throw a party if you want nothing to do with it? I mean you haven’t been there all night, so why have one in the first place?”

A feeling brewed inside of you, as if you knew what his answer would be. “Some people host parties to meet people, but others are just hoping the single right one turns up.”

Voice but a whisper, you looked away with a growing bashfulness. “And who would that be?”

He didn’t answer, but you heard his voice speak to you anyways. The nickname of a lost little lamb, and the sensation of his chest pressing up against your back as he caged you in his arms hands either side of your own. But that’s not how you were standing.

No, you were side by side, nowhere near close enough to touch the other in such a manner. Glancing up to the moon nearing the middle of the night sky, he smiled to himself. “Tell me, hermosa. What exactly is your greatest-”

“Desire.” Your voice muttered in it’s own breathless shock. Why did you know what he was going to say exactly? Why did you have an answer that you hadn’t thought of in so long? The stranger turned to face you, one hand on the railing as the other hung by his side as he looked inquisitively at you. “I just wanted to be seen.”

Why did you phrase it like that? What was happening inside of you? There was something that wasn’t right, and yet it didn’t scare you the way it should have. It was as if around you, the night was completely different. Clouds covered the stars and rain fell from them, taking no care as to how soaked through it made your dress. One not at all like the dress you were wearing now.

The stranger didn’t feel as familiar, but the comforting warmth, promise of desire remained the same as you stood in two different worlds. One of memory, and one of confusion. Quickly looking up almost to make sure you were in this world not the other, indeed he was the same.

Same long coat, broad chest underneath the rich shirt on his torso that led down to a softer stomach which you saw yourself gently running your fingers over. Before his larger ones picked them up in place, bringing to his lips before moving them on his own to dig into his waistband. Watching with bated breath as you pulled them down.

The darkness in his eyes lurked yours, trying to find something you didn’t know. But these thoughts you had about him were anything but appropriate and it made your skin run hot at the phantom sensations of his skin. A rippling of familiarity that raced through your very veins as nothing else was said as somewhere deeper in the manor, a clock struck.

You didn’t know why you abandoned your friend. Watching them waltz around the ballroom trying to fit in with such people of high society as you floundered. They were in the middle of a chat with someone, leaning in enticingly close when you walked off.

Unlike you to simply abandon someone so abruptly, but it felt like the winds called you elsewhere. A feeling in your mind pinged inside each time you contemplated stopping to look at the vast artifacts the mysterious owner seemed to have collected.

Many of which you would have otherwise yearned to stop and look at for far too long, but your feet moved of their own accord until the turn of a hallway came about. The blue tint of the night seeped into the lightness corridor, two large glass doors open with curtains pulled back and flowing.

A tall figure stood leaning against the railing, the gold of their coat shining in the moonlight and draped down their broad back. The images of gently coming up behind them, palms pressed flat as you felt their shoulders sink. Your dress was all wrong, you had short sleeves in your minds eye not long ones. It pricked you like a thorn trying to piece this dual memory in your mind together as you walked towards the figure.

Your shoes gentle, but tapping against the decorative tiles no doubt giving your position away. Heart racing as you looked at the tousled brown curls sat beautifully across his head. Somehow, you knew his brown eyes were just as gorgeous before he even came into view.

Skin shivering at the coolness of the outside air, you gently rested your palms on the railing beside where he stood. His spread wide as his brow narrowed in thought, yours almost wrung together in front of you with eyes wide and in need of answers to questions you didn’t remember asking.

Your mouth asked before your brain could catch up. “How many times have I been here?”

A gentle smile falling across his lips, he just tilted his head in jest. “Would knowing make you feel better or just more confused?” Pushing off he turned to face you, one of his hands now resting over top yours keeping them warm and in place. His eyes looked right through yours. “Because I assure you, hermosa it’s more then just your imagination. But to answer your question, this is the second time you’ve sought me out no the other way around.”

His free hand reaching to your collarbone, taking the chain of your necklace into his fingers and trailing downward to where you wouldn’t think you’d just let someone touch. Rough fingertips tracing the tops of your breasts underneath the fabric of your dress before grasping the bright blue stone that sat there.

Your heart raced, taking much of your resolve not to let it show in your chest how hard you were really breathing. Leaning in close you couldn’t take your eyes off his face. Features soft, yet sharp in expression which begged you to gently run your hand over the coarse facial hair covering his cheek.

Resisting the urge, you wanted to understand what it was you were feeling more. “I’ll rephrase. How many times have we repeated this exact night? Because I feel like it’s been tomorrow’s been a long way off for a while now.”

His soft smirk morphing into a proper grin, the stranger ran his thumb down your breast barley missing your nipple. “Does it truly matter as long as we’re together?”

A burning floating in your veins, you snatched his hand holding it off of you without keeping him away from your body much further. Your lungs tightening at how undisturbed by the action he was. “What if I just leave?”

His other hand raised, now taking yours into his and pressing your joined hands against his chest. The movement pulling you in close, whatever cologne he had worn mixed with something that deep in your heart, knew was the comforting scent of home. His voice as warm and deep, “We’ll end up right back in this very position. I’d rather not wait until then though, it’s taken a long time to finally get you here.”

You could see it, the artifacts, the displays, each long winded explanation of each passing item until there was nothing left to explore but the pair of you before the clock struck. And now you’re here, the same night. Over and over with no end in sight, but somehow he seems to know what’s happened.

Sucking in a shaky breath, you were grateful his grip was lose enough to allow you to face the night scene once more. His hand never letting go of yours, but now standing behind you caging you in with the other braced against the railing. Many moment’s passed before you found your bravery to whisper once more. “How much longer we start over?”

His nose nudging against your hair, the feeling of hips lips brushing your temple as he did so. “Hours. You found me early this time. Usually I have to go looking for you.” Without consulting your conscious mind, you leaned back into his chest, both your grips on the others hands relaxing allowing him to trail down and wrap it more around your stomach. His head sinking into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply as your own eyes fluttered shut.

Doing this before wasn’t something you knew, but it felt as such. An intimacy not known between strangers. Moments passed, just letting the cool breeze float across your skin and his warm breathe on your neck as he kept you pressed against him. “How do we break it? I need to remember, right?”

Not answering for a moment, he seemed to be contemplating how to phrase it. Something you recall being a regular occurrence. Finding simple ways to explain the dark, intricate knowledge his head was full of to explain to you. You liked information, but he preferred you with gentle words. Nothing came to mind, but you felt the ache in your heart.

Leaning the side of his head against you, he rasped into your ear. “Only what we did last time. You give in willingly to your desires, and we can wake up tomorrow.”

Like a flash of a movie screen behind your eyes you could see him. A stranger truly on that day more then he was now, nothing but a yearning in your heart for more. Following you through his home, stopping each time to explain the pieces which caught your eye until called back to the party below by your partner.

Shattering the quiet bubble between you and a man you didn’t know the name of. Glancing back, you had waited for him to pull you back into his arms but he only shook his head. Running his fingers over your cheek and down across your bottom lip.

You had been called again, and the man pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth. “Your lover awaits, hermosa. But I’ll expect an answer sooner or later. What is it you truly desire?”

The electrifying tingle in your limbs stayed all the way until you got to the front steps outside the manner, and the outstretched hand of a man with nothing but an annoyed furrow in his brow and impatience to follow. Calling your name at your retreating form until it was heard no more.

Just like now, the stranger braced against the railing of this very balcony as you draped your hands tenderly across his back. Moving up on your toes to reach his ear, whispering your desire as the wind picked up and slammed the glass doors shut in the same instance he turned around to capture your lips with his.

Was this truly where you were now, with a man who made no sense yet welcomed you into his heart as he did yours? A dream or perhaps the world outside was the dream and it all forced you to relive this moment. He seemed to know, but wanted you to find the answer on your own.

Turning in his arms, your hands rested against his chest as his own found your hips. His lips looked soft as your phantom memory remembered they felt, leaning in to brush his nose down the length of yours he waited patiently. “You stole me away once, are you supposed to do it again now?”

Brushing against your ear he rasped, “No one steals from a thief like me, I’m just taking back what was rightfully mine.” Finally pressing his lips to your neck you gasped out. Hands rising around his neck and raking through his hair he kissed down your neck holding your front tightly to him.

You didn’t dance downstairs at the party, but this man was guiding a dance you already knew the steps too. Moving away from his hair with a scratch of your nails, he moaned shamelessly into you before sinking his teeth into the mixture.

Just as you recalled, your hands found his waist. Tapping over his belt and undoing it despite the racing of your heart. Chuckling deeply into your neck, he pushed you right up against the railing. The columns too high for risk of falling over, but exposed to the night air that any wandering eye could see how quickly he yanked your long dress up your legs.

Your hands unable to get inside once freeing his belt, the man let go all of the shame that you might still hold onto. Dragging your dress over your head it dropped from his grasp, flying into the wind not even within your sights. Your chest already bare but he kissed down your torso. Skipping your breasts he made his way down the middle. Hands tight at your hips when you squirmed at his lips gentle across your stomach.

Looking up, his eyes were blown wide as much as yours were. His lips starting to swell from the pressure, he yanked down your underwear without so much as asking. He already knew your yes. Even if you didn’t recall it.

Shucking his long coat off as he stood, he turned you around so your naked front faced the scene in front. Anyone leaving the party who glanced up would be unable to miss the sight and you suspected he planned as such. “Tell me, what exactly does such a lost little lamb desire truly?”

One of his hands using his nails to scrape down your skin until he cupped your mound with no kind decorum. His voice rough, scratching and his jaw clenched. “Tell me, I may not be as patient if we need to do this all over again.”

Leaning into his touch, head on his shoulders you reached back to wrap an arm around his neck trying to meet his eyes. “Just you.”

He muttered something under his breath, a language that sounded anything but earthly before he gripped the front of your neck with his free hand and pulled your lips to his. No ease as you remembered the first time.

Many of the same nights must have passed if he was at this level of desperation. Your heart brought you to him, bare in the night’s wind as two of his fingers press against your clit, teasing with light pressure until you shivered in his touch.

His tongue traced your lips and with an impatient bite, slid inside your mouth as you gasped. Overtaking whatever control you may have thought you had, he traced over your tongue trying to coax you into exploring him the same. Tentatively, you kissed back the same but with far less confidence and more trepidation.

