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ro-is-struggling · 5 months ago

Text

His || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Geralt takes pity on a family of farmers in an isolated village surrounded by misfortune. After saving them from the clutches of a beast, the head of the family proposes to pay the witcher for his services by offering him the hand of his only daughter in marriage. He does not want to accept it at first —the life of a witcher was incompatible with the concept of marriage—, but after getting to know the young lady better and understanding the cruel fate that awaited her if he did not intervene, Geralt feels the need to protect her

Warnings: fem!reader, arranged marriage (kinda), protective and possessive Geralt (let’s gooo), a bit of angst, mentions of scars (both Geralt’s and the reader��s), fluff, SMUT MINORS DNI, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (not realistic), porn with feelings (or at least I tried), porn with plot, penetrative sex, possessive Geralt (yes, again), size kink, fingering, creampie, my obsession with Geralt’s thighs, pet names (dove), let me know if a forgot anything!!

English is not my first language

Word count: 23.200 (I had fun, okay?)

Note: this fic is probably very inaccurate regarding the life of a farmer and the traditions of marriage in the witcher universe/medieval times, but if I researched that in depth this fic would never have seen the light of day lol I hope you don't mind.

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Geralt of Rivia was not known for working for free. Like all witchers, he made a living using the skills that had been instilled in him, killing monsters for a price and ridding the continent of evil beings. It was a noble cause, a tough job that someone had to do to ensure the welfare of the population. But that was all it was, just a job. He had learned the hard way that he was no hero or knight in shining armor. People didn't see him that way anyway, so it was stupid of him to try to be something he was not. His skills were not to be wasted on saving helpless women on the side of the road or on charity work, that much was clear to him. The people he saved were not going to give him recognition. They were not going to shower him with gifts and sing songs about his heroic deeds as they did with knights returning from battle because he was not a hero. People tended to see witchers as mutated freaks, but they recognized that, from time to time, they had a use for them. So he —and all of his kind— had to make sure to charge well for his services since that was the only thing people were willing to give him in return for his efforts. So Geralt did not work for free.

That's why when the residents of a small town he was passing through approached him for help he had to turn them down. They were troubled by disappearances and strange, brutal deaths that they could not explain. Some swore they saw a creature prowling in the night, growling and howling as it searched for its next victim, but no one knew what it was. However, the small town of farmers and craftsmen was not going through a good time financially speaking. A combination of bad weather and a plague had ruined the crops, so they didn't have much money to spend.

“If you want gold you should go talk to Lord Veldren, he's taking from us what little we have,” was the answer Geralt was usually given when the subject of payment came up in conversation. It was nothing he had not heard before, nobles who did not tighten the pockets of their people were few. But there was a pain in the eyes of the villagers, an anger in their voices as they spoke, that caught Geralt's attention. He wondered what kind of things this Lord Veldren would do to evoke such a reaction in the people.

There was one particular family of farmers that caught his attention. A weeping woman begged for the life of her eldest son who had been taken by the beast. According to her tales, the people, tired of being harassed and intimidated by the creature, organized to do the work that their Lord refused to do. The bravest and most skilled men of all the families went out to hunt it under the light of the full moon and that was the last time they were seen alive. Parts of the remains were still turning up around the village and discovered lost among the crops, although damaged beyond recognition. Many of the families did not have a body to bury and that was part of the reason they were all so shaken. They had lost husbands, sons, friends and protectors that night and it had all been for nothing.

The woman wept in the arms of her husband who did his best to contain her, but even he was unable to hide the sadness that overwhelmed him. There was something in her grief that struck a chord deep inside Geralt. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't feel right going through town and leaving them behind with their suffering. So, as they had no money to pay for his services, he took the villagers' concerns directly to Lord Veldren. They had told him that he was aware of the problem, but had no desire to do anything about it. But maybe things would be different now that Geralt was there. Maybe the Lord's whole problem was that he didn't want to get his hands dirty and would rather let his people die than risk his own skin. But now that the witcher was there to do his dirty work for him maybe his predisposition would be different.

No one in the village had much faith that it would work, but they showed Geralt how to get to him. Some even walked with him, taking advantage of the moment to tell him as much detail as they could about the danger they were in. Some of their stories the witcher could attribute to the collective panic that had taken hold of the town since some of them were things that he, in all his years of experience, had never heard of. But others helped him compile a list of possible responsible creatures, which grew smaller and smaller with each story he heard.

When he reached his destination, Geralt wished he had listened to the villagers' warnings. He knew his share of rude and unwise nobles, but none compared to Lord Veldren. He barely looked at him for the entirety of their meeting —which was not long— as if to lay eyes on him was a privilege the witcher did not deserve. Nor did he let him speak for long, barely getting as far as presenting the problem before Lord Veldren was shooing him away with an expression of disinterest on his face.

“It's interesting that you're the one presenting the problem,” he said in an accusatory tone when Geralt insisted on the danger to the villagers. “You're a witcher who kills beasts for a living. All you want is to fill your pockets with MY riches.”

“You, my Lord, surely must know that this problem has existed long before I passed through your lands.” Geralt spat through gritted teeth, clinging to what little thread of patience he had left. “You must have noticed that your people are dying at an alarmingly rapid rate.”

“There have been pests affecting the crops, probably bringing disease. It's being taken care of, not that I owe you any kind of explanation.” The disdain in Veldren's voice was evident which made Geralt's blood boil.

“It's a werewolf. And it's not going to stop until someone makes it stop. If you don't do something, your people will keep dying.”

“Why don't you let me worry about my people, witcher. You go find some other fool to steal their riches from. My people are fine.”

“That's not what the corpses piling up next to the dead crops say.”

“There are always more people. Nothing is lost that can't be replaced. Now you get out of here and don't come back or you'll regret the consequences.”

Geralt didn't stay to argue with Lord Veldren for another second, he knew it was a waste of time. He was not going to change his mind and was willing to let his people die just so he wouldn't have to back down. However, Geralt had changed his mind after their short conversation. The moment he turned around he knew he would return to the village to help the farmers free of charge. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because he knew that it would piss Veldren off more than anything. Geralt was not afraid of retaliation. He had no issue with avoiding that town in the future should he be banished. He liked to take the long way around anyway.

Geralt stumbled into the modest hut of the family of the farmer whose eldest son had died trying to protect his people. They had offered to give him food and shelter while he prepared for the fight with the beast, and a place to rest after the task was complete. So once he was sure the monster was dead, he set out on his way back to their farm.

The older woman ran to him when she saw his condition. He was bloody and beaten. The beast had put up a good fight, but had ultimately failed to withstand the courage of the witcher and his silver sword. However, it had left Geralt with a fair amount of wounds, nothing that wouldn't heal with some rest, but serious enough to scare the poor woman as she saw him come through the door. She and one of her sons helped him sit up, while her husband, at her request, went to get some water —both for him to drink and to clean his wounds.

“It's done.” Geralt said as he finally allowed himself to relax.

The woman let out an exclamation of relief, passing him a glass of water as she mumbled something to herself. He couldn't catch it all, but from what he could make out she was speaking to her son's spirit, asking him to be at peace now that his family was safe. It was then that Geralt remembered the discovery he had made in his search for the beast. With some pain he brought his hand to his neck and tugged at one of the two chains around his neck. He took the woman's hand before she could move away from him and placed the object he knew belonged to her son in her palm. The woman looked at him in confusion until her eyes lowered to her hand and met the medallion resting in it.

“I believe this belongs to you.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone as he saw the tears beginning to roll down the woman's cheeks. He had found the medallion among bloody and rotting remains and knew immediately that he was in front of what was left of the son of the couple because his father wore the same necklace around his neck.

In tears the woman thanked him, repeating the words over and over again as she clutched the chain in her hand and held it to her chest at the level of her heart. She hugged her husband, who held her close and repeated the same praises to the witcher. Since they had no body to bury, retrieving such a significant object from their son was the next best thing to finding some sort of closure. It was something of his to remember him by and honor him for his bravery. It put an end to any doubt fueled by hope and allowed them to move on with their lives.

“I don't know how we can ever repay you.” The man spoke with tears in his eyes.

“I don't need anything. The shelter and food you provided me so far is payment enough.”

“You have given us too much, more than we could ask for. I cannot let this debt go unpaid.” The man insisted, his prideful side coming out. “We are not a family of great wealth, but we have honor. Integrity and the value of our word is all we have. I cannot offer you gold, but I can give you the hand of my only daughter in marriage.”

Geralt's eyes shot upward, momentarily forgetting the leg wound he was studying to look the farmer in the eye. “I didn't do this to get something in return. You don't have to offer me anything.”

“Please, witcher, I'm afraid I must insist. I could not go through life knowing that I owe such a great debt. You have not only saved my family, you have avenged my son's death and brought him home. I cannot allow you to leave this house empty-handed.”

