#Diablo AU

[eros-sinclair]

I started this a long ass time ago, but its finally finished now!

The Lords of Hell must assume mortal guises to infiltrate Sanctuary, why? To eat good food, drink wine, and be annoying of course! (This is a part of a Post!D4 AU of mine, which i will not explain right now it’d take too long)

Lemme know if ya’ll want more content with these designs, especially their shenanigans on sanctuary

[fluff-and-such]

Brothers, and a Sore Thumb ~~

Wanted to do something of Fluffy!Tyrael and Fluffy!Inarius interacting with each other. And CantankerRat somehow got mixed up in the fray.

If Rathma looks completely out of place here, good! He is actually drawn in a slightly different style than the other two, on account of being from a different Fic/Au/Thing

I am particularly pleased with how the damaged parts of Inarius's wings turned out

[gigabyte-flare]

The Necromancer

A Gigabyte Flare One Shot

Summary: Ash is a seasoned Demon Hunter that stumbles upon the village of Tristram to assist with an ongoing undead infestation. However, a recluse Necromancer hiding out in the nearby Cathedral has other plans...

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: necromancer!Sephiroth x OC/Self Insert

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Sex (p in v), dubcon (OC caves like instantly), oral (f and m receiving), breeding kink

A/N: This is actually an old fic I wrote back in 2021 starring Sephiroth in a Diablo AU that never got posted anywhere. It's an OC/self insert, I hadn't started writing x reader fics at that point. I hope you enjoy it anyway! I wanted to share it because I really like how this one is written!

I wandered into the Slaughtered Calf Inn half awake and starved from my journey to Tristram. The air stank of death; there were rumors a Necromancer had taken up residence in the bowels of the Tristram Cathedral and was tormenting the town with his experiments. I practically collapsed at the bar; the innkeeper approached and slid a pint of beer, some bread and cheese in front of me. I ripped off a piece of bread and ate it.

“Couldn’t have found a worse time to come, traveler. We’ve had a bit of a…” the innkeeper cleared his throat before continuing, “undead problem.”

“That’s why I’m here friend,” I said as I motion to the two hand crossbows strapped to my waist, “I’ve come to alleviate your Necromancer problem.”

“Ay, he showed up about three months ago, cursed thing,” the innkeeper growled as he wiped down the bar, “what are you, some kind of mercenary?”

I shook my head, “I’m a Demon Hunter; I specialize in the slaying of the undead.”

“You’ll want to talk to Leah, she has the key to the Cathedral gate,” the innkeeper said before calling out, “Leah! Someone has come to take care of the Necromancer!”

“Oh! That’s fantastic!” Leah rushed in and approached the bar, “you must be the Demon Hunter!”

“I am,” I hold out my hand to shake hers, “I would have gotten here sooner but there seems to be undead all over the place around here.”

“You can thank the Necromancer for that, that bastard,” Leah groaned as she sat beside me.

I took a sip out of the pint, “what happened when the Necromancer showed up?”

“He murdered my Uncle Deckard, slit his throat right open and then he was revived and turned into one of his puppets right before my eyes. I had just enough time to run out and lock the gate before the whole place was overrun with undead.”

I watched as tears welled up in Leah’s eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

Leah wiped her eyes, “I’m just glad you’re finally here so we can kill that monster.”

“You’re not going anywhere Leah, I’m going to the Cathedral alone.”

Leah looked over and glared at me. When she was met with my cold stare, she let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders, “I’ll take you to the Cathedral gate and unlock it.”

“Then you’ll come back here.”

“Yes. I’ll come back here.”

“Good, I’m going to retire to one of the rooms and rest up. Leah, would you mind bringing me to the gate tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, I’ll meet you there at sunrise.”

“Alright, see you in the morning then, Leah,” I say as I stand up from the bar and head into one of the rooms.

My sleep was restless; I couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching me from the shadows in the room. 

********

Sephiroth poured over the volumes of books that were kept deep in the bowels of the Tristram Cathedral. He had heard about Cain Deckard’s research on the lesser evils and decided to take the old man out in order to gain access to it. The fact that he now had his own large lair to do his experiments was a very nice perk. His jade, cat-like eyes scanned the pages of Deckard’s research, deeply engrossed in the writings. His silver hair, which went well past his knees, seemingly glowed in the low light of the candles in the room. Suddenly, he stood alert, his eyes wide, as if sensing something. His left hand wove in the air and clenched as he held Deckard’s research in his right hand. A pale blue light encompassed his left fist. The light glowed brighter as he stood there. He suddenly spread his fingers and his hand engulfed in a blue flame. 

A few minutes passed and a group of skeletons came into the room, dragging a woman into the room with them. She kicked and thrashed in an attempt to break free, but Sephiroth’s magic was much too powerful for her. Sephiroth slowly turned to the skeletons and the captive intruder. 

His jade eyes scanned her body up and down. Demon Hunter: he knew their kind, however he admittedly had never seen one so beautiful. She had haunting blue eyes, short brown hair that was styled asymmetrically to one side. 

She was thin, but muscular; he could tell she took good care of herself. His eyes lingered on her perky breasts, which bounced gently as she fought the restraint of his skeletal thralls. When his eyes finally met hers, her eyes were filled with hatred and death; he knew if his magic relented that her powerful hands would end up around his throat. He felt a warmth in his loins, something he didn’t think he could ever feel. 

He smirked at the woman, crossing his arms as he continued to watch her struggle.

“Did you seriously think you could just waltz in here and kill me?” Sephiroth asked, his voice cool but sinister.

She spat at him, “you fucking bastard, let me go!”

“I will not,” he purred as he approached her, standing within inches of her, “you intrigue me, Demon Hunter.”

“Are you going to kill me and turn me into one of your puppets?” the woman growled.

“I could do that,” his gaze lingered back to her breasts for a moment before he looked back into her hate filled eyes, “but you’ll be much more entertaining to me alive.”

The hate in her eyes suddenly yielded to fear and she started to struggle more violently, as if sensing what was going to happen to her. Watching her be consumed by fear excited him, he could feel it in his leather trousers. Dropping his arms to his sides before bringing up his left arm, he spreads his fingers on his left hand again, now glowing with a pale blue aura.

“Keep her perfectly still,” he commanded.

The skeletons tightened their grip on the captive girl, holding her still by her arms, torso and legs. Leaning in, Sephiroth takes in her scent by sniffing ever so subtly. She smelled sweet, almost like a wildflower, he wondered why. He felt his cock pulse at her scent, making the confines of his trousers increasingly uncomfortable. 

As if his right hand had a mind of its own, he suddenly grasped one of her breasts. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he was surprised by how soft and supple it was. He then grasped her other breast with his other hand even though it was still pulsing with power. The woman let out a soft whimper as she attempted to squirm, but the skeletons’ iron grip kept her in place. 