Regardless, as his fingers slid down to run along your slit, he gathered the wetness he found and smirked into your mouth before pulling back. A trace of saliva attached to you both as your mouth stayed partially open as he gave one more kiss and then tucked his head into your shoulder to look down at his hands.

Soaked fingers trailed back up to rub much more tightly at your clit you jumped in his arms with a soft moan. Your hands both now reaching behind to rake through his hair, making your chest arch out and giving way to his free hands greed.

It felt as if whispers of his swam inside your head despite not hearing them leave his actual mouth, quiet soothing of praise and temptation as if his connection to you had burrowed deep. There was little you found you could even say, what would you ask for at this point he knew what you wanted and he stripped you on his own balcony to deliver.

Finding a rasping voice, he found his own words to spit aloud. “You let me do this to you last time too, you know?” Putting more pressure as he rubbed your clit you felt your limbs tightening in need. “Let everyone see you gave yourself to me, showed that pathetic lover what you deserved. And here you are, letting me steal you away all over again and you can’t even remember why.”

What of your life was between these moments? Who were you really outside the manor walls, who was he to you in your soul and why did the night have to repeat itself for this reunion to even take place? An entire life surrounded by impossible mystique and yet intimacy denied it’s importance. His fingers not at your clit sunk deep inside you, scraping against a sensitive wall inside of you that had you shake in his arms. Pulling at your nipple in the same instance, you failed to come up with a name, but he smiled into your bare shoulder. He didn’t mind.

Were the sounds of the outdoors not ever present, you would be able to hear how wet you had become and how slickly two of his thick fingers slid in and out of you. His breathing growing heavy and his jaw clenching trying to pull himself together at how snug you were around him. It had been too long.

His teeth found their way to your neck, no longer playing soft games. Now he bit down close to breaking the skin, and soothed it with a kiss only to move barley an inch downward to leave his mark as much as he could, leaving the sting of his teeth radiating on you. His fingers sinking deep inside to the knuckle and pulling out almost completely before repeating rougher each time.

Your heart was on fire, spreading the warmth out into your bloodstream and making your head fuzzy with a pleasure that you wanted to consume you. Was it just his touch, or should it always feel such an overwhelming way? One of your hands grasped at his forearm, his white sleeves pushed up enough to give you something to dig your nails into.

You moaned as he hissed from the scratch but it only made him work faster. Bring you closer to the edge and throw you over it just to hear those gasping breaths from you trying to keep quiet. The last time this occurred, you weren’t.

Feeling a coil inside of you twist and tighten it made your muscles seize the closer your orgasm became, and the more he grasped tightly at whatever parts of your body his free hand could touch. Finally choosing to force your throat into his hand, turning you to look back up at him as he felt you clench around his fingers. Pressing a simple kiss to your lips, you felt them move as he spoke. “Cum for me, hermosa. I want to take you into tomorrow with my cock.”

White noise took your ears as your orgasm snapped and flooded out like a river. Arching into his touch he kept you pressed against him tightly and the hand on your throat while not getting tighter, did not leave you one bit. Crying out into the night he swore heavily under his breath at the high pitched noises that left you breathless to come down from.

You felt warm and weak in his arms as the aftershocks of his fingers pulling out of you sparked final times. His thumb not quite willing to leave your clit, he wanted you on edge. That ever present need to be taken was what he desired until his touch grew too far away to keep.

Pulling his hand up, he took the slow time to force you to watch him sink both fingers into his mouth and suck them clean of what you gave him. His hand falling to pull your bottom lip open with his thumb before sinking them deep into your mouth.

His nostrils flared and you felt his cock twitch as he pressed his hips into your ass. Letting one hand free, he shoved his hand between your bodies as much as he could manage to undo his belt. The clank of metal echoing like a drum, the sound of the zipper the ringing in your ears. “Please,”

Humming into your hair you felt his cock now bare against you, pressed down the middle of your ass as his hands now soothed over your body lightly. Gentle caresses to take you down from how hard you were panting.

Looking up at the night sky, all you could see or feel was him. His voice. His everything it consumed you like it did that very first night. “What do you want?”

Feeling his mouth curl into a smile he pressed a kiss there and many more as he made a path to your cheek for one last one. Your heads slightly leaned against one another as you felt him slide his cock between your legs. Legs which seemed to have spread on their own, or did so himself while you were too wrapped up in hos his fingers felt inside of you.

The tip tapping at your clit made you jump, but his only free hand traced it’s thumb over your stomach with a gentle shush. His other ran his cock between your legs, pressing up into your entrance. Soaking his length and teasing you. But he never pushed inside, just back and forth as he smiled at you. “Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?”

Glancing to your side as much as you could, you nuzzled into his cheek. “You already did, but no one’s ever asked you.” Watching his eyes shade dark, the warm brown returned with a softness behind them which felt unbecoming of how risque you must have looked. But he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours and pressing a kiss in it’s absence. “Let me give you what you want.”

One hand of each intertwined with the other, letting it rest gently on your chest as he murmured something deep and unintelligible into your lips. Pushing his cock inside, he filled you with one slide as he pushed past how tight you felt without him, but you were so soaked you coated his cock enough to get in.

Moaning loud into the night, his own deeper one mixed with a groan. He throbbed inside of you, making his teeth grit in a hiss as you clenched around him. He was large, larger then you think your body remembered, but you craved the burn he was giving you. Kissing your neck, he slowly moved his hips into yours. A slow thrust that wouldn’t get either of you anywhere but his own moan exposed how delirious it made him.

You could see yourself here again, only then he had nothing on and now you were bare against most of his clothes. His thrusts much more desperate and frenzied then. Flashes of you against this very railing, the wall of books in his study, the grand bed of silky sheets that called to you on lonely nights.

Not once did he let you recover that night, gasping for air as he pounded into you. Hand tight in your hair and words spitting and hissing from his mouth as he lost himself inside of you just as much as you fell into the clouds. Not quite anger, but displeased that you thought anyone could satisfy you, do right by you, treat you like a good girl gets treated who wasn’t him.

You hadn’t known then how long he had watched you, but you know now that it’s something he did much of. Even without telling you, there was something far in the recesses of your subconscious which spoke of a truth you couldn’t comprehend.

Or maybe, as he fucked you, you just didn’t care. His touch was tender, and his moans softly matched your own like there was no fire anymore. Just a trailing water just like the one you could see off in the distance. You tried to move your hips to match him, but each time he paused.

Shushing you as he readjusted his hold on your body. “We’ll get there, just let it happen.”

Whining, he smiled at you with a hooded gaze. Watching you lose your breathe despite how slow he thrusted in and out of you. He needed you as much as you desired this, and maybe those two things were one in the same now.

Maybe toying with you instead of pulling you into his arms would have spared reliving the failure over and over again. Watching your confused and hazy mind struggle to connect dots you didn’t know were there. Moving back into your neck it was his favourite spot it seemed.

Leaving gentle kisses to the teeth imprints he so proudly left, and the stinging moved from between your legs to each time the wind hit such marks. It was a good sting though, a pain that had you cling to him more as his cock once again pulled out almost entirely only to slide in deep as possible.

Your insides felt like they scrambled, head in shattered pieces from how much pleasure swam through you with each slide of his cock. You were soaking him more, it was even audible. How wet it was when he pushed back in, each slide punching just a bit harder then the last.

No sounds could be heard but you both, your moans together and his cock thrusting in and out of you covering what should have been sounds of a party. But there was no sound to cover. The first time no doubt was full of keeping you away from shame.

Forcing your sounds out for the guests to hear and refusing to hide the beauty he claimed you willingly gave to him. The party continued as you fucked. This time, the noise faded away the longer it went on.

The quiet slow nature making room for the quiet of the night. A property empty of all people except the two entangled on the balcony. It didn’t make sense, you came from a party, he threw such a party and yet only you both were here. Maybe, it was meant to be that way. Only you.

Little words were spoken as he thrusted inside of you. Just the coiling inside of you once more, only with each faster thrust you felt it wind up and spark through your limbs. Your mind letting go as it let the pleasure flood inside, his own groans muffled by your neck but your hands grasped at each other refusing to let go.

He refused to speed up much more, the slow slide of his cock deep inside you, and the shameless greed at how he wanted more of how wet you sounded when he took his time pushing in. It wasn’t easy when the flashes of how much he treated you like an animal before.

Little could back up such a boasting claim of making their partner unable to walk the next day, but he had the strength, the ability, the power to do so and not tire out himself. Not before you would inevitably. So he felt you clench around him, and your stomach muscles tighten underneath as you cried out trying to keep yourself from falling apart too soon.

If only you could hear him as he does you. One wasn’t good enough. It was just the slow fuck you both needed after all this time. But far more orgasms were gifted for your future, you just didn’t know it yet.

Saying you wouldn’t get away this time was no lie, and how much you begged for him had his lungs tighten. You were seeing more and more. Each twist of pleasure gracing you with a memory and you leaned back into him knowing his strength to hold you regardless. Falling closer and closer to your orgasm, you felt his cock throb.

No longer thrusting proper, just shallow pushes in and out of you as he grinded his hips. Hair resting now against the back of yours he panted and his hands held tighter. He was close and you were closer.

“Please,” He asked what, almost out of breathe to match your airy tone pleading. “Please, let me stay. Let me stay with you this time. Please, please..” He was so thick inside of you it wasn’t fair, his cock dragging you down to his level and keeping you there selfishly. But maybe it was truly fate.

It was fate to be here, bare in his arms, his cock fucking into you and his lips barley able to leave whatever part of your body they reached. Why would this be wrong if it felt like it was meant to be this way? He seemed to agree, the closer you came to your memory, the more he craved as much as you did. “Always, angel. Always, never fucking leaving me again. Never- fuck- never leaving this tight cunt either,”

Crying into the night you felt the coil inside once more snap but this time it raged like wildfire. Your body seizing and tightening around his cock as you begged his true name for mercy that you never wanted granted. He fucked hard by then.

Pounding short thrusts inside of you as he snarled at how tight you were clenching around him. Wrapping his arms around you tight, he punched inside of you through your orgasm until he felt yours split off to join him.

His orgasm having his nails claw into your skin as he pulled you by your throat to kiss. Tongue in your mouth as he spilled his cum inside of you. The warmth of both his mouth and cum filling you from either side making you hold onto him as if you’d be torn away then and there.