“I assure you that our daughter is well educated in the arts of being a homemaker.” The woman interjected, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “She has a perfect understanding of how to build and care for a home and a husband. She's been helping me since I was a little girl in preparation for this moment.”

Geralt didn't know how to explain to the sweet couple that he wasn't looking for a wife. Witchers were destined to live solitary lives. Their life mission was not compatible with a family. They had been strategically designed not to be able to leave offspring and no woman would want to be with such a man. The only family they had were the fellow witchers, with whom they met every winter to rest, replenish elixirs and exchange stories of the road. They led dangerous and transient lives, plagued by monsters and uncertainty. There was no place for love or relationships, much less with human women that were not trained in the combat of evil.

“I'm sure that's the case,” Geralt cleared his throat as he searched for the right words to explain the reason for his rejection. “But I'm afraid my life is not compatible with married life.”

“Please, if you won't take her it's only a matter of time until Lord Veldren does.” The woman insisted, desperation evident in her voice. “I know that may sound like a good thing to many people, but not to us. He is an evil man and I would rather my family perish than have to give my daughter to him.”

“I–”

“I can be of service to you.” The sound of a soft, sweet voice echoed in the distance. Geralt followed it, and it was then that his eyes collided with the figure of a young woman emerging from the stairs.

The first thing Geralt noticed, besides your beauty, was the resemblance you bore to your mother. Seeing the two of you side by side was like holding a mirror up to the past. Your features, although modified by the passage of time in the case of your mother, were almost the same. You had the same cheekbones and the same smile, although you differed in one aspect: your eyes. Although they were sweet like your mother's, they were charged with a bravery and ferocity that the older woman did not have. You held his gaze at all times, holding your head high in a proud manner. Your attitude caught Geralt's attention immediately since you were not at all what he expected. He had heard the family speak of you from time to time, but the image he had created in his mind about you from such tales was nothing like the person who was staring back at him at that very moment.

“I have spent most of my days accompanying the village healer, so I can heal your wounds after your battles.” You spoke once again. The politeness in your voice and the smoothness of your movements contradicted the fire in your eyes, which only added to Geralt's curiosity. “If you don't mind, I could show you my skills right now so you can see that I'm not lying.”

Geralt remained silent, but motioned for you to proceed. You walked towards him with a firm step, clutching in your hands the leather bag where you kept ointments, herbs and other medicinal items. You settled on a chair in front of him and after receiving his consent once again, you very carefully examined some of the cuts he had on his arms and face. It was nothing too serious, they just needed a cleaning and perhaps the help of some ointments to treat the irritated skin. Only one cut on his shoulder seemed to need stitches and maybe one on his leg as well. It was nothing you hadn't already dealt with, so you would have no problem treating it and demonstrating your skills.

You asked your family for some space to work and they kindly left you the room to be alone with Geralt. Only then you began to clean his wounds, carefully wiping his skin with a wet cloth to remove the blood and dirt from the irritated areas. He watched you work in silence, admiring you with a puzzled expression. You intrigued him in a way that no human had done for a long time. He was waiting patiently for the moment when you decided to talk to him and slowly reveal a little more about yourself so he could understand what it was about you that he found so intriguing.

“You don't have to do this.” Geralt broke the silence after a few minutes of waiting to hear your voice. “It'll probably be healed by morning.”

“The witcher genes, I know... but a little help can't hurt, right?” You gave him a smile and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he noticed that the fire in your eyes had softened, mixed with a hint of sweetness.

“You don't have to prove anything to me. I don't need any payment for my work.”

“My father is a very proud man, Geralt. He will not be comfortable letting you go without payment for your services.”

“And I will not be comfortable dragging a young woman like you into the life of a witcher.” He placed his hand over yours to force you to stop your actions and draw your attention to his face. Your hand was trapped between his leg and the touch of his calloused fingers. “Life on the road is not one for a beautiful lady such as you. And I am not a man worthy of marriage.”

Geralt's voice was soft as he spoke, he wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you with his rejection. There was nothing wrong with you and he was sure that someday you would find a good man worthy of your hand. But he was not that man. He was not husband material and his life was not compatible with marriage. Perhaps if things had been different and Vesemir had not found him he could have had a taste of that life. But the mission to eradicate the monsters on the continent had been entrusted to him and he couldn't turn it down for a woman, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You must forgive me,” you muttered, feeling small under the witcher's intense gaze. You released your hand from his grip and hurried to grab the items needed to close the wound on his leg. “I was the one who put that idea in my father's mind. I figured it was an easy way out...not many men would refuse such a payment, but I guess I was wrong.” You gave him a shy smile before lowering your gaze to his leg once more to begin stitching the skin together with thread and needle. He didn't even flinch as the metal pierced him and you wondered how high was the level of pain tolerance of people like him.

“Lord Veldren, huh?” You knew from the tone he used when he spoke that Geralt understood the predicament you were in.

“He's quite a character, isn't he?” you let out a frustrated sigh. “He's made his interest in me pretty clear, but he knows it's not reciprocated, so he's been harassing my family to make sure he gets what he wants. Times are tough and he's not making it any easier. He's been creating ridiculous rules to raise taxes, chasing my brothers around town, sending me letters and gifts in hopes of winning me over... He's trying to back us into a corner. It is only a matter of time until we are forced to leave our lands or... I am forced to accept his proposal.”

After securing the last stitch, you spread some of the antibacterial ointment the village healer had taught you to prepare on the skin of his thigh. Your movements were slow and gentle even though you were pretty sure that Geralt wouldn't feel much pain if it were different. And once that wound was healed, you then moved over to the cut on his shoulder. You drew your chair a little closer to him so that you could reach the area more comfortably, and asked his permission to pull his shirt up. You felt your face heat up as you watched his fingers work on the buttons to expose his chest and allow you to work more comfortably. You tried to focus your gaze on his wound and only his wound, although you were a little distracted by counting the scars that adorned the skin of his chest.

“Why do you think he's so interested in you?” The question escaped Geralt's lips before he could stop himself. It was in no way a comment on you as a person. Your beauty alone was reason enough to justify any man's interest in taking your hand. But he had to admit that it was unusual for a man of nobility to seek to court a farm girl, much less someone like Lord Veldren. He was someone who craved power and wealth, so it would make much more sense for him to seek to marry someone of his own social standing.

“Because he is insecure and he loves nothing more than making people feel small to aggrandize his figure.” You said as if it were obvious, letting out a dry chuckle as your fingers delicately traced the irritated skin of the witcher's shoulder.

Geralt couldn't help but agree with you. The few minutes he shared with Lord Veldren were enough to recognize that his ego was probably bigger than his riches.

“He inherited the title unexpectedly.” You continued to explain as you carefully secured the first stitch over the wound. Geralt did not utter a single complaint, but you still treated him with the tenderness you would treat any normal person. Just because he was used to blood and pain didn't mean he didn't deserve a soft, tender touch now and then. Especially after he had risked his life to save yours and that of your entire village. And as you worked you explained to him what you knew about Lord Veldren's history.

He had only come to the village after a long search for extended family members of Lord Eldrake, who perished with his son in a tragic hunting accident. He was a distant cousin who lived far away not only physically, but also metaphorically. Veldren had grown up far removed from the riches and customs of the nobility, which showed in the way he imposed his power. He was not wise or cultured, he did not have good manners or a proper grasp of protocols. He only cared about himself, his new found power, and increasing his wealth with no regard for who he hurt along the way. Since he had arrived he had done nothing but squeeze every coin he could from the people, leaving them with just enough to survive. And his hand did not tremble when it came to punishing those who voiced their complaints.

Lord Veldren was a horrible man who was not prepared to fill the role that had fallen into his hands in a stroke of luck. And for you there laid the reason for his interest in you. Marrying into a noble family would mean exposing his incompetence. For now, as things stood, he was completely on his own to do and dispose as he wished, but marrying a noblewoman would mean being challenged. And his ego would not be able to tolerate such a thing. You, on the other hand, were someone he could easily manipulate to please. He held your family's future in his hands and he knew very well that you knew it. He was using them to get to you and it was clear that he would continue to do so to keep you under his control. Lord Veldren was obsessed with you not because of your beauty or your ability to maintain a home —as he often said in his letters— but because you did not present a threat to his ego.

“I know marrying a nobleman coming from a peasant family sounds like a dream come true, but it's not for me.” You muttered sadly as you finished bandaging the witcher's wound. “I always dreamed of marrying for love... but now I don't think that's possible. That's why I thought you were a good candidate. You are honorable and protective, he wouldn't come after you. You could take me away from here or be enough of a threat to force Lord Veldren to leave me alone.”

