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Slate woke as he often did.

With his wife’s mouth around his cock.

Slate growled, his hand sliding into Ruby’s long, soft hair. She was lying beside him in their nest, her hips grinding into the layers of furs lining the castle walls.

“My little witch,” Slate rumbled. He stroked her scalp fondly. Her mouth was stretched unnaturally wide around him, her throat bulging around his shaft.

Slate lay a finger on her neck, feeling his cock twitch inside her when she swallowed.

Ruby made sure to take full, frequent advantage of the enchantment Slate had sought out all those years ago to allow her body to adapt to his impossible girth.

There was rarely a day that passed where she did not take his cock in some way.

Slate’s head fell back against the nest, morning light streaming through the castle window. Time had been mirroring the mortal realm for many years now to Ruby’s continued delight.

Slate brushed the hair out of her face. He did not care about the passage of time the same way his wife did, but he did enjoy seeing her bare form in the sunlight.

“You feel perfect,” he told her, watching her mouth bob up and down on his cock. “Will I come down your throat? Or is there another hole you want me to fill?”

Ruby pulled off, her mouth red and puffy.

For a moment, she did nothing but pant, and Slate brushed a claw over her cheek, marveling at her beauty.

She had changed slightly since he first met her, but only what she allowed: wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, lines of grey in her hair.

She was thinking about letting the grey take over more.

Slate didn’t mind. She could look as old as she wanted, as long as her god powers kept her young inside.

Ruby pressed a kiss to the end of his cock. “You decide today, my love.”

Slate rumbled contentedly and sat up, throwing her down onto the nest.

Ruby beamed up at him, her dark eyes glowing with excitement. Still just as eager as she was the first time that she took all of him.

Slate surged down and kissed her so long and deep he left dents on her cheek when he pulled back. Ruby could make herself invulnerable if she wanted, or at least enough to not worry about his skull mask leaving marks. But she preferred not to.

I like it when you mark me, she said to him often. Usually when he was kissing those marks away or laving his tongue over them until they faded.

He pressed inside her slowly. He still loved feeling her stretch around him, her walls fluttering as her insides moved to accommodate him.

She placed her hands on her stomach, waiting. “ Gods . Come on, do it.”

“Patience,” he told her. He forced himself to hold back, to keep his hips slow and careful until his knot brushed her entrance.

Ruby groaned. Her stomach was bulging under her hands. She rubbed his cockhead through her skin. He could hardly feel it, but the idea was—as always—enough to make him moan and fuck into her properly.

The room filled with the slick, desperate sounds of mating. Slate gathered her hands and pressed them into the nest above her head, watching how they pushed so deep into the lush fur they were almost hidden from view.

“My little beauty,” he groaned into her skin. He sped up, basking in her cries. “My sweet, stubborn witch. You take me so well, every time.”

Ruby groaned. She was often beyond speech when he fucked her this fast, her mouth hanging open and wordless as she gazed up at him.

“ Slate ,” she managed.

She dragged him down into a kiss. He curled over her, pressing his tongue down her throat and fucking her from both holes until she spasmed and cried out around him, muffled.

He withdrew his tongue and ran it down her body, fondling her breasts. She was clenching down around him, her breathing hitching with amazed sobs as if she still couldn’t believe it was this good, even after so many times.

Slate grabbed her hair, pulling her face up. “Say it.”

“ Yours ,” she whimpered.

Slate shuddered and came. He pulsed deep inside—once, twice, making her stomach bulge even further—before pulling out and finishing over her deflating stomach.

Ruby was still panting as he finished, sagging over her.

She made a sleepy noise against his chest. “Want your knot.”

“You want this, too.” He rubbed his come against her hip, watching it slide into the nest below.

She grunted. “Both.”

“I will knot you tonight.” He kissed the dent his skull mask had left on her cheek and sat up. “Breakfast? We have that sausage you like.”

Ruby hummed. Something dark gleamed in her eyes, dark and fond and not entirely mortal.

“Later,” she said. She hooked a finger around the edge of his skull mask and pulled.

But before Slate could let himself be dragged back down, something throbbed in the back of his head.

He gently caught her wrist. “We have a visitor.”

Ruby fell back against the nest with a sigh. “When you said you were getting more attuned, I was so excited for you. I didn’t realize it would cut into so much of our time.”

Slate snorted, amused. “So much of our time? The last soul to turn up here came months ago.”

“We keep each other very busy,” Ruby purred.