Sephiroth’s hands slid from her breasts, down the sides of her body and came to a rest on her hips. He didn’t understand what exactly he was feeling, as he never experienced anything like this. His left hand groped at her toned backside as his right gently grasped her chin and tilted her head back. His lips suddenly met hers and he kissed her gingerly. He could feel her tremble in his grasp as he kissed her. He released her from his grasp, brought his left hand up into a fist as his hand burst into blue flame.

“Bring her to the bedroom and place her onto the bed.”

The skeletons carried her into an adjacent bedroom, Sephiroth followed close behind. He watched as the skeleton thralls gently placed her onto his bed, it pleased him that she didn’t attempt to flee. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the thralls and they left the room. He closed the door as they left. He watched her intently as she lay on the bed, her legs spread wide as she propped herself up by her elbows. He began to unbutton his loose gray tunic, revealing his pale, but very well toned chest and abdomen. He pulled it off and tossed it aside before approaching the bed.

“Tell me Demon Hunter,” he began as he climbed onto the bed, crawling between her spread legs, “what is your name?”

“It’s… it’s Ash.”

“Ash… the remnants of a flame,” he said as he began to undo her trousers.

He slowly pulled them off, taking care to also remove her boots as well and he pushed them onto the floor. They fall with a loud thud. He gazed in awe at what he saw; Ash’s legs remained spread, her vagina fully exposed to him. It was oozing with juices and she smelled absolutely divine, inviting even. His cock was begging to be released but he wanted to savor her before indulging himself. 

“What is your name…?” Ash suddenly asked with a slight whimper.

“I am called Sephiroth,” he replied as he approached her very aroused entrance, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance my beautiful phoenix.”

Closing his eyes, he once again inhaled her natural scent. He felt chills throughout his body, almost as if he was getting high off her.

She’s in heat, he realized as he once again gazed upon her beautiful entrance, if I mate with her now, she will likely be impregnated from my seed.

This realization excited him; a devious smirk crossed his lips before his tongue caressed her clit. He felt her flinch in response; his tongue caressed it a few more times before his lips latched onto it, suckling her. He felt her heels dig into the bed and her fingers grip onto the sheets. After a few moments she moaned his name as one of her hands gripped the back of his head. His lips moved from her clit to the lips of her soaked pussy and he lapped up her juices. The taste of her was indescribable. His tongue slipped inside her and stroked her inner walls, making her squirm even more. As he indulged himself on her, he could hear her pull her tunic off and toss it across the room. Removing his mouth from her entrance, he gazed upon her now naked chest.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and perky, her nipples were erect from arousal. He looked into her blue eyes, now filled with lust. He climbed on top of her, placing a gentle kiss on one of her breasts, his lips cupping the erect nipple perfectly. Meanwhile, his deft fingers stroked her pussy before pushing two of them inside her. Moving his fingers in a come hither motion, she squirmed beneath him as he began to suckle her breast. He suddenly pushed a third finger inside her, causing Ash to let out a rather loud moan. His cock pulsed in his trousers, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled his fingers out of her, now soaked in her juices. He licked his fingers clean as he gazed upon her naked body.

“Ash, allow me to ignite your flame,” Sephiroth said in a lust filled growl as he undid his own trousers.

His member, now free from its leather prison, stood erect and ready. Ash let out an audible gasp as she gazed upon it. It was easily 10 inches in length. Now nude himself, he stood on his knees over her, slowly stroking himself as he gazed upon her form. Ash suddenly sat up, approaching his member, wrapping her mouth around it. He gasped as her head bobbed up and down on his shaft. Sephiroth growled as he tilted his head back. His fingers ran through her hair as she sucked his cock. His hips instinctively thrusted into her mouth, which she didn’t seem to mind thankfully.

“Oh Ash, my queen,” he moaned as he gripped the back of her head as he continued to thrust into her.

Ash, suddenly taking her mouth off him, laid back down onto the bed, spreading her legs wide open.

“Come, my king,” she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes pleading, “take what is rightfully yours.”

Without saying a word, Sephiroth climbed back on top of her, pinning her to his bed. One hand grasped his member as he led it to her eager pussy. When he felt himself in position, he thrusted into her hard and fast. Ash screamed, her fingers digging into his back as he pounded into her. Animalistic instincts took over his thoughts, all he could think about was breeding her. As if reading his thoughts, she angled her hips in such a way that he could thrust deeper into her body. Gazing down at her, his hands once again grasped her breasts as his lips locked onto hers. She moaned his name into their kiss as her legs wrapped around his waist, as if to beckon him to release inside her. He could feel his climax approaching as he fucked her relentlessly.

Ash suddenly began to violently tremble as she let out a loud, lust filled moan and in that moment, Sephiroth felt a burning heat release from inside him as he pushed inside her as hard as he could. His cock pulsed inside her, pumping his seed deep into the depths of her womb. Her legs tightened their grip around his waist, forcing him deep into her. After a few moments, he began to thrust into her again before another wave of ecstasy consumed him and more of his seed spilled into her body. He watches as her eyes roll into the back of her head, however, he does not relent. It was going to be a very, very long night.

[xalaeth]

I also apparently didn’t post this…

But Diablo and Imperius in their mortal guises of Jareth and Korzith after they actually confessed they loved each other. This was after a massive fight and Korzith saved Jareth from being attacked.

Jareth went through them stages of grief xD he didn’t want to believe he loved him, he SWORE he would never, then he accepted it, it was waaaaay to hard to deny 😭

If anyone is interested in the story behind it:

[fluff-writing]

skin for Inarius in humie lilith au!

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

That is a complicated question, with and even trickier answer. How fun!

When it comes to self-image, Inarius hates himself. But he's fine with that.

See, Inarius believes he is currently the weakest, monstrous, most horrible version of himself. He thinks he is a monster. Just not necessarily for the reasons everyone else might.

Your average morally-good person might look at the father of humanity who enslaved his own children, and rightfully think he's something to avoid. Your average morally-questionable angel would look at Inarius and see nothing short of an abomination. Your average demon probably isn't impressed - this thing isn't an angel, and definitely isn't a demon, so it may as well be a waste of space.

Inarius is fine with that. Really, he is. There's a grand total of two people whose opinions he cares about in this world, and Lilith thinks he's pretty alright, while Rathma...well. Rathma hates him. But Rathma always hated him, so that's okay too. Par for the course really.

But on some level, Inarius knows he's a broken angel. He knows he will never again be a whole, unmarred, pure being of light again. His essence is too tainted, his mind is too twisted. He has indulged in sin for too long, too much, to even be his purest self again. Heaven will never want him back.