Geralt could feel your sadness just by looking into your eyes. A light shone in your eyes at the mention of love, the hope of having the life you wanted still alive somewhere in you. However, he had to watch it die quickly, crushed by the devastating reality in which you lived. It was a sad thing to see, but there was nothing he could do to help you. With a bit of luck on your side maybe he could get Lord Veldren to forget about you, but that was far from being the solution to the problem. You would still be trapped in a life you didn't want, married to someone you didn't love. Accepting your hand in marriage as payment for his services would only change the face of your misfortune. He could save your family, but he would become the executioner condemning you to a future of unhappiness. And he was not willing to be such a thing. It was none of his business whether or not to save the lives of maidens who were being threatened by monsters not born of magic. It never ended well and Geralt had no doubt that this would be no exception. Married or unmarried, happy or unhappy, it shouldn't matter to him because he had no reason to interfere.

“Marrying me wouldn't change things. You would only be tying yourself to a different kind of miserable future with a man you don't love. There is still time, you can still find love.”

The last thing Geralt wanted was to hurt you with his rejection. You and your family had been through a lot and he didn't want you to worry thinking that there was something wrong with you that led him to refuse such payment for his services. He knew that you would make an excellent wife someday and that was exactly why he could not take your hand. You deserved to marry for love, as you so desperately wanted, and live a good life with a man who deserved you. And unfortunately he was not that man.

“I'd rather it be you than him.” You looked at him with wide eyes full of despair. “My time is up. You are my last chance to escape him.”

“You must understand that my life is no life for a married man.” Geralt reached for your hand. He took it between his own, his thumb caressing your smooth skin with small circular motions in the hope that it would help soften the blow of his rejection. Your eyes focused on his grip for a moment, admiring the way his hands completely enveloped yours making you feel small and insignificant next to him. Looking up you met a pair of amber eyes that looked at you full of softness in them. “I live on the road, traveling from place to place in search of dangerous beasts. That's no place for a sweet woman like you.”

“I am not a porcelain doll that must be carefully cared for to keep from shattering. I can travel with you. I have traveled many times in my life, even accompanied my brothers on hunting trips. I know how to handle myself in the wilderness.”

“Being a witcher is not like hunting a deer. It's dangerous, especially for untrained humans. You can get seriously hurt if you travel with me.”

“Then you can marry me and go on with your journey!” you raised your voice, feeling frustrated with Geralt's excuses. You pulled your hand away from his suddenly, putting distance between the two of you.

He didn't understand. How could he? He had nothing to fear. He was a fierce witcher who had faced who knows how many beasts in his life and emerged victorious. He would never understand the guilt that ate at you as you watched your family struggling to make ends meet knowing it was your fault. He would never understand the fear of being trapped in a future without love or hope, forced to be the object of desire of a cruel and evil man. Geralt was strong and powerful to the point that you doubted he had ever felt small and helpless, so of course he would not be able to understand your despair.

“You would not have to see me again if you so desired. You could leave right after the ceremony and never come back if that's what you wanted, I don't care. All I need is a ring on my finger that will keep Veldren away from me and my family.”

“And you'll be condemned to live married to a ghost?”

“If that's what it takes! I'm willing to live a life of solitude if it means my family is safe... it beats being the object of desire of the most disgusting man I've ever met.”

From the look Geralt gave you, you know that he feels sorry for you. You can read in his eyes how bad he feels for you, how sad he finds your words and even the relief he feels knowing that he will never be subjected to a similar situation. And you hated it almost as much as you hated having to cry and beg him to agree to marry you. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but it was your last resort. Marrying Geralt was the best possible way out of your predicament. If he didn't want to share his life with you he could easily leave and not come back and it still wouldn't be suspicious given what he did for a living. You would have to stage things from time to time to keep up appearances over time, but even so you doubted that Veldren would dare to challenge someone with Geralt's reputation. You'd be doomed to a life without love, but at least you'd be free.

“I know I'm asking a lot.” Your voice broke the silence that fell over the room. It was softer this time, a reflection of the effort you were making to quiet your frustrations. After all, it wasn't Geralt's fault that you were trapped in this situation and he had every right to refuse to accept your hand as payment. You hoped you could appeal to his kindness. “I just want you to think about it. You don't have to decide anything now. You can stay here for as long as you need to get back on your feet, we'll provide shelter and food no matter what you decide. It's the least we can do after all you've done for us. I just... You are my last hope to escape from him, so please think about it. Please know that I am willing to be a good wife and serve you in any way you see fit, or give you the freedom to move on with your life if you wish. Nothing would change for you as I understand from your words that you do not intend to marry in the near future, but you would be improving my life.”

Geralt remained silent watching you disappear up the stairs as he seriously considered your last words.

The more time Geralt spent with you and your family, the less confident he became in his decision. He initially intended to spend only a couple of days with you, just enough time for him and Roach to rest after the long and tumultuous journey they had made to get there. But the more time he spent at your home, the more difficult it became for him to leave you.

It was one thing to hear them talk about the hardships they were going through because of Lord Veldren, but it was very different to see it happen with his own eyes. In the short time that Geralt had been living with you the tax collector had passed by your home multiple times, always with a new complaint and a threat to go with it. There was no doubt that Veldren was the one behind it. They were, for the most part, empty threats designed to pressure them, but they were no less effective for that. They knew he wasn't really going to evict or imprison them because if he did it was game over. Ultimately, what Veldren wanted was not to make an example of your family, but to force you to give in to his demands. However, they were all well aware that it was only a matter of time before he got tired and decided to deliver on his threats. So they woke up every morning fearing that this was the day he would finally decide he had had enough and leave them in ruins over a mere whim.

Geralt tried to help them in any way he could. He had offered to help with the harvest and had even gone hunting a couple of times to save them from having to go to the market for food. However, they were a very proud family who were treating him as an honored guest so he was not allowed to do much. He found that the best way to contribute to them was to collect some favors from the people in town. Everyone talked about him as if he was a hero. They would greet him in the street and thank him for his work. They sought him out to hear his stories and composed songs about what he had done that night. Being the town hero, many people found that the best way to thank him for his bravery —since they had no coin to pay him— was to give him some of what he produced. In this way he was able to provide your family with a varied catalog of things ranging from fur coats to cattle for slaughter.

Geralt knew that what he was doing was wrong. He was getting too attached to your family, making things personal. He would be lying if he said his hatred for Veldren hadn't grown in the last few days. More than once he had thought of sneaking into his home to end his life and finish the suffering of your family and the whole town. But that was wrong. He was not supposed to intervene in mundane matters between humans. His mission was very simple: to eradicate evil beings born of magic. Human affairs —politics, war, even love— were not his concern.

He knew he had to leave before things got worse, but he didn't want to face what would come with his departure. He didn't want to face you and say goodbye forever because he was no longer completely sure that was the best option. In the last few days he had spent quite a bit of time with you. He noticed that you didn't leave the house much so he took advantage of the time to get to know you better. He thought it would help him stand firm in his decision, but it had done nothing but show him what a sweet and brave woman you were. A woman who didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life next to that disgusting man Veldren.

The words you had said to him that night always echoed in his mind before he fell asleep. The voice of reason told him that it was ridiculous to even consider the idea of taking your hand in marriage. Witchers were not meant to settle down and marry. Besides, accepting your proposal would, at best, condemn you to a life of misery —or an early death at worst. And yet, there was always this voice in the back of his mind. It wasn't powerful, but it would present itself just as he was about to fall asleep. It was the last thing he thought about at night and the first thing he remembered in the morning. That voice that said, “What if you tried? And one day, as he admired the way you groomed and cared for Roach in the barn, he seriously considered listening to that voice in his mind. And that's when he knew it was time to leave.

He decided to do it at night, after the family had gone to bed. It was not the honorable thing to do, but it was the only option that would allow him to get out of there without altering his life forever. Geralt was afraid to face you. He was afraid to look you in the eye and not be able to reject you. He was afraid to say goodbye and feel the weight of guilt increase with every step he took. Guilt for sealing your fate. Guilt for leaving you no choice but to surrender yourself to Lord Veldren's arms for the rest of your life. He kept telling himself that he was not to blame for any of it, that it was not his duty to intervene to fix anyone's life, but he believed it less and less with each passing day. So he gathered his things, took Roach from the stable and set off on his way out of town with the darkness of the night as his ally.

However, fate seemed to have other plans for him.

Geralt walked at a slow pace alongside Roach. The road leading out of town, which normally had people coming and going, was quiet. All that could be heard were Roach's footsteps in the dirt and the sound of the river flowing peacefully. It was a beautiful sight, the moonlight, the trees and flowers painted in the crystal reflection of the water creating a composition worthy of admiration. However, his eyes lost interest in such a beautiful sight when they came across the figure of a woman dipping her feet in the riverbank. She was humming under her breath, the sound traveling to his ears on the night breeze. He knew then that it was not just any young woman there, but the one he was trying to avoid.