But you weren’t. You held to one another as he came inside of you, thick and copious amounts deep in you like was meant to be until you both had the fade of your orgasm slip away into a serene calm. It took even longer for him to pull out, as if you’d forget this at the chime of the clock.

Your hand wrapped behind you to his neck. Curling into the lush hair scattered about, you nuzzled his cheek, his jaw and pulled from his kiss to press much more innocent ones to each place you had gently nudged before. “Right, you’re a kitten. Not a lost little lamb, not anymore.”

Innocent pecks shared, he finally pulled out. Leaving you empty and clenching around nothing to the degree you almost fell forward. Bracing your hands on the railing in heaves of your chest to catch your breathe. His own once more wrapped around you.

His own body now bare, pressed against your form he held you in the dead of the night before tempting you away with a promise of a bath. Which you couldn’t refuse. Such a needlessly large bath much more like a hot spring that you could sink into should you want.

You shouldn’t accept the glass he offered, knowing his drinks were not the kind you should be allowed to have, but then he smiled at you. Joining the hot water filled to the brim with steam and bubbles as he almost spilled his own over the rim of the glass getting settled.

You giggled at him, and finally took a sip of your own. It burned your insides in a way it wouldn’t do to him, but he also burned at you. He held your heart, body, and soul completely and you endured the pain. Sacrificing your opposites and virtues for his temptations.

Tossing water back and forth at each other, you both stopped to take turns washing the other. Running your hands over every inch of his skin, tender and massaging that had his breathe hitch. It had been a long time since such an angelic touch graced him and he could sob it taken away now.

He was more devious. Slipping his fingers down to your clit and forcing another orgasm from you, taunting you for barley being able to hold your drink up while he did so. Laying you out half in the water, half on the tiles his own body pressed down against yours kissing you.

Sliding gently inside, he picked the pace up much faster here then before. The slosh of water barley heard over the pounding slap of his skin, the snarling grit of his teeth as he swore with no more shame and you crying high pitched whines of need begging for salvation through desire.

Not just once, twice did he fuck you right there. Your thighs in pain as he pushed them so far apart you could break, and his cock pounding so roughly into you the sheer force of his hips could leave a bruise as he marked your skin more and more.

Should you be pulled away again, he’d leave marks for them to all see. Maybe they’d cast you out for it, but you belonged here anyways. Your lips on his, your soaking tight cunt made to be filled by him only, be it his fingers or cock, working your shyness up to letting him taste you directly.

Your heart already was here. It’s why you came back to him, fell for such a ruse and fell once more in love with a rotten thief such as himself. Your souls needed the other and he refused to let you disappear without leaving him with you. Painting your walls with his cum over and over, the only way he could express his love.

Your bodies at some point entangled once more in his sheets. Barley stopping to let you breathe, he kissed you throughout and your limbs locked together as his cock did inside you. There was so party, no friend, no normal life to return to like the others. It was a devilish ruse to get you back into his arms, but it worked. And you stayed here in his touch, knowing it was a lie to steal you away again.

Somewhere in the manor, the clock chimed out and your bodies remained where they were.

Souls made of different realms of light and dark, this time they stayed together.

[ladamedusoif]

Reunions (The Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 27

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

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

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

Word Count: 2420

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

Rating: 18+ MDNI

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

Unless, of course, you’re there.

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

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

And there you are.

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

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

***

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

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

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

“From who?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

Your Gentleman Thief.

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

***

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

And yet.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“To art,” you echo.

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

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

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

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

“You tricked me.”

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

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

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

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

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

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

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

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

“You haven’t answered my second question.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Thief, 

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

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

You know where I am. 

Find me. 

Chérie

[pedro-pedrito-pascalito]

the thief of my heart 🖤

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 9

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Family drama (past), revelations, family estrangement, the truth will always come out. Summary: The revelation of your grandfather's identity is not the only secret that will unfurl itself into your life. Notes: This week has just been another shitshow of utter chaos, but it is LOVELY chaos, so I hope you enjoy the chapter my darlings! As always, sorry for any errors I miss. I’m just an exhausted little nerd doing my best 🧡

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

"How are you here?" And, more over, how are you real? But one thing at a time. The fuzzy edges of the memory that washed up on the shores of your dreams are still nudging at your waking mind.

He sighs sadly, his eyes shuttering slightly as he reflects on what has brought him back to you. “It was only because of your abuela’s sacrifice, muñequita. It was the only way to lift the spell. She loved you more than anything else on this earth.”

"I don't understand." Whether it's the fog of waking up so suddenly or the confusion of memories and dreams and daydreams all slamming together in your mind, you can't quite tell.

“I am your grandfather.” He tells you with a charming grin. “Some call me ‘The Thief’, since it has been years since anyone but the people in this house have known my name. But you always called me ‘Yayo’.” He bows slightly as he tells you his real name.

“Holy shit.” Max hisses, his eyes wide as he stares at his sire. The pieces are clicking into place, but even he is shocked at how close you really are to the man who had created him, who had saved him when he had been destroyed. How was it possible? A vampire cannot have children, at least that’s what he’s been told.

"But...I made you up." That's the rational half of your brain. The part of you that knows dreams aren't real, that fantasies can't come true through manifestation alone, and that love is a feeling rather than a universal force. But the other half of you? The witch who was born of witches who once conjured fire with nothing more than a thought and bare hands? That part of you knows he's telling the truth. "Didn't I?"

Again, another sigh. A habit he had picked up from his late soulmate. The human-ifcation as she liked to call it. “No. When your mother took you away, banned us from seeing you, the only way I could visit was through your dreams. Apparently the spell she cast had also made you forget about myself and your grandmother.”

Max is tense beside you and you cover his hand with one of yours, squeezing it as if it might reassure him that everything is okay. You can feel that intrinsically even if the logic for how you know that escapes you. "I think..." Like a rapid-fire collage on the inside of your mind, flashing of visits with your grandparents burn to life as very real memories instead of gauzy wisps of dreams. "I—um—" Looking between the two men, realizing that you're in bed and in your pajamas, you look back to Yayo with wide eyes. "You're not a witch, are you?" You ask, needing confirmation more than you actually need to be told. The memories are there in your mind, but they aren't clear.

Chuckling quietly, he shakes his head. “No witch.” He promises, letting his razor-sharp fangs descend from his gums to show off his true nature. “A vampire who was soulmates with a witch, just as my protégé.” His eyes shift to Max. “Now you understand why you were brought back.”

The next puzzle piece clicks into place in your mind and you gasp, looking over to Max with wide eyes. "Are you— I mean— did he?—" You sputter inelegantly, running out of breath all at once as you try to stutter out a coherent question. " Your sire is my...grandfather?"

“I didn’t know.” Max shakes his head in awe, apparently nearly speechless considering he knows that this vampire is older than any other that he knows.

"There is much to say." Yayo's eyes move between you on the bed, coming back to you after a few seconds and holding your gaze. Not in an entrancing way, but with the soft eyes of a doting grandfather. "We can talk anywhere you like, muñequita. But when you were a little girl you were very grouchy before breakfast."

"I should at least get dressed, I guess." For the second morning in a row, you are starting out disoriented and with an unexpected visitor. But this time you're not afraid. Curious? Oh yes. But there is none of that deep, intrinsic fear that there was yesterday.

“Then I shall meet you in the dining room.” Yayo bows and turns to disappear through the door like a ghost, completely silent as he moves.

It's icy cold around you when he sweeps out of the room without a sound, and you turn to Max in wide-eyed confusion. "Um..." you huff, shaking your head. You want to ask how he had possibly gotten in the house, but that seems like a moot point by now. "Good morning?"

“It seems like there is a lot going on.” He snorts slightly, reaching out to you to stroke your arms lightly. “How are you feeling?”

"Weird." The sense of safety that you have with Max is absolute, and you nearly collapse into his side to beg silently for more of his comforting touch. "I dreamt about him again last night. And it was a dream. But it felt so real..."

“I don’t think it was a dream, Queenie.” Max murmurs softly. “I think your grandfather made you relive a memory. He was here, all night.”

"He was here?" When your head pops up again you want to harrumph about having two vampires sit around watching you sleep, but as soon as you think it you think again about how safe that is. And how no one else in the world would probably feel as safe around creatures who drink blood to survive as you do. "Max?" Your head tilts slightly and you find his eyes. "Have you ever known your sire to lie?"

“Never lie.” Max tells you. “Sometimes he doesn’t tell you everything. He’s…enigmatic, but not a liar.”

"I remember my parents fighting," you tell him quietly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Max's shoulder before you push back the blankets to crawl out of bed and find some clean clothes. You're doubly glad that you took a bath last night. It had helped you relax and be sleepy for bed, but now it takes away the need to wash this morning. "That's what I dreamt about. My parents fighting with my grandparents." Right before you disappear around the corner into your dressing room, you turn to look at him with sadness in your eyes. "About me."

“Families sometimes don’t agree.” Max can understand that you are hurt by that. Zipping over to you to wrap his arms around you. “But you can find out why now. And….” He bites his lip. “You have family still.”

"One person." Though you nod against his chest, knowing that he's right as you hug him back. "It was too much to let me know both of them, I guess."

“He said something about a sacrifice.” Max doesn’t want to cloud your opinion before you talk to his sire. “I know that it was Cookie’s choice to stop taking his blood. He did not agree, but he could not stop her.”

"Allison said Cookie...abuela was trying to break some kind of spell. They were working together trying to combine their magic to make it happen but they couldn't." Realizing that you were technically brought here under false pretenses is odd, but you can't find it in yourself to be upset about it. Apparently, this situation is far more complicated than you knew.

“Then we should hear the unfiltered story from his mouth.” Max encourages, giving you a small smile as he reels from the developments of the morning.

"I guess that is what breakfast will be for." Looking at your closet, you look back to Max with determination. "You said your sire was a big deal in the vampire world, right? I should...try to dress up? Dress respectfully?"

“Dress in whatever makes you feel good.” He arches a brow. “This is your grandfather, important vampire or not. Your imaginary friend isn’t so imaginary anymore.”

"What's your favourite color?" It seems like a silly question, but in the face of so much chaos you're looking for an anchor. Something solid to hold onto in the storm. And if that thing is as simple as wearing your soulmate's favorite color, then that's what you're going to do.

Max smirks slightly as he leans against the door frame. “Blood red.” He teases for a second before he shakes his head. “No— actually, yellow is my favorite color.”