Once, Inarius would have slaughtered anyone and everyone around him to get a chance at having his own divinity back.

These days, he's content to just...be, on Sanctuary. He's alive, and he isn't being tortured anymore. So in that perspective, he's perfectly okay.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

I gotta ask - did u give D4 Mal-insert black hair as a nod to Lore Things? ~🐟

It's a nod to where his character would start again, predominately. When I was doing character creation I was thinking a lot about why Mal would be there, beyond me just wanting to have fun walking around a necro that looks like him.

Because Sanctuary in D4 is understandably very different from the Sanctuary Mal is from. I genuinely like the setting and appreciate why some things were retconned from D3 -- notably the damage Malthael actually did in the world.

Mal fucked up pretty bad, where he's from. Him and the reapers flattened Westmarch. They did notable damage in other major cities, and had the Nephalem not stopped them, they would have proceeded to walk over every other mortal on the planet. But the majority of his forces were in Westmarch, because that is where the Nephalem began to oppose him, so that's where more of the reapers went.

It's pretty clear at the end of D3 that Malthael didn't do any sort of world-level devastation to Sanctuary. But in D4, we've been told by the developers that 90% of the world's population has died since D3 50 years prior, predominately killed off by the reapers.

It's no wonder Sanctuary is so rough. The entire world has been trying to survive and rebuild while being assaulted by anything threatening left. Toss in Lilith and Inarius' forces to the mix, and it's a (not legit) miracle anyone is alive.

What would bring Mal there? Mal ends up back on Sanctuary in all my stories because the sound of mortals is louder than the Arch. (The Arch has been corrupted and is failing, after all, whether it's obvious how bad at the time or not.) Particularly, he hears the sound of mortals trying so desperately to live and survive, just like he wants to do. There's a large amount of them .... near Westmarch, where the survivors of his attack settled.

You see how this happened, there?

Who knows the state of the Arch in D4. Would he hear it? Would he even exist to hear mortals? One thing remains common though, between the two worlds, and that there's no shortage of people trying to live.

I'm not sure where he wakes up in Sanctuary, exactly. Or how long he wanders. But it's not the Mal we know. This is Malthael. Possibly sane, possibly not. And he is surrounded by the breathtaking scope of just how badly he's ruined this world.

And that's how we start back right at the beginning. Black hair with flecks of growing silver, as he gradually is dragged back into the Eternal Conflict whether he wants it or not.

This is not a happy story. There's no Nephalem cultural capital, no explosive growth from darkness. No librarian.

But it would still be a very Diablo story, because at its heart, D4 is about what mortals do to survive. They're all heroes in their own story. Broken, dirty, caked in blood, but alive in spite of everything's attempts to write their epilogue.

[dangergrandpa]

Finally said fuck it and put this chapter up. Enjoy the fluffy birthday chapter where Malthael absolutely doesn't get taken out by feels partway through :3

[heavenlycorespondant]

A delicately penned message drops into Gabriel's askbox.

"I have noticed your curiosity about my having children, librarian. Should you like to ask further questions, I am open to meeting and/or speaking about it."

((It's from a Mumth!))

- @dangergrandpa

Gabriel raised her eyebrows, looking at the message. Almost immediately she took a quill and sheet of paper, with the intention to answer. "I was rather confused. The Lord Malthael I knew before, wasn't the type of person interested in having a family at all. And he still remains dead, from what I know so far. I will be pleased to meet with you. Will a Westmarch's bar be right? PS. I am a historian, not a librarian."

[hidden-heavens]

Saw a brilliant post that suggested mermaids have poison sacs instead of breasts and by that logic

Merthael should have the biggest tits out of the archangels considering that he's venomous as heck

[tarjapearce]

El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt. 4)

Mafia Boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of blood, panic attacks, shock, emotional distress, injuries, shooting, smut, Oral (F! Receiving), sexual comfort as a stress relief, mild angst and fluff, sexual tension, no use of Y/N, No proofread, mild mutual pining, relationship talk.

Summary: El Diablo knows how to comfort you.

Previous

Everything had happened in such a slow motion, your brain had barely the time to process and digest it.

The shots kept echoing, destroying everything in their wake and then a strong hand pulled you down behind the sturdy and flipped oak table. You could see Miguel's countenance turning sharper, angrier and meaner.

"The fuck you think you're doing?!" The underlying panick in his voice had him shaking you briefly, "Get down!"

He nearly roared as a new wave of bullets came your way, some finished the job of killing the people that only pretended to be dead in order to save themselves, others turned into tiny shards and splinters the many decoration scattered around. Yet Miguel pulled you to his chest, forcing your head to duck down last second before a new array of bullets could reach the top of your skull. Protecting you with his frame.

He alternated between ducking and shooting, striking down two of the assailants. With every pull of the trigger he did, a shot was carefully delivered with the sole purpose of killing. He didn't hold back, his life and yours were under risk. It was either them succeeding and he dying, or he shooting his way out and make a chance at living. He'd always chose the latter.

Bullets ricocheted on both sides, the loss on each teams remained even, but even in the amidst of all, he felt you clinging to him; trembling, and staining his thousand dollar shirt with your makeup. Terrified beyond reason.

How could you not? You didn't know if you'd make it out alive and a shooting wasn't in your list of things you'd love to participate in your life. Not when the shooting kept bringing men down, destroying little by little the shelter you were dragged to, and adding more weight to your frightened self.

The woman, Olivia Octavius laid on the floor, fumbling with her hands as she tried to bandage herself her injured foot. She was dragged to safety by Kraven as she cursed and hissed. A bullet had nicked her skin.

"It's only five of'em left!" Olivia mumbled with a twisted and proud smile, "Took two out."

A lurid splatter echoed in the room as a gunshot tore through, overlapping the constant shots, making them and pained groans a background noise. Then another and another.

You heard Kraven, laughing like a mad man as he used his gunshot, to anyone that had been a fool enough to come closer.

Jessica had been shooting and hiding behind a pillar, wiping out the room or anyone that came dangerously close to Miguel.

"Goddammit Peter, hurry the fuck up!" She grumbled through her radio while ending another life.

"On your left!" Jessica warned and Miguel pulled the trigger again, finishing another man.

The last man standing was taken out by Kraven. And silence fell with such heaviness you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.

"Upper hall is cleared, they're everywhere!" Peter announced through the static radio.

"Car's on the way boss!" Jessica warned and soon she came out from her hiding, to make sure the place was cleared.

The pungent smell of blood and gunpowder in the air overwhelmed your senses. Your body had been in such a deep state of shock that it barely registered when Miguel pulled you up with him and took you out of the room, your heels clicked and squished hastily on the murky surface.