He found it strange that you were there alone. It was late and the last he had heard you say was that you were retiring to rest. He hadn't heard you sneaking out of the house and neither did he understand why you were doing it. In the time Geralt had spent there, he noticed that you didn't get out of the house much, not even to stroll through the market like most of the women seemed to do in this town. You spent your time tending the crops and caring for the few animals they had. He had assumed that it was because you enjoyed the warmth of your home, but now he was beginning to doubt it. You looked so free and happy as you walked along the riverbank, the ruffles on your dress blowing in the wind, the fabric clinging to your body. Amused laughter escaped your lips every time the water made contact with your skin, splashing with joy and wetting the hem of your dress.

The woman who stood before him was totally different from the one Geralt knew. He had never seen you like this, so... free and full of life. You looked almost ethereal dancing in the moonlight, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the splashing of water beneath your feet. A peak of glowing light that pulled him to you like flames to moths. Roach protested when he went out of his way to approach you, but Geralt ignored her. He pulled on the reins lightly to force the horse to move and knotted them in a tree to make sure she didn't escape.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

Geralt's voice startled you. You turned your head to look at him, feeling embarrassed at being caught acting foolish thinking you were alone. There was no mockery in his expression, but your cheeks warmed anyway. What you did notice in his gaze was a hint of guilt that you only understood when you saw Roach waiting for him a couple of feet away.

“You're leaving...” You muttered with a bit of sadness in your voice. He was sneaking away, under the darkness of the night and without saying goodbye to anyone. And that could only mean one thing: he was rejecting your father's offer.

“You shouldn't be here alone so late.” Geralt decided to ignore you since it was the easiest thing to do. He wasn't proud of what he was doing, but he knew it was for the best.

“This is honestly safer than going out in the daytime.” You shrugged, moving away from the water to sit on the shore. You buried your wet feet in the dirt, feeling the small grains slipping through your toes as you wiggled them. “I used to love visiting the market with my mother and playing with the children in the town square... but I can't do that anymore without being watched by Veldren's men... sometimes even he shows up himself... So I stopped going. I focused on my home, on helping my family as much as I could... And I slowly stopped going out, stopped socializing with people other than my immediate neighbors. I thought that maybe if he stopped seeing me so often he would get bored of me and focus his attention on another young girl... but now I'm not so sure that's going to happen.”

You wrapped your arms around your knees, making yourself small as you thought of all you had lost because of that man. And you wondered how much more you had to lose. Your freedom and happiness didn't seem to be enough. Your family and your land were still on the line, and if you ended up accepting his proposal, so was your ability to decide about your own future. It wasn't fair.

Geralt looked down at you for a moment, admiring the way the moonlight reflected on your face. It added a layer of sadness to your expression, a vulnerability he hadn't seen in you before. You looked like a doll made of porcelain, fragile and beautiful, in need of care and protection. He felt the need to hold you, but restrained himself. Instead, he sat by your side offering you a friendly ear to listen to your misfortunes.

“Night is the only time I can be free. The moon is my only friend, the faithful confidant of all my secrets.” You went on, your eyes lost in the movement of the water. “I can escape the four-walled prison and wander around the village, enjoy the scenery and the fresh air without being watched and having every step I take reported back to him.” There was poison in your voice at the mention of Lord Veldren and you hadn't even said his name. “I suppose I have you to thank for that too... The night was no longer safe, but you gave me back my freedom by slaying that beast.”

You turned to look at him and Geralt noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. They glistened under the moonlight just like the water of the lake reflected it, highlighting the beautiful color of your eyes. They threatened to escape, but out of sheer determination you were able to hold them in place. You were not going to let the last image he had of you be of your crying face. You didn't want to cause him to feel sorry for you. You didn't want him to think it was a trick to get him to stay. He had done enough for you and your family, you couldn't ask him for anything more.

“I wish you the best of luck in your life, Geralt, and I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you... You must leave this place knowing that you helped a lot of people, myself included.” You gave him a smile, a subtle way of letting him know you agreed with his decision. “Although I'm not going to lie to you, I would like to see you again...only perhaps under less tragic circumstances.”

“I'm afraid tragic circumstances are my specialty.” The corner of his lips curved slightly into a sad smile, his gaze momentarily lost, and you wondered what thoughts might be going through his head. “But I'd like to make my way back here someday.”

“You will always be welcome in this town...and you will always have a place to stay. My family and I aren't going anywhere.”

You reached out a hand toward Geralt, daring to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and obstructed your view of his eyes. You had always found the yellowish hue in them mesmerizing, but somehow they looked even more beautiful under the moonlight. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but you felt they shone with a different intensity. It was like looking directly into the sun, beautiful but painful.

You let your fingers run down his temple until they reached his cheek, gently caressing one of the cuts you had helped him heal. It was nothing more than a line, just a shade lighter than the color of his skin, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know it was there, but you still felt it under your fingertips. You were going to miss him. You had grown accustomed to his presence in your home and you would be lying if you said you didn't like what you had learned about him. He was nothing like what people used to say about witchers, maybe a little quiet and grumpy, yes, but he was a noble and kind hearted man. He deserved to have a good life and you hoped he would find it beyond the borders of your town.

In that simple exchange of glances Geralt was able to read in your eyes the true meaning of your words. He saw the resignation and sadness hidden behind them, the courage and strength that he had noticed the first time he saw you. He understood then that you were willing to do anything to protect your family and that you were not going to let anyone or anything break you. It was inspiring, but tragic. The need to protect you grew stronger inside him, every fiber of his being asking him to stop you.

When you removed your hand from his face, Geralt met it halfway, holding it back so you couldn't move it too far away. Your gaze lowered, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you admired his fingers intertwined with yours. When your eyes met the shine of his again, you noticed that he had leaned toward you. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher, but that captivated you nevertheless. And suddenly, without even realizing what you were doing, you began to lean towards him as well.

It felt like you were in a trance, being pulled towards Geralt by some kind of magic hidden in his eyes. The air caught in your throat as you felt his nose brush against yours. Your heart raced as his gaze lowered to your mouth, lips parting instinctively, responding to his proximity. Geralt's half-open eyes met yours once again, looking at you with a clear question written in them. And you answered it the only way you could while trapped under that mesmerizing amber glow, pressing your lips against his.

It was a soft but quick kiss. Your lips barely pressed against Geralt's, moving with both hesitation and curiosity to explore the taste of his mouth. You were being cautious, like when you tested the temperature of the water in the lake with your fingers before diving in. You were dipping your toes into the turbulent ocean of uncertainty that was Geralt to see how far you could go.

You pulled away from him after a few seconds, feeling embarrassed by your boldness and how much you were enjoying feeling the caress of his lips on yours. However, Geralt didn't let you pull away too far. His hand came up to your jaw, gripping the side of your face gently to hold you in place. His calloused fingers awakened a warm tingling under your skin, managing to slightly accelerate your heartbeat. His breath mingled with yours and his eyes looked at you with a softness you hadn't noticed in them before.

Geralt could feel the change in your breathing and sense the quickening of your heart in the veins of your neck filled with anticipation. He tried to resist your charms, but you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your tongue peeked between your parted lips, wetting your lower lip in an act of clear temptation. And he understood then that he was not as strong as he thought he was. He gave in to your silent pleas, joining his lips with yours again, though this time in a kiss charged with trust and desperation.

And in that moment, joined only by the moonlight and the chirping of crickets in the night, you both felt a spark. A connection with each other that you had never experienced before with another person. Your lips moved desperately, your hands clung to any part of exposed skin you could touch without crossing a line. You tangled your fingers in Geralt's long white hair, losing yourself in the warmth of his body. His right hand found its place on your cheek, using the advantage to move your head in the direction required to deepen the kiss. His other hand clung to your back, pressing you against his body until there was no more space separating the two of you.

You moaned as he sucked on your lower lip and the sound, though music to Geralt's ears, alerted him to what you were doing. He carefully pulled away from you, making a great effort to ignore your protests.

“We can't do this,” he whispered between gasps. “Not this way.”

“Yes we can...there's no one around to judge us. No one has to know.” You pushed your lips against Geralt's once more and he gave in for a moment before pulling away again. This time instead of whining you simply turned your attention to his neck, planting soft kisses down the column of his throat. If he wasn't going to make you his wife, he could at least treat you to a night of intimacy. That way at least you could choose the first man to give your body to.

“We should wait... for the wedding night.”

You stopped your actions as soon as you managed to process his words. Your head jumped up to look into his eyes, searching his expression for confirmation that you had heard correctly.

“That means...?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we're going to do this right.”