"Okay." Yellow...you have a few yellow things somewhere...you can definitely find something, at least. For now you reach up to hug Max as tightly as you can and exhale an unsteady breath. "I'm just going to get dressed and then I'll meet you downstairs?

“Of course, sweetheart.” Max understands that you might need a few moments to yourself. He nods and then disappears out of the doorway to dress himself and go down to the dining room.

The photograph of you and your mother that stares back from your vanity mirror is a tantalizing route back to those memories that still escape you. You find yourself staring at it for longer than you should, tracing the curve of your mother's face and seeing the way that Yayo's curls somehow had ended up on her head. How had you never noticed? Or were those curls just something you found so comforting that it simply hadn't occurred to you not to give them to your imaginary friend? But he isn't imaginary at all. He's so very real. And he is your family.

Sighing, you dig into your dresser until you come out with an amber colored cable knit sweater and a pair of dark brown corduroy pants. The comfortable ones that Derek hated because he said they weren't putting your best foot forward. Fuck that. You've always loved these pants. If comfort is a way to take back power, you are absolutely here for it.

Max is dressed in a flash, downstairs and waiting for you. His eyes fixed on the stairs as he tries not to ask his sire any questions that you might wish to know the answer to while he waits.

As quickly as you can, you head downstairs, only to find both men standing at the bottom of the grand staircase instead of sitting in the dining room as you expected them. "Waiting for me?" You ask, knowing the answer but feeling unduly self-conscious about it all of a sudden.

"I would wait to eternity for you muñequita." He promises, soft affection glowing as he steps forward and offers you his arm. While he understands the modern customs and traditions, he still prefers his way of being. Set in his ways about some things, and the opportunity to touch you is still a delightful experience. "Your breakfast is nearly ready, and I believe the tea service is already on the table."

“Mrs. Taylor is wonderful.” And you’ll never downplay that, especially not now that you realize your housekeeper has been his housekeeper for a very long time. Taking his arm instead of Max’s feels strange only in that you aren’t used to Yayo being solid. In all the thoughts you have of him, he is a figment of your imagination and not much more. Realizing that there is more at stake here is a lot to process.

“She is.” He won’t deny that in the least. “She took care of your mother when she was a child as well.” Since she had been with them for so long, Mrs. Taylor had known the entire history of the family.

“Mom…grew up here?” It’s only a few steps into the dining room, and Yayo pulls out your chair for you before sitting down on your right. Max takes the seat on your left and you note quietly that there are only three places set. Allison and Eddie must have gone back to Allison’s house last night after their date.

Settling beside you, his eyes are focused on you. “This house was built in 1852.” He explains. “When I found out that your grandmother was pregnant with your mother. She gave birth to her in this house.”

“What?” The math doesn’t add up. Not at all. The woman you remember — the woman you have photos of — was maybe in her mid-30s at the oldest. “Mom was…over a hundred and fifty years old?”

“Yes.” He knows it’s nearly impossible to imagine, but it’s true. “Your mother was half vampire, half witch and like me, nearly did not age.”

“Will you…” you sigh softly, and pour yourself a cup of tea with shaky hands. “Will you start at the beginning, Yayo? Please?”

Again, there is a carafe of blood, and he pours himself and Max a cup before he pick up the elegant tea cup and smiles slightly, remembering how he had bought this set for his Cookie. “When I was a young man, I was a thief.” He tells you, wanting you to understand the background of your family line. “The best. I was never caught save for one time.” He flashes a grin. “When I stole from the Devil.”

The Devil. For the moment — and for as unbelievable as the rest of the story seems to already be — you suspend your disbelief and nod. “How long ago was this?” You ask, trying politely to get a handle on exactly how old Yayo is.

"201 B.C." He answers with a small smirk. "I am quite a bit older than most would guess." Even Max's eyes widen dramatically, unaware that his sire was such an ancient vampire. "As punishment for my sin, the Devil decided to make an example of me." He takes a sip of his blood and pauses dramatically. "I was the first of our kind. The undead. The first vampire to walk the earth."

When you glance at Max it’s very clear that your soulmate fully believes the story that is being told, and you would never take Max for easily misled. More over, he knows a hell of a lot more about vampires than you do. So you sip your tea in contemplative silence for a long moment before sitting back in your chair again. “And you met Ms. Brown—Cookie—that is…abuela…in the 18th century?” The timeline here is mind boggling, but you’re trying your best here. To understand it all. To believe it.

“Part of my punishment was that I would walk without my soulmate for over a thousand years.” He snorts elegantly. “Apparently a few hundred extra years is no matter to the Devil.”

“And abuela was born a witch?” The genetic differences between witches and humans had dwindled over time to become very subtle. The powers they manifested were less powerful, too, and you regret now that you never listened more deeply to your father when he tried to tell you about your ancestors. Your mother’s intense desire to live a human life had overruled that sort of talk as you got older.

“Yes.” The proud gleam to the ancient vampire’s eyes reappears and he caresses the edge of the teacup. “Cookie was formidable. A powerful witch. When we met, she had come to the colonies because her own coven had cast her out. Scared of the power she possessed.”

“She was remarkable.” Mrs. Taylor appears in the doorway from the pantry with a plate of fixed breakfast for you, as the only warm blooded person at the table, and a bowl each of fruit and raw nuts for the vampires to pick at with their blood. “Good morning, sir. I am glad to see you have decided to leave the tower.”

“So that’s where you’ve been camped out.” Max snorts, smirking at his sire. “Dramatic as always.”

“Is that why Renee looked like she’d seen a ghost when I asked her about the locked room?” You thank Mrs. Taylor softly, as always, and inhale the beautiful scent of the last pieces of quiche from yesterday — one of your favourite leftovers that you had begged her to save — alongside a fresh salad, a few slices of bacon, and a warm croissant. She has outdone herself, as always.

Your grandfather clicks his tongue at Max, slightly annoyed at making it sound dramatic, even though it is. "I had a room next to Cookie's spell room. It was so that I would not bother her, but I could rest easier closer to her." He frowns slightly, still getting used to talking about his beloved in the past tense.

“Max is going to help me turn the teahouse into a little spell cottage.” The urge to be excited and proud for something you’re sharing with your soulmate is overwhelming, simply because after yesterday morning — and so many years before — there was not much to be excited about. And certainly no family to share anything with.

He smiles, a flash of fang and white teeth. No longer hiding them now that he's not just in your subconscious. "That is wonderful, muñequita." He agrees. "Every witch would have her own space. Your mother preferred her room, no other would do, when she would work on her magic."

“Her room was the one with the silver wallpaper, wasn’t it?” Somehow there is no doubt of that in your mind. The powerful feeling of belonging and comfort you had gotten from it when you first walked through the house now makes perfect sense, and you’re glad that you didn’t choose it for yourself. From now on you can go and sit in your mother’s room when you miss her, and that almost brings happy tears to your eyes. Because gods above, you have missed her so much.

"It was." He smiles as he realizes you must have felt a connection to the room. A presence. Since his daughter had passed, he had hoped that the feeling of her spirit - her early spirit - would remain. It and you were all he had left of his beloved child. "The portait hanging above the bed is your mother, nieta. She was twenty when it was painted."

“Abuela kept it close.” It isn’t even a question. You understand completely that that is how it ended up in the bedroom that once belonged to your grandmother and is now yours. “Was it for when she came out? Or…did Mom ever have anyone? Before Dad, I mean?” It’s a delicate topic but an important one, and something pulling at the back of your mind pushes you to ask it now instead of waiting.

“Your mother had a soulmate that she was with.” The memory makes him frown, his brow furrowing slightly.

“She did?” That is startling news, considering she always told you that she didn’t have one. But apparently there are a great many things your mother didn’t tell you.

"It is probably my greatest regret." There is a dramatic sigh for show from the vampire and he sets his tea cup down. "I, like any parent, made mistakes, muñequita." He admits. "Like Cookie and I, we believed that your mother was destined to be mated with a vampire. By the time she had come - which was a miracle - there was a large coven of witches and vampires. Despite my best efforts, there had been tensions between the two groups." He bites his lip. "Our nature, our bloodlust, craves the blood of a witch more than anything else." He reveals. "It's nearly ambrosia to a vampire and because of that, there had been some hard feelings among the covens because of our...less than responsible vampires."

"You believed she was meant to be mated with a vampire even though there were objections to vampire and witches interacting?" It isn't a judgement call, you're just trying to understand. Apparently your little suburban family with typical holiday dinners (and atypical holidays) was far less typical than you thought. "And Mom...didn't want that?"

"Vampire and witches are stronger together." He tells you quietly. "Especially for us. My line. We were the only ones capable of having children. Of creating a lineage." He sighs again. "She was in love with him. Emanuel was a smart, talented young man. Her mother and I were proud when we discovered they had matching marks."

"So what happened, then? Did something happen to him?" It must have, otherwise your father would have been a very different man. And Yayo wouldn't look so terribly sad.

“I made the mistake of changing him.” He murmurs quietly. “I didn’t do it without his permission. He wanted to become a vampire.” It’s almost as if he was imploring you to believe him.

"But you didn't talk to Mom first?" Though it is only a guess, it is a solid one, and you put your fork down for a moment. "It was a long time ago, Yayo. A very long time ago. I'm not judging you. I just want to understand what happened to my family."

“No, I did not talk to your mother.” He had hoped it would be seen as a gesture on Emanuel’s part. His acceptance of the family he had joined. “Unfortunately, your mother’s blood called to him. He tried to drink from her and she—” he winces. “She destroyed her soulmate.”

“Gods.” If you had been holding anything you would have dropped it instantly. Your mother killed her soulmate over bloodlust. That makes you stammer for a moment before all you can do is reach for Max’s hand and try not to shudder at the idea. You know Max would never hurt you. He’s proved that. He’s your port in the storm. “I’m so sorry, Yayo.”

"She blamed me. As she should have." He watches as you reach for Max and it soothes him in a way that he would never be able to explain. Your soulmate is a vampire and yet you are still drawn to him, comforted by him. "I had not yet learned how to bring one of my protégé back, so he was lost to us."

“Thank you for learning.” Your hand tightens around Max’s subtly, fingers flexing and keeping his grip. “For…making sure Max was here for me when I needed him.”

"Of course, muñequita." He nods his head seriously. "You should have met him years before and I cannot fix the past, but I could make sure you would meet him."

“And you have no idea how much that means to me.” He has no idea of what you’ve been through. What has gone on in your life between childhood and now. But at least you can say to his face that you’re grateful.