You wished to blink, but your body had been sinking deeper and deeper into this catatonic state that it wasn't possible for you to do things without someone's guidance. And none else but El Diablo walked through the dead, leading you out of that haunting scene.

You were sure the blood had seeped in your feet, as it drowned the once golden floor. The was no meeting, no more men and women playing games as they confessed their doings to eachother. No more laughing and scheming. No more wicked smiles

Just silence and death, left and right, with floors bathed in blood and other things you didn't want to know in the slightest. Yet the man before you seemed at ease, holding your hand with enough force to keep you close and ebb you to move, cause you couldn't. Mind in automatic pilot since a long while ago.

Too rattled and shook to the core to even have a panic attack, despite your heart mimicking the speed of a hummingbird as you hid again once you reached the upper stairs. The twisted perception of freedom came closer, right in the tip of your fingers. Or Miguel's.

His gaze turned concerned once his red eyes fell on you.

"Hey" His hand examined your face. If it wasn't for your shaky breathing, he certainly think you'd be giving him the Thousand yards look. Some bits of your dress were stained in someone else's blood and gunk. Same for your feet, and quivering hands.

He frowned but the steps approaching alerted him.

"Listen to me." He instructed with an usually gentle tinge in his voice, "If I tell you to run, you run and don't look back. Got it?"

He was speaking but his words weren't registering in your head and a frustrated sigh escaped his lips, but he didn't say anything else. Too focused on getting out to properly pay attention to the lack of responsiveness from your end.

A sharp breath caught in Miguel's throat as the shadow of a man loomed over. Once again, your brain slowed down in registering when Miguel let your hand go and grabbed the armored man by the collar of his shirt, and shot him under the jaw.

"Move it!" He grumbled while taking your hand again and quickened his pace, you nearly tripped once you reached a corner. Never in your life you've felt a hall so long and never ending. But it finally rang in your brain, Miguel wasn't reaching the front where you had come from originally. He was making his way somewhere else, hence the many turns and stairs.

A sharp pain in your ankle finally managed to pull your terror hazed brain out of the stupor, for enough time to make your steps wobbly and fall behind as you reached the hall, leading to an exit door. Freedom a few inches ago.

Miguel growled at your apparent stupidity and reluctance, but seeing you on the floor, with a pained expression made his heart leap to his throat and he quickly rushed back to you.

"Hija de tu chingada madre..." He rubbed his face angrily to then take a quick look on your hands, following your movements. Your ankle, it bled, "Mira las pendejadas que me haces hacer." He grumbled while opening the door first. (look at the shit you make me do.)

Cause in truth, he would've left anyone behind, his life was too precious to waste over seasonal flings and his empire required his leadership as no other could match him. But he needed you alive. The reason of keeping you besides providing information about Massimo, still remained unclear even for him.

However the loud echoes of steps coming closer alerted him, and El Diablo quickly picked you up. His arms held you without trouble, like a forsaken and clad in golden bride and your hands once again clung to him, for dear life. 

Your mind swirled again with all these unpleasant and overwhelming sensations, that made you whimper as soon as a cold gust of wind blew on your face. Skin soaring alive with goosebumps, melting away ever slowly the terrifying numbness.

"Miguel!" Peter's voice called, relieved to see his friend in a piece as he opened the door of a less fancy and powerful looking car, Ben already on the wheel.

"I'll call as soon as we clear up this place."

"Be careful, cabrón. And Jessica is in the meeting room." Miguel warned to his left hand, as you looked away to your ankle.

Peter gave a concerned frown your way but his attention fell back to his boss.

"Don't worry. We still have it. Now go."

He mumbled while hitting the car's hood and Ben drove away.

---

Sometimes you underestimated the power a single man held over others. Massimo sure was a good example of it as he always had at his disposition many other people whenever he was in charge. But Miguel was a prime example of what power truly meant.

You were sure that if you looked up the meaning you'd find a picture of him. And it amazed and terrified you equally.

The bellboy at the hotel seemed unfazed, and their superiors only welcomed Miguel with a respectful and acknowledging nod. None asked questions, as they knew better, none dared to say a word even if the curious glances remained on you, after all, he still held you in his arms.

If it wasn't for terrified and vacant look in your face, people would assume El Diablo had finally gotten a lady. It had been years since he came accompanied to the hotel, and years since people saw him with someone so close to him in the open.

Once the door from the suite closed, Miguel took you to the bed. Panicked fingers clung to his suit and he tried to pry them away from him.

"I thought you didn't want me?" he chuckled. A poor attempt to make the heavy and almost too quiet aura that fell over both to dissipate. But the smile quickly faded as soon as his eyes detected the redness in your eyes increase, like their glossiness.

Shit

You hiccuped and he sighed imperceptibly.

"We're safe now. You can let go."

But his words only tightened your grip on him, wrinkling his expensive shirt and suit.

Miguel frowned when your breathing pattern changed for the worst. Your mouth exhaled shallow and hurried breaths, as if your lungs were into an override and the thousand thoughts per second were the ones that dictated the tempo your lungs moved.

"Hey, hey, Ratoncita" He mumbled half alarmed and annoyed as he held your shoulders.

He had seen his fair share of reactions towards a shooting. Crying, screaming, blaming others, and even a meltdown. But your catatonia towards the shooting was something he as a criminal and victim had never seen before.

You had gone completely off, rigid, frozen. Like if someone did a pause button on you and left. And when he pulled you down, he nearly winced at how static and abnormally stiff you turned. Your eyes said it all. Terrified and disconnected from everything.

And this you before him, were finally grasping the sudden events that happened so quickly your brain barely had the time to register and process it, resulting in an anxiety attack that had you crying and shaking.

He called your name but you shook your head. Mind too stuck in that room, full of dead people. Falling corpses and rivers of blood pooling at your feet. Crimson rivers that grew and grew at incredible speed, suffocating the space you breathed.

"No!" You cried and he pried your hands unusually gently away from the lapels of his suit and caged your erratic and quivering form in his arms, expecting your struggle as you wriggled and tried to tear way the embrace, suffocated and a total gorgeous nervous wreck.

"I could've..." You half sobbed, half choked. And for a second you didn't know which terrified you beyond wits the more.

Your mind playing dirty tricks, or the unexpected soothing motions his hands begun rubbing on your back, comforting a bit too intimate for both likings perhaps.

"Shhh." He shushed and laid your body on the bed.

He wasn't one for comforting, as it never came in his line of work, he'd usually send money as a help to the families of his dead men, but beyond that, they'd be lucky to get an "I'm sorry" their way from him.

Miguel would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge your lack of response as atypical. But of course, he couldn't blame you either. This wasn't your lifestyle, nor the people you used to mingle with.

You had witnessed an array of criminal lords confessing their crimes, people getting murdered and other horrors in matter of minutes. It was only fair he gave your brain a bit of a break in the only way he knew, before you interrogated him.