Your eyes lit up with joy and hope, looking at Geralt with the admiration with which one looks at a knight returning after winning a great battle. You jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. You didn't know if he realized it, but he had just saved your life. And no matter how things turned out after your wedding, you would always be grateful to him for that.

The news was announced to your parents first thing in the morning and from that point on, preparations for the wedding didn't stop. It wasn't going to be a big event, just a ceremony with the close family to formalize the union. And you wanted it to be as quick as possible, not only to avoid delaying Geralt's departure for longer, but also because rumors of his heroic deeds had reached Lord Veldren's ears and you knew that couldn't be a good thing. The sooner you were married, the better it would be for everyone.

Your mother took on the responsibility of arranging everything, sending your father and brothers to get food and fabrics and the paperwork as well as the clergy's approval to perform the ceremony. And when she wasn't tidying the house or preparing floral arrangements, she took time to talk to you about marriage and what you could expect after the papers were signed. She spoke from her own experience and it was beautiful to see her eyes sparkle as she recalled her past, the happiness of the first moments of her marriage with your father and the arrival of her children into her life. But, as nice as it sounded, you weren't sure that was your destiny.

“You shouldn't get your hopes up so high, mother.” You sighed, watching her brush and fix your hair through the reflection of the mirror you were sitting in front of. In addition to arranging the ceremony, your mother had taken on the responsibility of helping you get ready for your big day. “I don't think that's the future that awaits me when I marry Geralt. He's just doing it as a favor.”

“You don't know that, honey. True love may still be in your destiny... You wouldn't be the first woman to find it long after the wedding day.” She smiled at you in the mirror before returning her attention to your hair, carefully braiding a strand.

“I don't even know if he'll stay after the deed is done... But that's okay, the whole point of this was to get Lord Veldren off our backs and marrying Geralt can do that, so I'm happy.”

“He can't leave after the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated.”

“Mother!” you let out a high-pitched whine, feeling blood pooling in your cheeks.

“I'm sorry, darling, but you are hours away from becoming a married woman, these are things I need to talk to you about.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Your father and I made arrangements to visit your aunt across town for a few days. We'll leave after the ceremony so you two will have time to be alone and... figure out how to move forward. It's important, honey, that you take some time to think about the kind of woman you want to be, the kind of wife you want to be... and show him that he can find support in you, someone to grow together with. That's what a wife should be...what a marriage should be, a safe place you build as a couple. Your safe place.”

Your mother's eyes filled with tears and you immediately rose from your seat to hug her. You cherished every word, every piece of advice and word of encouragement she gave you and had given you in the last few days. Seeing her so emotional brought tears to your eyes as well, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to show her that she had taught you well. You wanted to make her proud of you, to build a marriage that would show everyone who knew you how well she had raised you, but you weren't sure you could do it.

Maybe under normal circumstances it wouldn't seem so far away. But there was nothing normal about the way you had arrived at this moment. You had thrown yourself into the arms of a kind stranger to escape the advances of a powerful but evil man. There was no love or deep connection between you and Geralt, only incompatible lives and mutual respect. There was a spark, the one you felt in your core when his lips touched yours, but you weren't sure it was enough to build a life with him. You supposed time would show you eventually.

“Thank you for everything, mother.” You mumbled through tears as you broke away from her embrace. “I don't know how the future will turn out, but I promise I will try my best every day to make you proud of me.”

“Oh, honey! I'm already proud of you.”

You hugged through sobs one more time until your mother called the moment over, pulling away from you as she wiped away your tears and scolded you for distracting her when you had so much to do. She proceeded to finish fixing your hair, braiding it into a nice half up half down hairstyle. You admired your reflection in the mirror, unable to believe that the woman looking back at you was you. You had never paid so much attention to how you looked so you didn't even know you had the ability to look so well presented.

You were so distracted by your appearance that you didn't notice that your mother had left your quarters until you felt the door close behind her upon her return. She was carrying in her hands a neatly folded piece of green fabric, which you soon discovered was a dress. But not just any dress, but the one she had worn the day she married your father. She handed it to you with tears in her eyes and helped you put it on while she told you how much she had waited for the moment to see you wearing it.

The dress was beautiful and fit you perfectly. The green fabric clung to your body, caressing your natural curves, all the way down to your hips where the skirt became full and flowy. Similarly, the sleeves flared out towards the lower half of your arm and the edges were adorned with golden thread embroidery that your grandmother had made herself for your parents' wedding. Your mother took it upon herself to add detail to the bodice, embroidering delicate flowers with the same thread.

“I always envisioned it this way,” your mother commented as you both admired your reflection in the mirror. “At the time we couldn't afford to add more detail. Your grandmother sewed everything herself to save us some money, but I always imagined something more. When you were born I knew I had to finish it, so that one day I could see it on your wedding day.”

“Mother, thank you! It's... it's beautiful!” And you really believed that. The dress was beautiful and the story and sentiment behind it made it even more special.

Looking in the mirror you noticed that you felt beautiful for the first time in your life. Not that you thought you were ugly before that moment, you just never paid much attention to such things. You admired the beauty of noble women when you were lucky enough to come across one in the market, but it was always like someone admiring a painting or a statue. You admired their elegance and the detail of their dresses. You were puzzled by the perfection of their skins and the strong but delicate scent of their perfumes. You appreciated the intricate beauty of their hairstyles and the grace of their walk. It was a beauty that almost didn't seem real. You thought that you were not capable of it, that such delicacy and femininity was unattainable for someone like you. But looking in the mirror at that moment, you felt for the first time like one of those women, beautiful and elegant.

“I know it's not as pretty as the dress you would be wearing if you were about to marry Lord Veldren, but I'm happy to be able to carry on the tradition. He probably would have given you a much more detailed and expensive gown, made of the finest fabrics to enhance your beauty... but then I could never have seen this finished beauty.” Your mother smiled, smoothing the fabric of the skirt to fit your body properly.

“I'm not so sure about that. Although I do think he wouldn't have let me wear it, I don't think it would be because he wanted to give me something better, but rather to use it as a tool of control and take away the power of making my own decisions on yet another thing in my life.”

“Maybe so, but you shouldn't think about that now. What matters is that you managed to get rid of him and we will be able to keep the tradition going. Hopefully someday you will be able to add something else to the dress and pass it on to your daughter on her wedding day.”

You smiled at your mother, but said nothing. You really doubted that would be possible given the person —and the circumstances— you were marrying, but you didn't have the heart to break it to your mother at that moment. There would be time for that, but right now you wanted to focus on the positive.

Your mother excused herself again, running downstairs to make sure everything was going according to plan. You were left alone with your thoughts once more, your mind full of questions about what the future held for you. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Even though you and Geralt didn't share the love you imagined every time you fantasized about your wedding day, it was still quite a nerve-wracking situation. Maybe even more so.

Marrying for love meant getting to know the other person, knowing what they wanted for the future and being certain that you would both work together to make that shared desire come true. But you had none of that with Geralt. You were extremely grateful to him for the decision he had made, but you couldn't help but think that you had no idea what would happen after the ceremony was over. Everything had happened so quickly that you hadn't had time to talk about it. Yes, you had shared a meaningful kiss, but that didn't automatically negate the many reasons he had presented as an argument for not marrying you. At the end of the day, he was still a witcher with a bigger mission and purpose than you and you weren't sure how that was going to affect your marriage.

Would he stay with you and build a life together? Would he leave the next morning, never to return? Would he let you into his life or would he run off into the night without even saying goodbye as he had already tried to do? You were fine with any of those options, after all, they all fulfilled your true goal of getting Lord Veldren out of your life. But you would still like to know beforehand what his choice was going to be so you would know what to expect.

The ceremony was quick. There were no special guests or grand entertainments. It was an intimate event, witnessed only by your family and the officiating clergy. There were no special vows either, you and Geralt didn't know each other well enough to write down your feelings for each other and pronounce your vows of love in front of the witnesses present. But that didn't stop it from being emotional, both for you and your family. Your mother had gone to great lengths to decorate the garden for the ceremony, with colorful flowers and candles surrounding the area where it took place. The pinkish orange tones of the sunset sky added a magical touch to the moment, and while the circumstances of the wedding were not perfect, it was very close to what you had always imagined.

The ceremony was quick, more of a formality than a celebration of love, but you were still happy. The moment the union was official you and your family were free from Lord Veldren and his extortions. You were now married to a man very well trained in the art of combat, if he was smart —and you appealed to his cowardice and his need to feel superior— he would focus his attention on another young girl and finally stop tormenting you. And that was reason enough for you to rejoice and celebrate.

You were contemplating going out for a stroll around town hand in hand with your now husband so that rumors would slowly begin to circulate, when a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Your father went to answer it while you instinctively hid behind Geralt's imposing figure, peeking over his shoulder to decipher if there was danger on the other side of the wood.