“I spent many years trying to find the way to fix my mistakes.” He murmurs quietly. “I am afforded the luxury of time, so I decided to put it to good use.”

“They did raise me a witch.” It’s the most reassurance you can give him, since your parents did not give you even a hint of the reality of vampires in the world. They had taught you magic, yes, but you had never had a real talent for spell work. “I’m sorry to ask you all of these things all at once. I just…I guess I don’t understand why we haven’t been in contact since the accident?” Allison had told you something about helping Cookie break a powerful spell, and that that was why she chose to stop drinking Yayo’s blood. But you still don’t quite understand.

“Your mother, while she wished to be human,” he sighs again. “Was a powerful witch. Some of her own talents far surpassing even her mother’s.” He picks up a few of the nuts and rolls them around in his hand. “There is a spell, a protective barrier, that would keep anyone away until the blood price has been paid.” He stares at you solemnly. “Death.”

“She really didn’t want me involved in all of this…” Something which is both stunning and rather appalling to you, considering coming to Newport might truly have saved your life. Who knows what might have happened to you if you had had to live in your car in Tennessee. Knowing that your sweet, steadfast mother was angry enough with her parents to separate you for life is daunting.

“Your mother…” he doesn’t wish to speak ill of the dead, and especially of the daughter that he had loved for centuries and will continue to love until he is destroyed. “Was very much human in the fact that she was not infallible, none of us are.” He doesn’t wish for you to hold a grudge against her, even as he tries to explain things. “I pushed too hard and tried to see you again after that last memory I showed you. That was when she cast the spell.”

“A spell that kept you and abuela away…and made me think that I made you up?” That is a remarkably impressive spell, you will admit it freely. Your mother’s abilities must have been far greater than you could ever have dreamed.

“Yes.” He bites his lip. “It was one that took us a long time to even figure out what she had used and even longer to discover the key to breaking it.” He reaches out and touches your hand. “Your abuela left you a letter, in case these truths ever came to light.”

“I would like to read it. If it’s not too much trouble.” A few of Cookie’s own words might be wonderful, if you’re honest. Though you do already feel the fullness in your mind off memories beginning to resettle now that you realize they are memories and not only your imagination. “It…doesn’t have to do this moment. It will take some time to process all of this.”

“Whenever you feel like it.” He promises, smiling indulgently at you. “I will have them placed in your room for when you are ready.”

“I’m…” There isn’t technically any reason to feel this way, but you still squeeze his cold hand gently. “I’m sorry we were apart so long.”

“Muñequita, do not feel guilty.” He chides softly, aware of that expression on your face. “It is I who am the guilty one. You have suffered for so long because I could not find you. I could not reach you.”

“It isn’t your fault that I was in a bad situation. Or Max’s either.” Acutely aware that Max views himself as responsible for that entire situation because he had been expelled that night, you won’t hear of it for even a second. “It seems like this is a new beginning for all of us.” New, aside from the specter of your ex-boyfriend that now hangs over Newport.

“Though I hear you had a visitor yesterday.” Your grandfather’s youthfully middle aged face drops unhappily and his eyes darken fiercely.

“I—” Mistaking his displeasure for anger directed at you, your eyes stop to the table instantly. “He was not invited,” you defend immediately, not wanting anyone to get in trouble on your account.

He pauses when he realizes that you think he is upset at you. “Yes, this…Derek will be dealt with.” He promises you. “Although I do not understand why you will not let your soulmate kill him.”

“Because I don’t believe that murder is ever the answer. Regardless of the question.” Suffering, pain, death — none of it. You’ve lived several lifetimes of all that hurt and you would be happy to never have another second of it near you.

“Kind and empathetic.” He hums, not displeased with the idea at all. “I will promise you this—” he taps your hand gently. “If he harms you again, nothing on this earth or in hell will protect him from me.” It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. A pact to repay every hurt he has ever bestowed upon you tenfold.

“I will say if I am hurt or not.” That is the bargain you will make. To make your grandfather feel as though the door is open, though you need intend to go through it.

His eyes narrow for a moment in contemplation and he nods. “Agreeable.” He decides.

******

For the rest of your meal, he answers your questions, never shying away from the answers and it surprises Max. His sire has always been elusive at times, and yet, he is very succinct with you. Perhaps it is because of the want to keep you close.

After he leaves you, your grandfather goes back to the tower. The locked room beyond Cookie’s potion room now opened. The mahogany box retrieved from a shelf and his fingers brush over the inlaid gold. The letters are inside. Lovingly preserved for you. His soulmate had taken to writing you at least once a week since deciding that she would sacrifice herself to break what she viewed as a curse. Her thoughts, hopes, memories all immortalized in ink, her familiar script beautiful as he opens the box and lifts a letter to his nose, inhaling the scent of her perfume. “You would have loved her, Cookie.” He murmurs sadly. “She’s stronger than all of us.”

******

The cadence of his footsteps is unfamiliar, and nearly nonexistent, but you know it’s him coming into the library a few minutes after breakfast has ended without ever having to look up. Mrs. Taylor has left menus for you to approve and Max is outside at the teahouse with Mr. Taylor — and Renee is altogether too bright and sunshiny for such a quiet entrance. But when Yayo appears holding a beautifully and intricately carved box in his hands, the arrival is near-silent and solemn.

“I had considered leaving these in your rooms.” He admits quietly, his voice low and soothing like it always is. “But then, I did not know if you would want that.”

“Would you…” you push the tray of menus aside, knowing that Mrs. Taylor won’t object to getting them later today. Not when these letters are so important. “Want to sit with me? While I read some?”

“I would be delighted.” Silently and much faster than Max, he moves over to you with the box.

The letter box is lacquered mahogany, trimmed in gilded dragons done after the Chinese style in what you now know intimately as chinoiserie — a Gilded Age specialty. It’s yet one more thing in this house that someone else would sell for a fortune at auction and instead you cling to it desperately as a connection to your family’s past. The key that he has left resting on top fits neatly into the lock and you open the box with a small smile as you bite your lip in concentration. The box is very old, after all, and delicate. What’s inside, though? Dozens of letters. Some thick and some thin. All stamped with blood red wax and addressed to you. “There’s…so many of them…”

“My late soulmate was a woman who loved to write letters.” He admits, his smile wistful. “There is a trunk of letters she had written to your mother while we were…estranged.” He reveals. “At one point after learning of her death, she had thought to burn them all, but could not.”

“The accident wasn’t easy for anyone,” you admit, glad to see him pull up a chair beside the large library desk with you instead of pacing anxiously or giving you distance. There has been so much distance for so long — all you want now is to keep him close. “I almost withdrew my place in college and just stayed closed up in the house. But I knew they wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“No, they wouldn’t have.” As much as he regrets not being there for you, he admires your courage. You might not think so, but you have been extremely strong-willed through the last ten years.

“And these are…all for me?” It seems incredible to you, that anyone would have spent so much time and effort just thinking of you, but the reality of things has been so different than what you thought they were for your entire life that it bears a sort of…reinspection.

“Yes.” He smiles at the box. “She would sit at her writing desk and talk to me about you. Wondering what you were like, how you were doing.”

“What was your favorite thing to imagine?” There is no way they could have guessed the truth, and that is your comfort. That you hope they never feared for you.

“You used to love to dance.” Your grandfather hums. “We spent hours dancing in your living room when you were small. We used to imagine you dancing. Laughing as you were guided along the dance floor.”

“I stopped for a long time.” You admit, not ashamed of the fact although you’re ashamed of the reason. It’s just what happened. It was your life for many years. “But I’ve started again…because of Max.”

“That’s brilliant.” His eyes sparkle in delight and his lips quirk up in a pleased smile. “You were so happy to learn when you were just a baby.”

“I loved ballet.” The slipper blanket still in your room is proof enough of that, and you smile. “But I do love ballroom more. And Max did danced competitively in college. It’s…honestly so nice to be able to share that with him.”

“It was my rule for the school that all students must take an elective that was creative.” He tells you with a dramatic flip of his hand. “I think it appealed to him because I was teaching the class and your soulmate is a bit of a suck up.”

“So you teach, then?” Ignoring the comment about Max — because you used to be a little bit of a suck up in dance class, too — you leave the letter chest closed and focus on Yayo. “In Romania?”

“That is how I discovered your soulmate, Muñequita.” He hums. “When I saw the birthmark, a mark I would know anywhere, I knew. I knew I had to take him under my wing.”

“I’m so grateful that you did.” If not for Yayo, who knows who Max’s sire would have been? Who knows how you ever would have found him again?

“I made mistakes with him as well.” He can admit that, flashing a fangy smile. “I let him get too arrogant. But he has learned his lesson.”

“According to him, he was already arrogant,” you tell your grandfather. “But he says that his attitude has changed enormously since you brought him back.”

“It has.” He agrees with Max’s assessment of himself completely. “This house, his stay here has been good for him.”

“This house has been good for me, too.” Yesterday morning notwithstanding, of course.

“Of course it has.” To imagine anything else would be unbelievable. “Despite your mother’s ill feelings, I had this house built to be a refuge, a haven, if you will.”

“Mom didn’t like having her hand forced. I didn’t understand it then, but I do as I get older.” It makes you shrug, though, not wanting to start an argument with your grandfather. “But this house has certainly been a haven for me. So thank you.”

“If I could have done things differently, I would have.” He admits quietly. “I would have bitten my tongue and realized my daughter’s dreams for life weren’t mine for her.”

“Regretting and wishing can’t bring them back,” you murmur, voice finding the same tenor as his. “If it could, we would have had my parents back immediately.”

“You are right.” He reaches out and pats your hand. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

“I have had a lot of time to think it over. Not as much as you, of course, but…” A slight shrug of your shoulders comes as your hand runs over the box in front of you again. “There is so much I would say to my mother if I could see her again.”

His smile turned mysterious and he hums. “Think of what you would say to her, Muñequita. Never forget it.”

“I wish she could meet Max.” The thought had already occurred to you more than once, and as much as it hurts you also have to believe that she’s watching over you with your father beside her. “I think they would enjoy teasing each other.”

“She had a robust sense of humor.” He chuckles. “Perhaps one day you will know what she thinks.”

“It would be too wonderful for words, I think.” Dwelling on it for too long threatens to drown you in a wave of sadness, and your expression flickers — faltering slightly. “But I can dream.”