"Close your eyes."

You shook your head and he sighed, to then hover over you. His eyes examining yours. A mix of a concerned frown and a scowl on his sharp face.

"Relax, you're safe now," He mumbled as his thumb dabbed the emerging tears away before dipping his head on your neck and deliver a soft kiss on your trembling skin.

You shuddered as he planted another, and another as a trail of them soon adorned your neck. One of his calloused hands rubbed up and down your arm, inflicting warmth in it.

"I-I Cant. I can't-" you mumbled between nervous stutters and his hands rubbed your shoulders.

"You can, preciosa. Focus on my voice, ok?"

His voice soft, a tone you've never heard from him before in the time you've been knowing him. And for it to come like this only increased your suspicions on him.

"You're - " An exhale left your mouth as he palmed your breast over the sequined and stained dress and kissed your cleavage with feathery touches.

A little smile peeked over his lips while his hands slid down your belly, waist and hips, caressing almost in adoration, as if paying attention for once at the minimal movements your skin did.

His red eyes studied you with clinical patience, and when his hands reached underneath your dress, he licked his lips at the sight of your chest falling and rising at his ministrations.

The fearful and erratic breaths slowly melted into soft yet coy pleasurable whimpers the more his hands explored your body.

Big palms squeezed your mounds softly, the tingling feeling of the dress' tickled his hand. His mouth ran up again your neck and his fingers slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and arms, exposing your hardening nipples to him.

He might be a basic man sometimes to let his physical needs to win over his reasoning, but the way your skin reacted to him, couldn't be simply overlooked. This time he paid attention to everything.

And when his tongue rolled and curled around your nub, his pupils went wide blown at the way your mouth parted to let out a moan. Whatever he was doing, it was working.

The dress left your body, and the more skin he undressed, the more skin he needed to taste. Your flavor remained engraved in his brain that very first time he took a taste. And now everything that separated his tongue from your skin was that stupid yet pretty cotton lace thong.

With a new experiment on mind, he pried your thighs open. Hands left you for a minute to pull his ever trusting pocket knife and slice the sides of the flimsy piece of clothing. The soft pull snapped your head towards him and he massaged your inner thighs in return.

"You'll relax soon, muñeca." He nodded with half lidded eyes while he pulled the fabric covering your trembling cunt, and when your flesh was revealed, he had to swallow the excess of saliva pooling inside.

Smooth folds shivered at the sudden exposition, the small patch of hair, dressing your pubic mount was the cherry ontop while he parted open your folds.

You were about to close your legs but his face buried between your supple thighs to finally let his tongue to taste you.

By instinct your hands grope the sheets with a choked mewl and his hands grabbed tighter the fat of your thighs, positioning them ontop of his shoulders, ignoring the hissing pain from your injured ankle. And he ate.

He smirked as your spine arched and your hips pressed against his moving tongue. And by God, you felt every ounce of anxiety leaving your body with every lick and slurp he did.

You had to gulp down another moan as he hauled your hips up, One thigh on his shoulder as the injured one dangled carefully in his forearm, allowing you a perfect view of what his mouth could do.

He not only spilled threats and orders, but gobbled every bit of your skin like if an eating contest had ensued and he was fighting for a first place.

His tongue twirled your clit with such expertise your eyes couldn't keep up with his swift moves, and oh the deliciously obscene noises he made. Messy, wet and slurping your pussy like if he was coaxing your soul out to devour it too.

The tip of his nose rubbed against your own happy trail, you could feel him breathing through his nose, inhaling your sweet smell, and when he moaned...

Fuck.

Your toes curled again as your mouth gaped in the sluttiest of Oh's, gifting him with the sweetest of lewd cries and you swore he smiled while squeezing you closer to his mouth. Devouring you like a starving and angry dog. He growled, sending the reverberations of his chest through your body, like a spark igniting a much more dangerous fire, alive.

He pushed your hips forward, bending you slightly, making a show of how his tongue sunk in that snug drenched hole he had been in plenty of times, wriggling and fucking at a peace that only matched his fingers back in the dressing room.

He groaned and panted, allowing himself to breath for a moment before spreading your folds wider, admiring the wetness drooling and connecting to his chin and lips.

You'd never admit that no man had ever ate you like that. Hell, Massimo sometimes ate you but never lasted more than a couple of minutes before he started to complain about his jaw hurting. But El Diablo  had a sinful tongue in all sense of the word.

"You have the prettiest and tastiest pussy I've ever eaten, muñeca." He hummed in approval as his fingers rubbed gently that little bundle of nerves, stretching and toying with your cunt.

His fingers prodded inside and then he slurped them clean, loving the way your taste invaded his mouth.

"Does it feels good, hmm?"

You nodded vehemently, anxiety long gone, and he made you watch once again as he gave you a tortuous and slow drag of the tip of his tongue all over your clit. Then he dribbled it around your engorged nub, alternating between powerful sucks.

"Use your words, Ratoncita. You want me to stop?"

You whined a frustrated and angry no. And he smirked, you were oh so close and he knew it by the way your walls pulsed against his wet muscle. He had succeeded in tearing each bit of fear out of you, while giving you a different thing to focus on. Pulling the sweetest and neediest moans out of you, inching you closer and closer to nirvana itself.

"Want me to-" He didn't get to finish as you pulled his head right in that spot that had your eyes rolling, your spine arching and hips stuttering. And just when you thought you had reached heaven, he made a toe curling suckling noise that made you experience the whole meaning of la petit mort.

"Miguel!" His skin shuddered at the way his name rolled over and over out of your swollen, flushed and gaping mouth. Breathlessly and mind bogglingly addictive, like your taste, like the feeling of your skin against his, like the bickering you often held. It fueled him.

His eyes fell, heavy with the hazy sensation of you cumming in his mouth. His tongue deliciously trapped and squeezed by your spasming and milking walls. His lips, cheeks and chin soaked up in you; hot breath panting on your quivering hole and his hands held you, like those gorgeous paintings of renaissance. The corruption of an angel would surely be the title.

Your heart pounded through your chest, throat and ears, each of your pores sung in delight. A little whimper escaped your mouth as he laid your overheated body down, back to earth and the silky sheets of the bed.

His hands rested on each side of your waist as his thumbs rubbed in lazy circles on the curvature of your stomach. Yet he froze when your hands brushed against his in such a gentle caress, that a shudder ran down his spine.

He could give different meanings to that sudden caress.

Loneliness, need, tiredness, the need of having someone close as the fear had returned, or the need of intimacy after such thing, something only couples did. Or so he believed.

With a heavy exhale, he removed his hands off your body. Mind quaked for a brief of second as his eyes remained glued to your searching hands, trying to reach for him.