You didn't quite hear the conversation that the stranger and your father seemed to be having, only mumbles. But that was enough to make out that it was one of Lord Veldren's men making demands. Only this time they didn't seem to be directed at your family.

“Where is the witcher? We know you are sheltering him here. Have him present himself immediately!” The man demanded in a firm, threatening tone, causing your gaze to rise to meet Geralt's.

“What is this about?” you heard your father say, clearing his throat to try to sound more intimidating.

“He is not welcome here. We have strict orders from Lord Veldren to escort him to the outskirts of town. If you hide him, we will take you as well.”

Geralt took a step forward, ready to face the men calling his name, but stopped when he felt your fingers close around his arm. He looked down at you and saw concern in your eyes. You were afraid of them, of those men, of their threats, of what Lord Veldren might do to you and your family. He had heard you say it on several occasions, but he had never seen it so explicitly on your face. He knew then that he had to act. His job as your husband was to watch over you and protect you from danger, to show you that you no longer had reason to fear these men. So he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it as a way of reassuring you that everything would be all right. Then he approached the door and patted your father on the back to signal that he could leave. He was going to handle what was next.

Geralt took a couple of steps out of the threshold of the door to make sure that if things got out of control you and your family could be locked inside the house while he dealt with the problem. The two men Veldren had brought to capture him backed up with every step he took, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the witcher. Geralt knew then that it was not going to be difficult to get rid of them. He towered over them intimidatingly, his muscular figure large enough to accommodate both men under his shadow. He saw the fear in their eyes and the regret of having left the horses behind to approach the gate.

Despite everything, the men tried to hold their place, and Geralt respected them a bit more for it. However, he did not give in to their demands and when they wanted to force him, he showed them without any trouble or effort the mistake they had made.

“Geralt!” you exclaimed from the doorway, alarmed to see the fight break out. But he quickly proved to you that your concern was in vain. Between blows he even had time to give you a calming look, silently reassuring you that everything was fine and you had nothing to worry about.

“Go inside!” he instructed before turning around and delivering a punch to the guard closest to him.

You didn't listen to him. You stood in place admiring from a distance the skill with which Geralt moved, the precision of his body position and how lethal his attacks were, even as you could tell he was holding back. It was an art, a complex dance that he had mastered to perfection. Those guards never stood a chance.

It wasn't long before the men were on the ground, panting and bloody, wondering what would become of them. But Geralt didn't want to kill them, he understood they were just following orders. His fight was not with them, but with the one who held their leashes. He was the reason they had come looking for him and the one to blame for the fear in your eyes every time you heard the knock on the door. He was the one he really had to fight. So Geralt made sure they heard his next words well.

“Tell Lord Veldren that I'm not going anywhere. If he wants to cast me out, he'll have to come himself to do it in person. If he is not willing to face me then he should leave me and my wife alone or next time it will be me knocking on his door.”

Hearing the protectiveness in his voice as he called you his wife made your heart pound. You weren't used to that, to belonging to someone in that way, but it was definitely something you could get used to. It felt nice having someone caring about you in that way, having someone willing to fight to protect you. You knew it wasn't much of an effort for someone like Geralt, but you also knew he didn't have to do any of it, which made you appreciate it even more.

You ran into Geralt's arms as the men scurried off to their horses, riding away from your home as fast as they could. “Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

It took Geralt a couple of seconds to reciprocate, slightly surprised by your show of affection. He wasn't used to humans —much less young ladies such as yourself— reacting positively when he demonstrated his combat skills. People usually had no problem paying him to solve their problems, but they were rarely able to accept the methods he employed to do so. Of course the fight there had not been brutal, but in the past he had earned negative looks for similar things, so your acceptance of his violence took him by surprise. But eventually Geralt relaxed and pulled you close against his body, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

It wasn't long before you found yourself alone at home. Your family had left for your aunt's place just as your mother had told you and Geralt had disappeared. You were just finishing tidying up, washing glasses and dishes so it wouldn't pile up, when you saw him through the window. He had taken his horse out of the stable and was walking with the reins in his hand at a slow pace in the direction of the exit. And you watched him walk away with sadness in your heart, certain that you would never see him again.

You contemplated running after him, trying to stop him or asking him if he was planning to stop by again. But you regretted it at the last minute. You didn't want to push him any harder than you already had. He had married you because you asked him to and that was more than enough. You couldn't demand that he keep to the guidelines of a normal marriage when you knew very well that there was nothing normal about your arrangement. Geralt had kept his word, he had married you and he had made sure that Lord Veldren knew that you were already taken and that your family was under his protection. You could not ask more of him than that. You now had the freedom you wanted so badly, it was only fair that he could return to his normal life.

You wished he had at least said goodbye, or that he had waited for the sun to rise before disappearing. You'd be lying if you said you weren't sad to have to spend your wedding night alone, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to not force something that wasn't there. The marital bed your brothers and father had built for you would definitely feel too big and empty without someone next to it, but that would probably be that way with or without Geralt there. You didn't share the love necessary to make the bed a warm and safe place, so the night would be long and cold, alone or together.

When you finished tidying up the house you went upstairs to your quarters and took the time to undo your hair and take off your wedding dress. It felt wrong to walk around the house looking like that when there was no one else around. Without your husband there it felt like you had gone back in time to when you were little and played dress up with your mother's dresses, imagining what your life would be like when you got to be her age. You felt silly, so you put the dress away and covered your chemise dress with a robe since you weren't ready to go to sleep yet.

To avoid being consumed by your thoughts, you decided to grab a book. You settled yourself on one side of the bed, your eyes glancing only for a moment at the empty side before you opened the book with the intention of losing yourself in its pages. It was not an easy task. It took you much longer than usual to read just ten pages, your attention always wandering to the swirl of questions that was your mind, forcing you to reread the same pages over and over again to understand what was going on in the story. But eventually you were able to lose yourself in the words to such an extent that you didn't hear the sound of the front door opening or the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Seeing the imposing figure of Geralt peering through the door of your chambers really surprised you. You put your book down for a moment, watching as he took a few hesitant steps inside. “I didn't know if you were coming back.” You broke the silence. Your gaze returned to the book in your hands to avoid the awkwardness of looking him in the eye.

“Honestly I didn't either.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone and you could almost hear the doubt in his voice. “But I threatened Veldren so I can't just disappear and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

Geralt made his way to the empty side of the bed and you watched him sit with his back turned to you. He remained still and silent for a moment, as if lost in his own thoughts, and you wondered if he was regretting the decision he had made. A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your heart was heavy with sadness, feeling guilty that you had trapped him into this.

“You don't need to spend the night here.” You muttered under your breath. If he didn't want to be there you weren't going to force him to sleep next to you. There was no one in the house to judge you, so he could sleep wherever he felt most comfortable, far away from you. “You can go back to your quarters, no one has to know.” You looked down at the book once more, trying to find an escape from the shame you felt in the words written on the weathered pages.

“I want to be here.” Geralt turned, looking at you with softness in his eyes. “It's where I belong.”

And he wasn't lying. He had to admit he wasn't sure if things were going to work out, but he was your husband now and it was his duty to be there for you. It was the one thing he was sure of in all of this, it had become clear to him on his walk through town with Roach. He had left with the intention of clearing his thoughts, to contemplate his options and decide how to proceed accordingly. And he found that the further he got away from you, the worse he felt. He didn't like the idea of you spending your wedding night alone, in an empty house without your family or husband. It was wrong. So he came back to hold you in his arms at night as he should and keep you safe in case Lord Veldren decided to pay you a visit. He did not know how long he could keep up the charade —how much longer he could hide from his destiny and responsibilities—, but that was not a concern he had to consider at the moment. Tonight he was supposed to be by your side.

You smiled at him as you heard him say that, feeling relieved. You didn't notice anything in his expression that made you think he was lying to you so you allowed yourself to relax a little. You were still a little tense as you didn't know how to proceed or what he expected from tonight. You knew it was tradition for newlywed couples to consummate the marriage on their wedding night, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about it, but you wondered if it made any kind of sense. You weren't going to build a family together. There was no love between you to express in a physical way. And yet you couldn't help but wonder if Geralt wanted you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you asked after a moment of silence, shifting your gaze away from Geralt's in embarrassment. You hoped you didn't sound controlling or needy.

“I haven't decided yet... I do have to go back, I have a home and people waiting for me, but we have some time. Besides, I realized it would not be wise to leave so soon after threatening Lord Veldren. I promised you that I would keep you safe from him and I intend to keep my word. It is best that I stay for a while to make sure he does not retaliate.”

You felt that comforting warmth in your belly again as you heard the protective tone in his voice. You tried to focus on that to get rid of all your worries, repeating over and over in your mind that he wanted to be there and that it had been his decision to help you.