Sensing that you might want some space, he pats your hand again and stands. “I think I will go have Mrs. Taylor bring you up a pot of tea while you go through your abuela’s letters.” He decides.

“Thank you, Yayo.” Your hand catches his, squeezing his fingers tight for a moment before letting it go again. “For everything.”

“It is my pleasure and my duty.” He nods and bows slightly before disappearing from sight.

The box in front of you is full to bursting, and when you open the lid it is clear that some letters consist of a single page while some are self-contained novelas. They seem to be stacked in order of writing, but not with any semblance of order in the time between each letter. Selecting the first — a single sheet neatly folded, waxed, and dated — you carefully slip the seal and open the paper.

My Darling Girl— It has been a month and a week since we visited you last, making today your ninth birthday. I hope it is joyful, sweetheart, and that you know how very dearly your grandfather and I love you. When we see you again we will bring your gift and heaps of books, and your grandfather will dance with you until you are too exhausted even to laugh. And it will do my heart so much good to see you both reunited. You are the magic of our hearts, darling, and always will be. But in case this letter is only the first of many you will not see until you are a grown woman, know that we are thinking of you and missing you every day. And that we are so proud of you, no matter what path you choose each day. Happy birthday, darling girl. We love you. Granny Cookie

The heavy vellum paper is quite old, the scrawling, looping handwriting a work of art. Cookie had whimsically decided that your letters would be written with a quill, like she would have before. Making it a labor of love.

There are so many that it seems daunting, and something tells you not to read them in order but that might just be a response to how many there are. You’re still toying with the box, though, when Mrs. Taylor appears in the doorway with a tea tray.

“Your grandfather said you might enjoy some tea while you read.” She smiles as she walks inside. “I took the liberty of making Cookie’s favorite tea for you.”

“You’ve known the entire time.” Far from being angry or accusatory, there is awe in your voice. Her loyalty and steadfastness to your grandparents is astonishing.

“I have.” She doesn’t apologize, her smile softening slightly. “It has been hard not to mention your mother, since you look so like her.”

The tea tray she sets down on the desk beside you is sparse, but Mrs. Taylor never brings * only* tea. There is a plate of scones today, with jam and butter. “Did you ever meet me before?” You ask cautiously, unsure if you had ever even been to this house as a child or if the housekeeper had ever traveled with your grandparents. “When I was young?”

“We have met before.” She answers vaguely, a curious twist to her lips. “There was a time we spend quite a bit of time together.”

“I wish I could remember.” It must have been when you were just a baby, considering that first letter from your abuela was at your ninth birthday. “I wish I could remember this house. Or visiting here.”

“A side effect of the spell.” She murmurs quietly. “It’s as if this house never existed to you before now.”

“I knew my mother was powerful, but I guess I never really knew how much.” There were always signs of it growing up, and of course your father has considerable magic as well, but this is a level far beyond what you knew was possible. “But…I never knew she was half-vampire, either. I suppose there was quite a lot they kept from me.”

“Your mother…” she sighs softly, a sound just for you. It had been amazing learning how to do those things again when you don’t need to breathe. It conveys so much. “Always looked at the other side of the field and admired the grass there. Even though her side was perfectly lush.”

“She wanted to explore.” Even as young as you were when she died, you know that. “Explore new experiences and meet new people. The more and the more different, the better.”

“She had been that way for her entire life.” Mrs. Taylor hums, happy that she had never lost her spark. “She was the first of her social circle to wear pants when it was so terribly taboo.”

“I can see her doing that. Being a rabble rouser.” In fact, from alternative choices at bake sales to extra adventures on field trips, your mother was always ready for anything. For a long time, you had wanted to grow up to be just like her. Fearless.

“Despite that, she broke many hearts when her soulmate was found.” She tells you. “She had quite the number of gentleman callers before.”

“Dad always joked that he had to treat Mom like a princess because there would always be another guy who would if he didn’t.” Mostly those jokes had been to encourage you to look for someone who would treat you the same, but you hadn’t really understood that at the time. Now, you think it might be a big part of why your father might have approved of Max. “So I can see that.”

“That is true.” She agrees. “I did not get to know your father well, but he seemed like he was a good man. He loved your mother, that was obvious.”

“He did.” You nod, agreeing with that statement easily. “He loved her more than anything else in the world.”

“Then that is all that matters.” While she’s sure that her soulmate would have been amazing, she’s not lived for as long as she had without knowing that you don’t have to be a soulmate to love someone completely.

“They were wonderful together.” It warns a small, almost wistful sigh from you and you smile. “Completely wonderful.”

******

Max had not meant to leave you alone all day. After breakfast with his sire, he had gone off with Mr. Taylor to look at the Tea House. Looking had turned into doing and half the afternoon was gone before he realized. Strolling into the morning room, he grins when he finds you still reading letters, happy to see you enjoying yourself. Carefully handling the folded and wax sealed paper as if it were precious, because it is to you. “How many secrets did the old bird spill?”

“You’re never going to believe some of the stuff she wrote out for me.” Having moved from the library after tea to the window seat in the morning room, you’ve been basking in the near-sunset while you read uninterrupted. But now that Max is back inside? You shift to one side of the seat and sit up, making room for him to join you. “She wrote down as much as she could stand to, I think. Sometimes just little notes and sometimes pages upon pages.”

Max plops down next to you in a graceless flop that would have looks undignified by anyone else. He makes it look almost elegant in its casualness. “So it’s like a journal….in letters?” He asks curiously, peeking at the script of the one you are holding.

“Kind of.” You nod and shift closer to him, inhaling the scent of his cologne when he puts one arm around you. Since vampires don’t sweat, the only underlying scent is the intensely powerful sunscreen he wears everyday to keep from being affected by the sun. Enchanted, according to him. “Some of these are stories about my mom. Others are talking about powers she suspects I might have had, or would be able to develop. Others are just memories. Sometimes she even wrote down stories about her and Yayo.”

“Really?” His eyes widen and he playfully waggles his brows. “Don’t know if you should be reading those.” He teases.

“They’re not intimate stories.” You pinch Max with two fingers and laugh, feeling lighter this afternoon than you thought you would be able to. “They’re my grandparents.”

“Uhhhh, hate to tell you, babe…” Max grins even wider, happy you are laughing and smiling. “Grandparents fuck.” He snorts. “Otherwise there would be no parents to have the grandkids and make them grandparents.”

“Yes, they do.” The way you roll your eyes is just for show, playing along with his teasing. “But they don’t typically tell those stories to their twelve-year-old granddaughters.” The letter you happen open to be holding is on the thicker side, dated the summer you were twelve. “Usually.”

He snickers and shrugs. “It would be a lot cooler if they did.” He jokes. “Let the g-kids know how hip they were at one time.”

“I think I would have been horrified to hear that when I was twelve,” you tell him honestly. “I was a very innocent kid.”

“Very innocent, huh?” He leans in and kisses your cheek. “We’ll change that, Queenie.”

“I was an innocent kid.” The last word gets emphasis, and you tilt your head to kiss his lips as of that proves some sort of point. “I don’t think what we did the other night counts as innocent in the least.”

“Just a little harmless grinding.” His grin turns positively wicked. “It’ll be less innocent when my ‘no need to breathe’ face is planted in your pussy for hours on end until you can’t take another orgasm.”

It should be abundantly obvious from the shock on your face that you hadn’t yet put that puzzle together, and the heat in your cheeks radiates off you in waves. “Yep…” you manage to swallow finally and half-nod. “That will be…not innocent at all.”

The chuckle he gives is filthy, accompanied by a wink. “So I was thinking about another date tonight.”

"You were?" the suggestion lights you up immediately, although it is tinged with that unfortunate but real paranoia. "Did you have something in mind?"

“I know you love to dance, but I don’t want to be a one trick pony.” Max hums, leaning in against you. “So I thought we could be disgustingly cliché. There’s a pumpkin patch, with a corn maze and a ‘haunted hayride’.” He puts air quotes around the last portion. “They do all the cutesy shit and sell hot chocolate. I thought you would love it.”

“Are you going to protect me from all the jump scares and fake vampires?” It’s your own small brand of teasing, because even though you love horror movies as an adult there is something about jump scares in real life that is less fun and more anxiety-inducing. The one thing you do know, though, deep in your heart? Is that Max will protect you no matter what.

“Absolutely.” Max practically giggles. “Gotta show off so your little pussy throbs at what a strong, manly vamp I am.” He winks to show that he’s teasing, but he would protect you from anything.

“And you can smell it, so I can’t even pretend like it doesn’t affect me.” Which, admittedly, could be slightly embarrassing. But for some reason Max being so in tune with your emotions is a wicked turn on.

“You can pretend it doesn’t affect you at any time.” He hums. “Just because you’re turned on, doesn’t mean you are in the mood, sweetheart.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Although he does have a point, and you appreciate him acknowledging it out loud. “I was thinking more like…it’s harder to play innocent. Since I kind of have an inkling that you might enjoy that sort of thing.”

“Hmmmmm but I like when someone plays hard to get.” He admits with a grin. “Knowing they want me but making me chase is just as thrilling.”

“So this works for you perfectly then, I guess?” It’s one less thing to have on your mind, if he’s telling the truth. And Max has never given you any reason to think he would lie. “You probably love those great big doe eyes some girl have. The innocence and purity of it all.”

“I like your eyes.” He flirts shamelessly. “They are the prettiest I’ve ever gotten lost in.”

“I’m already yours, ya know.” Despite the protest, you absolutely melt in his arms and become a puddle against his chest. “You don’t have to flirt.”

“I want to flirt.” He promises. “Flirting is good for the body, mind and soul.” He announces. “It makes you feel good, makes you feel wanted and it makes you easier to kiss.” He teases, turning his head and kissing your nose.

“In that case?” You could not be more putty-like in his arms if he had been literally kneading your shoulders. “What time do you want to go out tonight? Because hay rides and pumpkins and chilly fall things with you sounds like a dream.”

“Six? Six-thirty?” He asks. “That way we still have plenty of daylight to pick out pumpkins? I know you will want one or two.”

“That’s perfect.” You would probably put a pumpkin or two in every room of the house if you could, but that sounds like a mess waiting to happen. “Do you want to sit with me for a little bit or do you have something you want to do before then?” It’s about a hour and a half away, and there are so many more letters from your grandmother to read. The box seems never ending. It might even be enchanted to hold extra, you can’t tell.