But his task was completed. You no longer were all panicky and he could take a proper look at your ankle.

"Don't move." He instructed.

But how could you? Not that you had the energies for it either. In fact, your eyes drooped, trying to remain awake after such a hormone altering night. Every single emotion known to man, was felt tonight. The last thing you heard, was his steps disappearing further into the room before you fell off to sleep.

-----

Your eyes fluttered open, and soon they took in your current milieu. Silky sheets, a big empty bed occupied by none else but a naked you.

As soon as you removed the sheets to stand up, your gaze fell upon the bandaged ankle. Carefully patched up.

Standing didn't hurt as much as it did when you came to the suit. In fact, the smell of a familiar painkiller lingered in the air.

Your fingers reached for the sheets and covered your body with them. There wasn't those flaky and dried blood stains on it, the dress was tossed somewhere in the room, but something, rather, someone was missing.

Where is he?

Securing the sheets around you, you left the bedroom and headed for the mini lobby in the suite. The place was unusually quiet and still. Had he left?

Where did he go?

Your eyes didn't need to look up further.

Sprawled on the couch, was Miguel. Laid on the cushioned surface with an arm draped over his face. Mouth slightly ajar, relaxed despite him being larger than the couch.

He seemed at ease, truly sleeping for once. Not that you blamed him, the hint of eye bags sagging under his pretty eyes spoke for him most of the times. And for him to fall asleep anywhere but the bed said enough of his poor sleeping habits.

Run away.

The sudden thought made you blink. Intrusive and reckless as it was your brain kept going.

It's your perfect chance!

And in truth, it was. Miguel was sleeping, the hotel was probably full of people that would put you to safety, and you could finally get to your parents or the police.

Logic took control of you, and guided your steps towards that piece of wood and metal that prevented you from your freedom. Or was it the man behind you, sleeping? You didn't know. But the door was cold to touch, and the locks around it even colder.

A little too late you felt the ominous presence behind you, slamming a strong hand on the door, startling you.

"No te puedo dejar sola ni un pinche momento..." (I can't really leave you on your own for a moment)

Angry and scowling red eyes glared your way. It was impossible for Miguel to not corner you with his size, intentionally or not, you were now trapped between him and the sturdy door that barely budged  your way.

"Escaping, really?! Mira que si eres mensa, te andan buscando y te quieres largar-" (You're so dumb, you're a target and you wanna leave-)

His mouth sputtered spanglish, while his hands pulled you by your waist away from the door, yet he kept you next to him, staring at you.

Why?

"You forgot to put the locks on."

That phrase alone and your sweet, honest voice stopped his train of thought.

"What?" As if baffled for his own stupidity and the initial confusion of you actually not attempting to escape, he blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. And matter-of-fact he forgot to lock up the door.

With dexterous fingers he secured the door, in the meantime you limped your way towards the couch. Pressing your injured foot still made you uncomfortable enough to not force it completely.

The sound of the door rattling a bit and the locks turning soon stopped and your skin crawled as if recognizing being watched. Yet you sat on the couch, examining your foot.

"Why didn't you escape?" His voice packed with disbelief and confusion.

"Well, I wanna live longer and even if I did escape, this injury wouldn't take me far. So it's pointless."

Miguel didn't know if to be proud or relieved for your way of thinking, your adapting skills were surely something else. Now that your brain was calm, it was time to speak truths.

"Do you know who those mens were?"

He stepped closer and sat next to you in the reduced couch, staring at the bandages of your smooth skin.

"Kingpin sent them. Now you understand why I need to find your husband."

The tittle left a gagging feeling in his tongue and you sighed, while turning to face him.

"You say it like I truly know where Massimo is."

"You must know something, Ratoncita. Anything you can recall is useful."

"You'll kill him, won't you?"

The silence fell for a brief couple of seconds and he rubbed his face.

"Why... Why do you care so much for him when he's done nothing but hurting you?"

Your eyes rolled and your head shook.

"It's not that."

"You must be either too stupid or... too attached to still care for someone like that."

Your eyes looked away, but with a breath you gathered all the courage to stand against his low-key judging stare.

"I don't love him, okay? Not when he has... done all of this" Your hands gestured and he tilted his head.

"Why are you so concerned then? If anything I'd be doing you a Kingpin a favor."

"Cause!" You sighed, and rethought your words again, "Cause despite it all, getting rid of someone you've spent a good chunk of your life is not easy. Whatever is left... It doesn't go overnight like you or everyone makes it think."

His lips pursed softly and when he tried to rest his arms in the couch a sharp shot of pain coursed through his right arm.

"Shit." He grumbled and frowned when his fingers traced the soiled fabric of his suit. His muscles went rigid once more as soon as your fingers stroked the jagged hole in the fabric, clinical eyes raked over the darkened patch of dry blood.

"Go get the first aid kit."

"It's nothing, I can do that-"

"Go get it. It'll get infected."

A small chuckle crept up his lips as you bossed him around and he obeyed, disappearing for a moment to then return with what you asked.

"Let me see that." You instructed as you opened the kit, pulling out alcohol, gauzes and a sterile solution while he removed his suit and shirt. The latter with a little hiss.

To his little surprise, the shirt had stuck to his marred muscle. It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't that serious either for him. Nothing that he had seen already, but he let you indulge your curiosity.

"I'll clean it up, and then patch you up."

"I'm more than capable of doing so myself. "

"Yeah, no. Capable does not equals to being actually qualified for it." You had to stifle a laugh at his not so subtle pout.

"Oh and you are?"

"Well, yeah, butthurt. I'm a nurse actually."

Before he could speak, he hissed and glared at your moving hands. You doused the injury in the sterile solution and wiped it off with a gauze, then dabbed alcohol in another and cleaned up his wound.

"Well look at that. I thought you were a trophy wife."

It was your turn to pout, and you pressed his wound, earning a pained yelp.

"Ya! Ya estuvo. Perdón." He grumbled and you huffed. (Ok, ok, Sorry.)

"Idiot. Relax. I'm cleaning you properly cause people tend to underestimate bullet grazes. Had a lot of them back in ER." You dabbed another clean gauze on him and sighed, "But... I guess quitting the job to be a housewife, but husband is never home yet you still gotta keep up the place and look pretty, sure turns anyone into a trophy wife."

Miguel let your words sink in properly before he spoke again. "Why did you quit your job?"

"They paid shit and Massimo promised to handle everything. We had a lot of fights regarding our works and the lack of apparent love. So, I quitted. He wanted to be the provider."

Miguel just watched you moving, feathery touches hovered over his skin. You were careful and gentle, unlike the pissed off attitude doctors that always patched him up. A reason why he learned to do it himself.

"You know I have to kill him, right?." He mumbled and you stopped for a moment.