Geralt turned his back to you once again and the air caught in your throat when you noticed that he was taking off his shirt, probably getting comfortable to sleep. Heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't stop your eyes from trailing over his figure exposed to your curious gaze. He was like a work of art, the most beautiful and detailed sculpture you had ever seen. You admired with marvelous awe the way his muscles marked on his skin with every movement, as if they were sculpted by the hand of the most talented artist. His pale skin was the perfect canvas on which the tales of his adventures were told in the form of scratches and scars. Some were larger and flushed, others smaller and faded, but all equally intriguing. There was a large one on his left shoulder blade and another near his lower back that caught your attention. You couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. How did they end up on his skin? Who or what was responsible? Had it been saving someone?

You had to occupy your hands with the book, flipping through the pages to distract yourself and resist the urge to reach out to touch every bit of exposed skin your fingers could reach. You didn't know what had gotten into you, but with each passing second it became harder to stay away from Geralt. You were grateful that he had turned his back on you, that way he wasn't able to see the hunger and curiosity in your eyes, which allowed you to keep your dignity.

But even though he couldn't see you, he could still feel your gaze on him. He could feel the way you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and hear the change in your breathing that now escaped your lips in shallow gasps. He knew exactly what was going through your mind and thought it was adorable that you thought you could hide it from him.

“You can ask about them. I know what you want to.” Geralt broke the silence.

He still had his back to you, working on taking off his boots, but you still felt your whole face light up with embarrassment at having been caught. Could witchers read minds? You were pretty sure they couldn't, but the way he knew with such certainty that your eyes were examining his scars scared you a little.

“I guess everyone's curious about that, huh.”

Geralt shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first to ask about them.”

The implication behind his words put a strange feeling in your stomach. The idea that other people had had the opportunity to share such an intimate moment with him didn't sit well with you in the slightest, though you didn't quite understand why. You ignored that strange feeling for the moment, choosing to focus your attention on the moment unfolding before your eyes. Geralt's past or future should not concern you since you were not part of either. But you were part of his present and that was all that mattered.

You moved closer to him on the bed, letting one hand timidly make contact with his back. Geralt said nothing when he felt your fingers on his skin, which gave you the confidence to explore his body with a little more freedom. You were careful with your touch, slowly tracing the lines marked on his skin as you memorized their shape and color, reading them as if they were the story of his life. You tried to guess which had come first, imagining the causes behind each rough line on his skin. Your fingers lingered a little longer on his shoulder as you discovered that beneath your fingertips there was a mark that was almost imperceptible to your eyes. It was almost the same color as his skin, but you could feel the difference in texture when you touched the area. It reminded you very much of the mark that had been left on your shoulder after a hunting accident when you were a child, and you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he was the same age as you when that wound was made.

“Were they all done by the monsters you hunt?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Geralt closed his eyes as he felt your warm breath tickle the skin of his back. He focused on your touch, letting your fingers guide his memory and transport him back to the moments when those marks had been inflicted on his skin. The Striga, the Bruxa, the fight in that bar that one time, the Kikimora in the lake by the side of the road and, finally, the dislocated arm he earned on one of his first days of training when he was much smaller and skittish than he was now.

“Some were made by human swords as well... that's what I meant when I warned you of the danger I bring with me. It's not just the monsters.”

Geralt turned to look at you and met your confused expression. You were lost in thought for a moment and then, without a word, you removed the robe you were wearing, exposing the linen chemise dress that covered your body. The white fabric was loose but thin, exposing probably more than you wanted to before his eyes. He almost felt bad for looking at you until your hands grabbed his and pulled them to your shoulder, right where the short sleeve that held the chemise dress in place had slipped down.

You pressed Geralt's hand against you, feeling a warm tingle under your skin as his fingers finally made contact with the scar you were trying to show him. His eyes moved up from your collarbone to your face, looking at you curiously.

“I got this one when I was about 10 years old. My older brother was just starting to learn to hunt so my dad was going to take him on a hunting trip just the two of them. I begged him for days to let me go with them, I even promised him that I wouldn't leave his sight and I would do whatever he told me to do... He agreed, just to shut me up. And he was very careful all the time, they both were. But still things went wrong and I was shot with an arrow. The wound got infected and I almost died... my father had to carry me two villages away for a healer to cure me.”

Geralt listened to you attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid gently down your shoulder. He wondered what point you were trying to make, though he had to admit he found it a bit difficult to focus having you so close. Your hand never let go of his. It remained lightly clinging to his wrist, giving him enough freedom to move across your skin but keeping it in place. He couldn't help but notice how small it looked in contrast to his, your slender but short fingers had trouble closing around his wrist while his hand could wrap around your entire shoulder.

He allowed you to move his hand once more, guiding it further south this time. You stretched one leg out on the bed, lifting your chemise dress up to thigh height. It was a slow, tortuous movement that Geralt followed closely with his eyes, silently admiring how you shyly exposed part of your body to him. Then you allowed his calloused fingers to make contact with the skin of your knee where he quickly found another mark.

“This one I got when I was even younger. I think I was about 8 years old or so. I fell off a horse and broke my leg. The bone was showing and everything! I fainted from the shock and I don't remember much of what happened. It took a long time to heal and even on rainy days it still hurts and I have a little trouble walking... My point is, we all have scars.”

You offered a warm smile to Geralt, but he looked away. His fingers ran over the faded lines on your knee a couple of times before he spoke.

“It's not the same.” He muttered, lost in thought.

Your smile widened slightly looking at Geralt with compassion. You reached out your free hand towards him, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to look at you. “Yes it is. They may not be equally heroic, but they represent the same thing... danger, risk of death, pain... Any one of those wounds could have ended my life because danger can come from anywhere, even in the comfort of this very house. Life is not a competition about who lives longer, but about who lives it better... if having you in my life shortens my lifespan 10 years I will take it without complaint because it is infinitely better than living 100 years under Lord Veldren's control.” You meant every word and sealed it by pressing your lips against Geralt's in a soft, gentle kiss.

The moment your lips connected you felt that spark again. A warm sensation spread through your body and you found it impossible to separate from Geralt. But this kiss was different from the one you had shared on the lakeside that night. It felt much more intimate and special. He let you set the pace, adapting to the movement of your lips and keeping his hands still. It was clear he was doing it for you, to make you feel comfortable and to allow you to set your own boundaries. And you found that incredibly sweet. His movements were slow and tender, caressing your lips with his as if he knew exactly what to do to sweep you off your feet.

But it wasn't long before you began to feel like you needed something more. As sweet as his lips felt against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted to feel his warmth enveloping you completely, to explore his body and leave your mark on his skin. You moved closer to him, deepening the kiss in an attempt to satiate the need that was growing rapidly deep inside you. Your hand clung properly to his chin and you sucked on his lower lip with fervor, your tongue timidly caressing his mouth as an invitation for more. Geralt's grip on your leg tightened, his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your thigh in warning. He was trying to slow you down, warning you that you were headed down a dangerous path. But all he got from you was a moan. The sweetest, most addictive sound, that vibrated against your lips and awakened a fire inside him.

Geralt's fingers tightened around your leg instinctively, a natural reaction to what your beautiful sounds were provoking in him. He was trying so hard to hold back and you were making it increasingly difficult for him. A moan escaped your lips again, feeling a pressure in your stomach and a pulse between your legs as his calloused fingers marked your skin. This time the sound was much louder and clearer, echoing in the witcher's ears as if it were a beautiful song. One that awakened his most primal desires.

When you fell silent he felt empty. An urgent need to know all the sounds of pleasure that he was able to get from you took over him. Suddenly he lost the little control he had left over his desires, but he gained control of the situation, guiding your body down onto the mattress without separating his lips from yours. He had only one goal in mind: to engrave forever in his memory the sound of your voice calling his name as you unraveled in his arms.

The moment Geralt took control, it was over for you. His body trapped you against the mattress, his much larger and imposing figure hovering over yours like a wolf over its prey. One of his hands rested beside your head, helping to keep his balance, the other ran up your thigh until it reached your hip, lifting your chemise dress in its path. His fingers left a trail of fire over your skin, increasing the pressure in your stomach and the wetness in your most intimate area. Geralt's lips moved down from your mouth to your neck, sucking and playfully nibbling at the sensitive skin with enough fervor to leave marks.

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, struggling to keep the moans from escaping your throat. You were embarrassed by the ease with which he could arouse such improper sounds in you. You sounded so pathetic —your voice so whiny and desperate— that it was hard to recognize your own voice. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself any more than you already were, so you fought against every instinct to keep those sounds inside you.

But Geralt didn't share the same thought. When he noticed what you were doing his hand traveled from your hip to your chin. He used his thumb to free your lower lip, pushing it away from your teeth in a delicate movement. His eyes admired your slightly swollen lips glistening with saliva. He resisted the temptation to kiss them once more, settling for gently caressing them with his thumb.