“I’m right here until we change,” he promises. “I’m thinking this will be our casual date. Leggings, boots, for you of course.”

“Maybe we can alternate?” It’s just a small idea, but knowing that he loves to dress up and make a splash and you aren’t typically as well dressed as he is lets you both have moments of fun and moments of relaxation. “Something fancy and something casual?”

“That sounds good to me, Queenie.” He flashes you a grin. “Can’t hurt and it’ll keep you from getting bored.”

“I have a feeling I’ll never be bored with you.” It’s just a feeling, but it’s right in the back of your mind and hovering over your heart, so it’s undeniable.

“It’s because I’m incredible.” He boasts, but it’s all just an act. His thigh is pressed against yours and he looks over at the letters. “Want to read me one? Or is it something you’d rather keep to yourself for now?”

“I think it’s safe to say that my family is your family…since my grandfather is literally your sire and all.” It does sort of call the structure of vampire families into question in your mind, but that is a detail you will ask Yayo about later on. “You can read the next one. That sounds nice.”

“You want me to read it to you?” He asks, brow raised at the thought. “I will.”

“I like your voice,” you admit sheepishly, sinking down in his arms a little in a rush of embarrassment. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh no, you aren’t getting out of it now.” He teases, reaching into the box and selecting a letter. “Hmmmm, how does this one look?”

“Perfect.” Every time he shows such amusement or happiness at little compliments from you, you feel that same skip in your heart that you’re starting to think might become a permanent fixture in your life. Max never ceases to surprise you with his affection and it really is wonderful.

“Puuuuurrrrrfect.” He rolls his ‘r’ playfully as he slides a neatly manicured nail under the wax seal and breaks it. Stopping and shuddering before he looks over at you. “Did you feel that?”

“It’s just a little chilly in here.” You explain it away instinctively, not even realizing that a breeze would have no effect on Max whatsoever.

“Sppppooooooky.” He’s playing it up, but there had been a current to the air when he broke the seal on this letter. Clearing his through is purely perfunctory as he opens the stiff paper. “My darling Muñequita,” he begins and says the date.

This is a later letter, something from you were a teenager. Max must have gone deep into the box. You hum happily at that and snuggle into his side like a cat.

“You really are the cleverest witch I have seen in my time. And considering how old I truly am, that is saying something.” He tilts his head and glances up at you before looking back at the letter. “To think that the answer was right in front of us, just a few words difference is simply magical, pardon the pun.”

“Are you sure this one is addressed to me and not my mom?” Though the question is rhetorical, there is also a nugget of truth to it. You haven’t done any sort of remarkable magic in years.

“It says it’s to you.” He huffs, flipping it back over so you can see the way it’s addressed. “Hush.” He blows you a raspberry. “Take the compliments. Now where was I?” He scans the page again. “For centuries, we had just believed that it was a myth, as fanciful as that sounds. Time travel. Who would have believed H.G.Wells was a witch?”

“I’m sorry.” Sitting up ramrod straight in an instant, your eyes go wide. “Did you just say time travel?”

“Are you always this disruptive?” Max teases as he waves the letter at you. “It’s right here. Do you want to read it for yourself?”

“But time travel is impossible!” Managing to snatch the letter from his hand, you settle back in his arms with a furrowed brow and your two front teeth firmly biting down on your lower lip as you reread what he had just read out loud. “Who would have believed H.G. Wells was a witch? Of course, everyone know that magic, alchemy, and science are all the same thing. But not everyone knows how to harness it to emotion. But you are such a clever thing, we ought to have suspected that you would find a way.”

“Sounds like someone did something.” Max intones, his voice playful, but he’s impressed.

“I can’t imagine what. By the time this was written, they hadn’t been allowed to see me in more than six years.” Still, the pull of this particular letter is far too strong, and you turn back to it with curiosity. “It took us an embarrassingly long time to understand it fully, Muñequita, but once we did you cannot imagine how foolish we felt for not seeing it years before.”

“Wow...incredibly intriguing.” Max snorts, impatient as always. “Like- what did you do? I wanna know.”

"I'm disruptive and you're impatient," you tease, but you keep reading. "To know that you managed to visit us from your time is remarkable beyond words. And how clever you were not to let us know, to never have even given us a whiff. You have your Yayo's talent for keeping secrets, darling girl, and we are so proud of the power you have finally come to. We will keep the portrait you so graciously left with us in the house and I will display it proudly for all of my days, telling anyone who asks that my granddaughter has a warm and loving heart and a doting, charming husband."

“Husband?” His own eyes widen slightly and his lips curve into a slow grin. “Something I should know, Queenie?”

“At the moment you know exactly as much as I do.” Your hand is practically shaking with the letter in it, but the slightly smug, pleased grin on his face makes you huff out a laugh. “I have no idea!”

“Wellllllll, now we have a mystery to talk about.” Max chuckles. He knows that you don’t know, but it’s intriguing.

“If I had to guess?” Being the kind of little kid — and sometimes adult — that had dreamt yourself into every possible and impossible kind of situation, you avoid his eyes slightly when you shrug. “If this is true, then you must have been there, too. I wouldn’t call anybody else that, and depending on when we went to, dating doesn’t exist. It’s married or unmarried, and an unmarried woman has a hell of a lot more restrictions on how she can act than a married one.”

“That would be interesting.” He snorts and shrugs. “I promise I won’t demand my husbandly rights if you’re correct.”

“Maybe we’ll actually be married by the time it happens, who knows?” It’s such a ludicrous ides that you can’t really take it seriously in the first place, and you shrug. “Besides, it’s time travel, honey. It’s not true. It can’t be.”

“And vampires don’t exist.” Max reminds you with a grin. “It’s so unbelievable that you would go back in time to visit with your granny when your soulmate doesn’t have a pulse and drinks blood?”

He has, frustratingly, a very good point. So much so that it makes you pause with your mouth already half-open to a pithy reply and shut it again with a furrowed brow. “I guess…” you swallow a deep breath. “If I wear every going to visit anyone…”

“She would be the one to visit.” Max finishes for you. “I wonder when you visit her. Obviously you haven’t yet.”

“After Mom was born.” You can answer that easily, even if your voice is quiet. “Any time when Mom was young. I always wondered what she was like as a young woman…and she never liked to tell stories. I get why, now. How could she rephrase a story about the 1870s to make it sound like modern life?” The idea of seeing your mother again is painful it’s so sweet, and you sniffle quietly, burying your face in your free hand. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do.” Max hums thoughtfully after a moment. “You can’t have gone to the past when she would remember it, would you? Otherwise, she might have done things differently in life, right?”

“I guess…it would have to have been long enough ago that she wouldn’t have a strong memory of me. Or at least that she would never make the connection.” It feels like such a weird thing to contemplate, but Max is looking down at you so intently that you find yourself just spinning in the idea. Trying to follow the thought all the way through. “And I certainly wouldn’t use my real name. It would be Dolly. Or Queenie.”

“When we time travel, don’t use your real name, got it.” He gives you a thumbs up and snorts playfully. “Can I have a code name too?”

“Sure.” If you do roll your eyes at him it’s all in good fun and teasing. “What do you want your code name to be? James Bond?”

“Bond.” He imitates with an English accent. “James Bond.” He laughs and shakes his head.

He is laughing, which has you giggling, and you shake your head at him in pure amusement. “I genuinely can’t tell if that’s a yes or no,” you tease.

“I would need something way cooler.” He huffs and smirks at you. “Something that is subtly acknowledging my sexual magmatism.”

“Bruno?” Just about anything would be silly, and you can’t resist his smirk anyway. “Should we call you Jean-Claude van Damme?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Romania, not Austria, babe.”

“What would you like to be called?” What he wants is more important than anything, after all. At least, it is to you.

“I was just teasing, sweetheart.” He promises. “Call me Max, I promise it’ll be alright with me.”

"We won't ever need to worry about it." You're certain of that, somehow. Even with the evidence sitting right there in your hand.

“With this discovery, do you still want to go out?” He asks quietly. If you’d rather read more letters, he wouldn’t blame you.

“I think I need some time to adjust to the idea,” you admit, putting the letter down without finishing it. It’s taking up so much space in your mind that you feel as if you might explode. “Maybe I’ll shower before we go out? I know we said tonight is going to be casual but I still want to look nice for you.”

“Go shower, sweetheart.” He encourages you. “Or better yet, go soak in that claw foot tub.”

“Yeah?” It’s a very soothing idea, and you have to agree that it might do you a world of good. All the same, though, you don’t want to be too far from Max. “Are you going to go back out to the tea house?”

“No.” He can sense your unease, and he quickly decides that he will stay nearby. “I’m going to go see if my jeans still fit.” He jokes with a grin. “Haven’t worn them in a long time. No need to, until now.”

“I know you’ll be very handsome in whatever you choose.” It is touching, though, that he is dressing down for you. Because you know that his suits are his suits of armor.

“I know the leather jacket is what you’ll focus on.” He jokes, winking at you.

If you could stop yourself from blurting it out you would have, but your immediate reaction is an unapologetic: “You have a leather jacket?”

His eyes light up when you give yourself away and he nods. “Yep.” He hums, leaning in to you, crowding you slightly. “Black leather.”

“That…” When you swallow it’s slightly embarrassed but interested all the same. “That sounds nice.”

“Does it?” He rubs his hand down your arm. ���That’s good. Maybe we’ll see how you look in it tonight when you get cold.”

The thought of being marked as his in any way makes you burn in the most unexpectedly lustful way, and you clear your throat before standing up. “I going to go take a cold bath.”

“You do that, sweetheart.” Max reaches out and pats your hip. “I’ll be here when you get out.” He pauses. “Better yet, I’ll be at your door when you’re ready.”

______

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

VW: @haileymorelikestupid, @miraclesabound @nastiasnow @vabeachazn @oberynslady @grogusmum @kittenlittle24 @8-900 @survivingandenduring @ktmadden86 @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sweetnsaltyclussy

My Masterlist!

[ezraspiderwick]

The Rockford Twins (prelude)

Summary: Tim and Thomas are twins, and they are exact opposites of each other. One will end up being a detective, the other a thief. Will the detective be able to catch the thief or will the thief manage to get away?

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: discussion of crime, child arrest, a lot of backstory

A/N: Thank you @littlemisspascal for beta reading and encouraging this idea! This all literally exists thanks to you.

MASTERLIST

.