Your jaw tensed but with a couple of blinks, the underlying discomfit vanished. Curiosity instead came over.

"Why? Why not simply catch him and bring him to the police?

He rolled your eyes at your constant questioning and your borderline innocent sense of justice.

"Preciosa... A man like your husband is a parasite. Men like him hurt for the sake of proving their egos are bigger than their dicks. He leeches off from people's need. He's beyond salvation and the police would release him a couple of hours later."

"I know, but-"

He groaned, completely vexed, "There is no buts in here! You simply don't cross dangerous people and expect to come out unscathed. It is how it is in this world! He dragged you to this whole mess, yet you-"

Miguel tightened his hands into fists but quickly released them over his knees, nostrils flared angrily, "You still care. When you obviously shouldn't. Why? Help me understand that, please."

"Cause, he's everything I've known so far. And I know I have no excuse to make up for him, but... I guess I truly wanted to believe he was a good guy." You mumbled with a tired and almost lost look, "And as much as I'd love to shoot him for lying, I couldn't be at ease knowing I'd become the same filth as he is, if I do."

"So you simply forgive him like that? Puras mamadas." He shook his head, irked. (That's pure bullshit)

"No. What I'm trying to say is that I do hate him for what he did. He lied to me. You... You never fully recover from something like that, and it's worse when you fucking vowed honesty at the altar." Your voice cracked and a shaky breath escaped your lips as you bandaged him. You had to swallow the upcoming wave of nostalgia to steady your voice and thoughts again.

"But that doesn't mean I wish him death. He's simply not worth it. And sometimes It's better to let people's own shit to drown them." You applied some antiseptic through the graze, already bursting with bruises.

"So following that logic, you just let him do whatever he wants until someone gives him what he deserves? Thats... stupid. "

"Stupid maybe, but at least I sleep as good as I can knowing there's not blood in my hands. I mean, just cause I hate someone means I want them dead."

"You want me dead?"

The question threw you off guard, and still you shook your head. "No. You've been awful, sure. But I don't want you dead."

"So that means you hate me."

Your face and it's exasperated gesture amused him.

"I don't. Despite the bad shit you've done. Like... Why choosing this? You could always start again, somewhere else. Or change your name, I don't know!"

Miguel laughed, a bit too bitter for his own taste at your foolish hope, "Ratoncita hermosa... There is no way out of this. And if there is, you know what is like."

The lump in your throat rolled down and you breathed, defeated as your touch secured his wound. His hands scrolled down his phone upon the trinket buzzing away and his brows puckered for a minute while he read the message Peter had sent. Then tossed the device on the table.

"I always wanted to have a little property in Italy or... Ireland. I loved their rural areas."

He stared your way for a minute and looked at your hands, picking up the used things and putting them away in a bag, "What happened?"

"I got married."

He tittered and you followed with a soft shake of your head, amused at your own misfortune.

"In fact, don't get married. It's too painful."

"Noted." Miguel nodded and looked at your finger, wrapped in the golden band. "You'll keep that?" His long fingers brushed your smaller ones, examining the trinket with attention. A pretty yet simple ring. Like the pretense of your marriage.

"Yeah, it could come in handy in an emergency. I could need money, so..."

His touch lingered for a little longer and your eyes remained on him.

"You're quite optimistic despite having a crime lord tailing after you."

"You truly know how to sour a moment. Don't remind me."

"Someone's gotta be realistic here." He shrugged.

You sighed and scooted closer, the space shortening between you made his his mouth swallow.

"You think we can make it through?"

His brow quirked, confused than ever, "We?"

"Well, yeah, you're a target, I'm also a target now... And you got me under your roof, you protect me and... Long story short that makes me your problem now."

Miguel's regarded you with a quizzical look, unsure of what feeling to put on his face.

"I don't know." It wasn't a truth, nor a complete lie. He truly didn't know if he'd live another day, and this current talk poked at those thoughts he often pushed in the back of his train of thought.

Was there an easy way? Of course not. The fear or not making it to tomorrow had been rooted deeply to the point of just letting it sink and grow used to.

Death was a possibility yet something he often contemplated, but his mind always found it too dark and too soon to think about it. He had his own projects and it would be a terrible inconvenience for him to not see them concluded.

"I hope so. I... Guess you're not that bad after all."

"Thanks? You're not that annoying either."

"So... what happens now?" Your thigh escaped the confinements of the silky sheets that covered your body and his eyes trailed briefly towards it, before returning his gaze on your gorgeous and pouty face.

"We remain hidden. It's too soon to go back to my place, so you better behave. And I mean it. If I tell you to-"

"I get it. I must obey without questioning."

"Or interrupting." He tipped your mouth carefully, "Just do as you're told and your chances to go to Italy will be greater."

"Can I ask you something?"

"You're already are, preciosa." He smirked and stood, his neverending back facing you, littered with faint scars and scratches and he stretched.

"Wha- Ugh. No, like an actual petition."

"And what could you possibly want now?"

"I just... wanna know if my parents are alright, It's been a while since I heard from them."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Miguel?"

He turned around and watched you with his usual stare.

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

He nodded and went to the bedroom for a shower, thankfully you turned around in time to not see the smile that crept up his lips.

----

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[thesupernaturalhouse]

Vaggie: Alastor can you watch the eggs their being....eggs and I have to- just take them off my hands

Alastor: ooo i certainly will....

Vaggie:.....in a peaceful manner. Alastor.

Alastor: mmm well that's less fun, also why should I watch them?

Vaggie: well you're going to some meeting and I have to help charlie-

Alastor: didn't she excuse you from your duties for today?

Vaggie:...why would she- why would I ask for that??

Alastor: why, you have to come to this meeting to my dear!

Vaggie: no I dont?? It's an overlord meeting I'm not an overlord-

Alastor: but you are!

Vaggie: if anything charlie should probably be going with you rather then me- what what??

Alastor: I'll explain on the way! *just fucking leaves*

Vaggie: wha- alastor! Alastor I swear to the lord you better explain!

Alastor: hmmm, well you're an overlord my dear I don't think there's anything else TO explain

Vaggie: right...but I'm NOT an overlord??

Alastor: I beg to differ, I knew there was something off about you but couldn't place it until Charlie said something

Vaggie: Charlie- what does- okay you know what? You're insane. I'm going to go talk to Charlie myself!

Alastor grabs her shirt collar like a kitten: ah-ah-ah you have a meeting to attend my dear! It's be bad manners if you skipped it, whoch I suppose you've been skipping them for the past 5 or so years?

Vaggie: No, I haven't! and let go of my you asshole!

Alastor: hmmm no I don't think I will~ come on now! We're already half way there!

Vaggie: ugh, at least tell me how you and xharlie think I'm an overlord- which I'm NOT by the way!