She shot him a gleeful grin and stood, shadows wrapping around her skin until she was wearing the same sleek dress he had crafted for her that first week.

She had made some alterations, but the shape remained the same: a black, flowing dress with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side.

Ruby posed, her leg slipping out the slit. “Well? Are you going to lie there all day or are you coming with me?”

Slate had spent so long in his nest over the millennia. He was never so happy to be pulled out of it until Ruby arrived.

The lost soul was wandering at the edge of the forest. It wasn’t dead, which was a relief. Ruby got sad if they had too many dead wanderers in a row.

The nymph was terrified, staring around the shadowy trees with abject terror. Slate assumed it had never seen a tree like that before, despite being a tree spirit. Nymphs tended to live in pretty, fresh trees, not the void ones dripping shadow.

“Hello,” Slate called, making sure his voice was less snarly than usual.

The nymph shrieked. It sounded like a branch snapping. Then it whirled, and Slate’s heart softened as it saw the new blossoms growing over the nymph’s cheeks. This was a youngling, separated from its colony possibly for the first time.

“I will not harm you,” Slate assured it. “I am a guide. Where were you before?”

The nymph trembled. Slate was reminded how much easier dead ones were—often, they were too out of it to be terrified of him.

Then the nymph paused. It had noticed Ruby standing next to him, waving sweetly.

“Hello,” Ruby called. “Good to see you! Welcome to the wanderer’s void. Would you mind telling my husband where you were before this, so he can return you there?”

The nymph uncurled from its horrified slouch. Its blossoms opened curiously, and it took a hesitant step toward them.

“That’s what I said,” Slate muttered, annoyed.

Ruby patted his hip. “It’s the way you say it, dear.”

The nymph rubbed the moss on its arms, leaves sprouting from between its fingers.

“I-I was walking behind my family,” it began. “They told me to stay close, but I didn’t listen. There was a beautiful crystal flower bush, and I only wanted to look at it!”

“Crystal flower,” Ruby said. “Was this in the Crystal Wastes?”

The nymph nodded. Ruby gave him a significant look. Crystal Wastes were one of the many, many places in the mortal realm where the veil was thin. Ruby knew them as well as he did, nowadays. Possibly even better. She knew much more about the mortal realm.

Slate concentrated, his eyes glowing behind his mask as he read the nymph’s heart.

The connection was strong. He could read all the confusion and fear inside it, the longing for its family, for their comforting branches to wrap around its thin, spiky form.

Slate bowed his head. “I send you back, young one.”

The nymph’s eyes bloomed wide.

Its mouth opened. “Thank?—”

Then it was gone. A single rose petal drifted where it stood, swept up by a warm breeze.

Ruby wound a shred of shadow around her finger and leaned on Slate’s arm. “Did it get home safe?”

Slate focused, pulling the connection he had kept in a loose grip.

He could see the crystal-lined path, the nymph’s bewildered relief turning to joy as it spotted its family.

He got the briefest impression of branches wrapping the nymph close before the connection dissolved, leaving Slate with a warm feeling of home that didn’t fade as he returned to himself.

“It got home,” he confirmed. “It is with its family now.”

Ruby hummed happily. The shadowy leaves around her gusted up in a happy torrent, and Slate watched them with contentment he hadn’t known was possible until a mortal stumbled into his void and bound him.

“That’s enough work for today, I think,” Ruby said. She tapped his arms, and Slate lifted her obediently until she could kiss him without straining.

Ruby brushed their noses together. “Take me back to bed.”

Slate growled, walking them back until she was pressed into a tree.

“Why?” he asked, voice low. “Are you still sleepy?”

Ruby giggled. “No. But I want you inside me again at least once before you make me breakfast.”

“As my witch requests,” Slate said, starting the trek back to the castle.

Ruby slid her hand under his loincloth, halting his gait.

“No,” she said, her mouth brushing his jaw. “Here. Now.”

Slate groaned, stiffening under her touch. He ran a hand down her dress, the shadowy material dissipating until she was naked in his arms.

“Good,” Ruby whispered. “Now, take me, my beloved Bygone.”

Slate growled and did.

Much later, Slate crawled back into his nest with his wife in his arms.

She settled against him, sweaty and satisfied. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit his chest, snoring softly.

Slate stared at the castle ceiling, waiting. He slept less often these days, though he was still difficult to wake up.

Slate stroked her hair and curled tighter around Ruby’s sleeping body. He could feel sleep rising to claim him.

His eyes drifted shut. If he did oversleep, his wife would be there to wake him.