On the rainiest night of the whole year, at precisely one minute before midnight and two months before their due date, the first baby of a set of twins was born. He didn’t cry. Instead, he stared at the midwife with big brown eyes, as if trying to figure out what was happening in this new and curious world. 

His brother followed a measly two minutes after, and unlike the other baby, the second he came out of the womb he was kicking and screaming. It took a whole 15 minutes and three nurses to get him to settle down enough so he could join his brother who was already sleeping in his mother’s arms. And as soon as he did, he squirmed around as if trying to get the whole attention to focus on him.

Looking back one could say that was the start of their rivalry. A rivalry that would follow them as they grew, a rivalry that would make the space between them grow larger and larger each year, a rivalry that would eventually involve the whole world. 

-

As kids, when their mother was asked to describe them, she would always emphasize that they were exact opposites of each other. 

“Day and night,” she would say between laughs unaware that her innocent phrase would be seared into her kids’ minds. Day and night. Light and dark. One was good, and one was bad. They had to be, that’s how opposites work. Now the only question left to answer was which kid was which. 

-

Thomas Jacob Rockford was the picture of a perfect kid. He was calm, he got good grades, and he listened to his elders. At 10 years old he was learning to play both the piano and the violin, knew Spanish well enough to carry a conversation and went to acting classes on the weekends. His parents reminded him every day how proud they were of their firstborn.

And most importantly he stayed out of trouble, but only because he was smart enough to not get caught. The plans he came up with would surprise even the most experienced criminals. And his reputation as a golden child helped too, no one ever suspected he cheated on exams or that stuff on store shelves made its way into his pockets more often than not. And as he grew, his criminal activity did too. There were bigger crimes but still, no one ever suspected a thing. 

No one except his brother that is. 

-

Timon Benjamin Rockford was the trouble child. He got in fights trying to defend either his honor or someone else’s all the time, but neither his parents nor the school ever cared about the reasons. He was always told he should be more like his brother. So little Tim watched every movement Thomas made, trying to figure out what made the other kid so perfect. Instead, he discovered his sibling’s criminal activities.

But of course, his parents never believed him when he ratted him out. There was never any evidence he could use for backup so he was told that he should stop inventing stories like that, attempting to get an innocent person in trouble was a bad thing to do.  

Tim swore he would catch his brother.

-

The opportunity to do so came when they were fourteen. Tim figured that if he asked to go with Thomas on one of his heists. If he knew where it was happening and when, he could tell his parents and they’d have no other choice but to believe him. 

“I want to go with you,” Tim whispered as he entered Thomas’ room. 

“Where?” His brother looked up from the book he was reading. 

“I want to help you commit your next crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Timon.” He looked back down to the book.

“Stop playing dumb, of course, you do.” Thomas sighed and placed the book down and walked towards his brother.

“Even if I did, you want no part in this, believe me.” Tim took a deep breath, he had to do this, there was no other way. If he wanted to catch him this was how he did it.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I want to be like you.” Thomas looked him up and down and something in his gaze softened.

“Okay.”

Two weeks later Thomas told him a time and a place. They were supposed to meet at a museum, one of the backdoors would be open, Tim needed to go inside and then he would be given more instructions by his brother. This was risky, a very risky move, but this was his opportunity to get his brother caught. So he agreed to be there. 

And so his plan was set in motion. He called the police and gave them the details of what was going to go down that night. The officer informed him that a patrol would make its way there.

At 10 pm, Tim made his way into the building through the door that Thomas had promised would be unlocked. Once inside he searched for his brother but couldn’t find him anywhere, what he did find was that one of the paintings was missing. A painting was missing and his brother was nowhere to be found. This was a setup, he never intended to include him in the crime. But if that was so-

The red and blue of the police sirens outside illuminated the whole building. Tim would explain everything to them, this would all get sorted, and everything would be fine. 

But everything wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine when the officers came in, guns drawn at the fourteen-year-old. It wasn’t fine when they cuffed him and took him to the patrol car. It wasn’t fine when the police somehow found his prints all over the museum and the painting stashed in his room. 

His brother had set him up.

An innocent-looking Thomas testified that Tim had told him to go to the museum. He found it to be a weird request but still was going to go because he didn’t want his brother to be alone but he lost track of time while being at a friend’s house and he never made it. The friend, the friend’s parent, the friend’s maid, and everyone confirmed that Thomas Rockford had been at their house at the time of the robbery. He had a tight alibi. 

To the outside world, Thomas was innocent. This was all part of his plan. 

The judge assigned to the case, a gentleman known for his strict rules, took a glance at Tim’s school records which of course were riddled with all the fights he had had and the suspensions that resulted from them. With that and with the robbery, the judge decided that he was a danger to society. Tim was sentenced to three years of juvie.

When goodbyes were said, his parents looked at him disapprovingly. “Perhaps this is exactly what you need, something to set you straight.”

“Mom, dad, I didn’t do it, I swear-”

“Stop it Tim, just stop with all the lies. At least face the consequences of your actions like a man.” His father said while taking his crying mother out of the room. “Let’s go Thomas.”

“I need to say my goodbyes, I’ll be out in a moment,” Thomas replied.

As soon as the two adults left the room, the teens stared at each other, the tension filling the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“You set me up,” Tim hissed at his brother after a few seconds. 

“You set me up first. You were the one who called the police, not me,” Thomas whispered, quiet enough that Tim was barely able to pick it up. If Tim hadn’t been consumed by the anger coursing through his veins he would have been able to hear the pain in his brother’s voice. “If you had just waited, there would have been a fake painting hanging there in the morning, no one would have noticed it.”

“I-” He hadn’t wanted him to get arrested? No, that wasn’t right. Thomas was always playing some kind of game, and this must be part of it.

“I’m sorry Timmy, I am. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” He took a deep breath and blinked the tears away from his eyes. Tim was convinced this was all part of the act for the people looking through the security cameras. “But you need to stop trying to catch me brother. You will never be able to, just stop and save yourself the pain.”

[ghostofaboy]

I'm working on my final request for my follower celebration now. A nice little FishBen bondage fic.

After that I'll be returning to Rock Bottom for a while as it's in its third act now and it's time to start getting this shit done.

In the meantime, I've got a Tim/Thief smutty little number coming this Wednesday (7th), so here's a snippet.

The Thief grinned down at Tim from his seat on the other man’s cock. Below him, Tim panted, squeezing the Thief’s thighs tightly as he pinched his eyes shut. He was close, the Thief could tell, and while he would never get tired of watching Tim come, the Thief had other plans.

Holding himself as still as possible, the Thief patiently waited for Tim to reopen his eyes. Slowly, Tim’s large brown eyes opened, looking up at the Thief questioningly. His brow creased as Tim gradually caught his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all, dearest.” The Thief leaned forward to plant a kiss on Tim’s forehead. “I’m just admiring the view.”

[ladamedusoif]

A Merry Fic-Mas: Masterlist

Inspired by this December prompt list.

31 days. 31 (hopefully) stories. 12 Pedro boys.

Starry Nights (Joel Miller)

Baking (Dieter Bravo)

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike)

Scarf (Javi Gutierrez)

Music (Marcus Moreno)

Snowflakes (Javier Peña)

Joy (Din Djarin)

Sweets (Frankie Morales)

Fuzzy socks (Joel Miller)

Sleigh ride (Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels)

Stars (Ezra)

Mulled wine (Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels)

Candles (Frankie Morales)

Books (Professor!Ben - Mr Ben AU)

Ornaments (Din Djarin)

Snowball fight (Javi Gutierrez)

Miracle (Javier Peña)

Christmas market (Marcus Pike)

Apron (Marcus Moreno)

Coming home (Dave York)

Wrapping paper (Joel Miller)

Christmas tree (Professor!Ben - Mr Ben AU)

Fairy lights (Frankie Morales)

Secrets (Marcus Pike)

Family (Din Djarin)

Cookies (Tim Rockford)

Reunions (The Thief - Casillero del Diablo)

Snowman (Dieter Bravo)

Wishes

Silence

Fireworks

[chaoticgeminate]

Year of Video Game AUs Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

[galaxyedging]

The Thief x f!reader.

New Year's Eve Drabbles

Warnings: kissing, alcohol consumption. Smut warning for follow on chapters.

New Years Eve was supposed to be magical. The precipice of a new year. A new year full of possibilities and potential. Personally you just liked the idea of underling the old year along with any negativity from it. You never tried to build up the year ahead too much, through fear of disappointment. You certainly didn't get your hopes up for a magical evening. Even in a mansion that screamed to be the set for a fantasy film. Yet here you were, feeling pretty damn magical as you let a stranger kiss you at midnight.

A few wrong turns making your way back from the bathroom had let you to him. He stood by a roaring fire, the shadows from it danced along his profile. It was strikingly handsome. His hair and beard added a softness to his strong profile. His dark brown eyes were captivating as you mumbled an apology. He'd waved it off and asked you did you believe in magic. His large hand shuffled a deck of cards as he did so. You thought he would ask you to choose one as you let out a tentative yes. In a blink the cards were gone replaced by a bottle of wine. A lot of people at the party may have been drunk, you weren't one of them. Instantly you tried to workout how he did that trick. The bottle was too large to fit up his sleeve. His full lips quirked up in a smirk. "That's only a small taste of the magic I have in store for you." As pick up lines went, it was pretty cheesy but somehow he made it work.

"Really?" You shot him an amused smirk.

"All you have to do is spin the bottle and I will fulfil some of your desires, the ones that burn under your skin while you are alone at night."

The room became warmer as you sat next to him on the luxurious sofa. Almost in a daze you placed your hand on the bottle that he had laid on the table in front of you. It span in the middle of the table, round and round, almost unnaturally. It seemed to go faster and faster until it reached an almost dizzying speed then it stopped. Unsurprisingly, it pointed to your magician. You had to give him points for style. The clock striking the hour made you throw caution to the wind. Your lips met his with a passion you had never felt before. You couldn't get enough of him. Your lips met his again and again.

He seemed similarly affect until he pulled himself away. "Not yet. Spin again."

This time when the bottle spun, there were objects on the table. Small statues, they reminded you of game pieces. A suit of amour. A cowboy hat. Sunglasses. Others you couldn't quite make out in the dark of the room. All detailed. All fashioned from metal. The bottle came to an abrupt stop again. Pointing to one of the tiny statues. A pair of crossed swords.