Alastor: well...do you remember that sinner you saved? The one you had a slat with and ended uo teaching self defense?

Vaggie: how do you-....ah, charlie- what does that have to do with anything??

Alastor radio noise of displeasure: well, APPARENTLY they told more demons, you DO remember the large influx of demons who came to you right?

Vaggie: I.....I um....yeah....

Alastor: well they said they owed you 'favors' correct?

Vaggie:....fuck.

Alastor: they gave you their souls until said favor is called upon! You not using it has apparently given you the reputation of a very lenient overlord, a defensive and protective one at that! So more people cane to you, you trianed them in defense and most gave you their souls so you could call upon them for a favor at a time of your choosing!

Vaggie: going through the 5 stages of grief trying to process it all

Alastor: On top of that, the other overlords seem to be threatened by the fact you have so many souls and demons going to you WILLINGLY, you not showing up to meetings and beong little morningstars girlfriend doesnt help that either!So this will be a fun first meeting~

Vaggie: no no no no no nope! Alastor, you let me go right this second! I am not- no! Alastor! Alastor!!!

Zestial: Alastor and...oh the defensive Overlord nice to meet you again nd to finally meet you

Vaggie: ¿¡Quién diablos es esta araña joder!? (Who the hell is this spider fuck!?)

Part 1 | Part 2(here!!) | Part 3

[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.

______

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My Masterlist!

[fluff-and-such]

Classically, Inarius doesn't show up without a reason. Reaper has taken off running and Inarius is in a total panic. Given the situation ( I assume Mal and Rat are on the edge of the attack ). Inarius tries to explain that he doesn't want to hurt them, but instead needs their help. He then explains what actually went wrong at his house. The question is how the boys will react.

P.S.: what are the chances of the reaper getting to the realm where Rat and Mal live? P.P.S: Yep I'm a big fan :D

Fluffy-Inarius does have an odd habit of getting sucked into local sub-reality tears actually, the Dimension of Hair is very unstable cuz of some shenanigans his carrier pulled.

And unfortunately, Muffy is just as likely to get pulled along as he is. These two got up to SO much trouble.

Funny enough, Inarius can hop dimensions on purpose, but after Causing Some Significant Issues for other people, he really doesn't anymore. Or at least, he tries not to. If Rat and Mat were wary of Inarius, they are terrified in the face of Muffy. Or at least Rathma is. Mat might be a little morbidly curious.

And after the debacle with Mal from the Dimension of Biscuits, Ina ain't to keen to involve anyone under the height of 20'.

Fortunately for everyone,

Muffy has his own Rathma.

[starkwlkr]

to maman | fabio quartararo

thank you to the anon who gave me the prompt ideas! all credit to them!!🫶🏼🤍

Mother’s Day had arrived and little Giselle Quartararo was in class making a painting for her mother. Fabio was home so he told Y/n that he would pick up their daughter since she would be working late. It was near the end of the school day and Giselle still wasn’t done with her mother’s day present.

“Giselle, why don’t you take it home and finish it there.” Her teacher said when she noticed how concentrated the little girl was.

“I can?” She asked.

“You can. I’m sure you papa can help you with the beautiful painting.”

So when Fabio arrived to Giselle’s school, she ran up to him with a paper in hand. He knew about the Mother’s Day gifts that the students were making since he had gotten an email from Giselle’s teacher. He picked up the little girl and gave her the usual after school kisses on both of her cheeks.

“You did this? It’s beautiful, amour.” Fabio said when he saw Giselle’s painting.

“It’s not finished. My teacher said I can take it home and finish it for maman. Can you help me?” Giselle asked as Fabio placed her on the ground. He held her hand on the way to his car.

“Of course I can and maman isn’t home yet so we have plenty of time to paint.” Fabio opened the car door for Giselle so she could get in.

“But I don’t have paint! And maman loves red so we need red paint!”

On the way home, Fabio and Giselle made a quick stop to a craft store to buy the necessary paints to complete the project. When they arrived home, Giselle grabbed the bag with the paints from Fabio’s hands and ran to the front door.

“Slow down, Elle, we have enough time to paint.” Fabio chuckled and walked to the front door.

When he unlocked it, Giselle ran to the dinning room and emptied out the bag. “I want to add more flowers.”

“We can add whatever you like, Elle.”

For almost an hour, Fabio and Giselle spent it dipping their fingers into red, pink, yellow and green paint. Fabio even got a separate sheet of paper to make his own painting for his wife.

“How do you write I love you?” Giselle asked.

“Well do you want to write it in French or English?”

“Can I do both?”

So Fabio grabbed a marker and gave it to Giselle. He then sounded out all the letters for Giselle to write I love you in two languages.

“Great job, bébé. Maman is going to love it.”

When Mother’s Day finally arrived, Y/n was woken up by Giselle and Fabio attacking her with hugs and kisses.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Fabio and Giselle yelled as Y/n rubbed her tired eyes. “We love you!”

“Aw, I love you both more,” Y/n sat up on the bed. She quickly noticed that Gisele had been hiding something behind her back. “What do you have to there, baby?”

Giselle giggled and showed her mother the painting she had made with Fabio. It was a finger painted garden complete with a yellow sun on the corner of the paper and ‘I love you’ written in English and French.

“You painted this? Elle, this is beautiful. I have my own little Picasso!” Y/n gasped when she saw the painting.

“I helped too so you have two Picasso’s now.” Fabio added, feeling proud of himself and Giselle.

“Papa made you another one!” Giselle said and jumped on the bed until Fabio got up to retrieve his painting for Y/n.

“It’s just a little something to start off Mother’s Day. Don’t think this is the only thing you’re getting today.” He handed her his painting.

“These are both beautiful. I’ll buy frames so I can hang them up and everyone can see how talented my husband and daughter are.”

Liked by mickschumacher, motogp and 543,378 others

fabioquartararo20 To maman by Giselle and Fabio Quartararo. Happy Mother’s Day y/n.l/n

y/n.l/n i love you both so much ❤️ my little artists

motogp Happy Mother’s Day to Mrs. Quartararo!

t0m06600 i think Giselle’s looks better

tony_arbolino ❤️❤️

[aerkame]

Home is where the heart is.

I just wanted to do a rough idea on what colors Home is.

Heehoo, have sum sketchies for today.

Originally I wanted Home to have gold on his robes, but I thought that silver is more fitting considering that his "children" are that of finfolk.

[fluff-writing]

I'll Hold You If You Think I Can

Oh yeah I'm writing an omegaverse Rathma/Malthael fic rn.

Chapter 1 includes Linarian pestering his dad for dirt on the council, and making important discoveries for Later.

Chapter 2 will drop tomorrow some time.