“Don't do that,” Geralt murmured in your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your ear lobe. “I want to listen to you.”

He showed you no compassion as he placed his mouth on your neck again. He started soft, leaving a trail of wet kisses over the sensitive area just below your ear, a way to lure you into a false sense of security. Then he sucked and nibbled on the skin and didn't stop until he heard you moan under his touch. Only then he ran his tongue over the area, a gentle caress that sought to soothe the slightly irritated skin. And then he started the whole process all over again, working his way downward toward your collarbones.

“That's it, I want to hear you... I need to know that I'm making you feel good.” he whispered against your heated skin.

You wanted to answer him, to assure him that you had never felt anything like this before. But when you opened your mouth no sound came out, only an airy sigh as you felt his fingers brush your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt dress. Geralt took note of that and soon wrapped his hand around your breast, covering it completely. You arched your back towards him instinctively as he began to play with your nipple between his fingers. It was slightly painful when he pinched them, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You instinctively tried to push your legs together, hoping that the pressure of your thighs together would be enough to relieve the throbbing need in your most sensitive area. But you were unable to do so because Geralt's leg rested between yours, keeping you open and in place for him. You moaned and squirmed under Geralt's body, frustrated and desperate for some relief. And his solution to your predicament was to push his thick thigh directly against your crotch.

You both moaned as you rubbed against his leg. Your eyes opened wide, surprised by the wave of pleasure that coursed through your body as it made contact with the fabric of Geralt's pants. You had never felt anything like it before, but it did wonders to soothe the pulsing heat inside you. So you moved your hips against him again and again until you established a slow, sensual rhythm that made your whole body feel on fire.

Geralt took a moment to admire you in the dim candlelight, noticing every little detail about you. You looked beautiful with your hair spread out on the bed and your soft, delicate skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your swollen, parted lips let out the sweetest sounds, inviting him to devour them once more. Your breasts moved slightly with each sway of your hips, tempting him to release them from their white linen confinement. He couldn't help but notice that you looked very different from the way you did the first time he saw you. The purity and innocence was still present in your eyes, but hidden behind the lust and desire that had taken over your body. He found it increasingly difficult to keep himself under control, especially when you looked at him with half-closed eyes in pleasure, mumbling incoherently as you soaked his thigh with your arousal.

He was amazed at how easy it was to bring you to that euphoric state. Your naivety on the subject made you more receptive to his caresses, all he had to do was touch you on the right place and say the right words and you would whimper for more. Geralt found it incredibly attractive. Knowing that he was the first man to see you in that state awakened something deep inside him. He was the one who was introducing you to the world of pleasure, he would become your standard, your only reference for judging another man's ability to perform, and he wanted to make sure that no one could ever compare to him.

“You look so pretty like this.” Geralt whispered against your lips, his hand clinging to your chin to make sure you didn't move your head back in pleasure. “Such a perfect little dove, feeling good to me.” The nickname escaped his lips without too much thought, but it was fitting. You were his little dove, white and innocent, but with a free spirit that longed to fly and explore the world.

Warmth poured into your cheeks, feeling nervous under the witcher's intense gaze. “Geralt...” you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. You wanted to ask him to stop, but at the same time you were sure you would cry if he pulled away from you. The friction was no longer enough, but you weren't sure you could take any more.

“What is it, my dove? Use your words.” The tone of his voice was gentle, but his lips curved upward in a devilish smile. It was such a distinct contrast that it startled you, it made you wonder if you were capable of enduring what he was dying to give you.

“I need more... I need you.”

“You already have me.” Geralt scattered little kisses down your chin and neck, and pressed his thigh a little harder against your crotch, giving you a better angle to move your hips.

You let out a pathetic moan, closing your eyes in embarrassment and frustration. “You know what I mean.” You mumbled, hoping he wouldn't make you say it out loud.

“I know, I know... but I need to get you ready first... I need to make sure you're ready to take me.”

Geralt pulled away from you and you let out a groan at the loss of the only amount of friction that was giving you some relief. However, he didn't stay away from you for long. His hands caressed their way down your body, making you gasp as you felt his fingers on your exposed thighs. You remained still, expectant. Your eyes didn't leave his figure for a second, waiting to see what his next move was.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked you in a husky voice as his hands slowly moved up your thighs, getting dangerously close to your most intimate area. “Have you ever let another man kiss you and touch you like this? It's okay if you did, you don't have to feel ashamed of that with me.”

You shook your head, having trouble forming a coherent sentence as his fingers drew circles over the sensitive skin of your thighs. “No... I-I was waiting for the right person.” You managed to blurt out between gasps.

“Have you ever given yourself pleasure?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that intimate and strange question. Were you supposed to? Was that a part of all this that you hadn't been told about? When you were old enough your mother had taken it upon herself to tell you certain things, but not even in the days leading up to the wedding had she talked about something like that. You had been raised under the belief that sex was something special only meant to be shared with a spouse. You had felt things in the past, but never acted on it, no more than squeezing your legs together to make the throbbing in your core stop.

“Was I supposed to?” You asked in a whisper, afraid you were doing something wrong.

You didn't have to be too bright to know that Geralt was experienced in the subject —it was clear in the way he moved, in how he kissed you, and in the confidence of his caresses— which only made you feel more aware of your inexperience. You were afraid that he expected something different, that your inexperience would be a problem and that he would reject you for it. You needed him and wanted him to have a good time too, you just weren't sure you could give it to him.

But Geralt smiled warmly at your response, his eyes looking at you with a softness in them that awakened butterflies in your stomach. He didn't seem angry or disappointed, which gave you some reassurance.

“Do you trust me to make you feel good?” His voice was a raspy whisper that made your heart flutter in your chest. You nodded your head, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you say it, dove.”

“I trust you, Geralt.” You said confidently.

Maybe it was the way you looked at each other as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, or maybe it was the slow, passionate kiss you shared afterwards, but the moment felt much more intimate and authentic than you expected. It was no longer just about carnal desire and feeling good, there was something much deeper behind your words and the softness in Geralt's eyes. It was about your connection, how comfortable and safe you felt in each other's arms. It wasn't love, at least not yet, but it was a spark.

Geralt's hands continued to travel up your body as he kissed you, lifting your chemise dress in his wake. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the fiery trail his fingers awakened in their path. The higher they traveled, the more your heart pounded in your chest, racing with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Geralt pulled away from your lips as his exploring fingers reached the underside of your breasts. He looked into your eyes, searching them for consent before fully revealing your body to his hungry eyes. He didn't have to say anything and neither did you. You simply shifted your position and raised your arms so that he could remove the article of clothing with more ease.

You felt the need to cover yourself as you were finally exposed to him, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. Your hands instinctively went to cover your breasts, but Geralt stopped you before you could do so.

“Don't hide from me. You are beautiful and I want to take the time to admire and appreciate every part of you to show you how beautiful you are.”

This time it was you who sought his lips since you didn't have the words to express what his tender words and desire filled eyes made you feel. You gave yourself completely to him, body and soul, so that he could do with you whatever he wanted. You let his fingers explore every inch of your body and his lips mark your skin as if he were claiming ownership over your being. And you allowed yourself the same freedom, caressing his arms and back, burying your fingers in his long white hair as he lost himself in the crook of your neck.

When he buried his hand between your legs, your grip on his hair tightened, tugging lightly on the strands as waves of pleasure flooded through your body. It was a pleasure you had never felt before, intense and exhilarating. It set your whole body on fire and made it hard to breathe, but you were sure you would burst into tears if Geralt pulled away from you at that moment. It was all too much —Geralt's caresses, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the wetness of his lips attacking your most sensitive areas— the pleasure was overwhelming and with each passing second you felt more and more as if something inside you was going to snap.

“That's right, my beautiful wife, feeling good for me.” Geralt muttered against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked deep into your eyes. You let out a pathetic moan in response, feeling your heart pound at hearing him call you his wife. You liked the sound of that, probably more than you should.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the moment. The pleasure and possessiveness of his words brought you to a high that had you completely enraptured. Your body no longer felt like yours, it no longer responded to you, but to Geralt's touch, his words and his kisses. You couldn't say that it bothered you. On the contrary, it felt good, right. You trusted him with your body, mind and soul, you knew he would take good care of you.

You were brought back to the moment when you felt a pressure in your core. You opened your eyes, alarmed, as you felt one of Geralt's long, thick fingers slowly slide inside you. Your hand flew to his forearm, gripping it to stop him. It hurt. It wasn't unbearable, but it was uncomfortable. You could feel your velvety walls stretching open, struggling to accommodate his finger.

“Sshh, I know, I know,” Geralt's reassuring voice echoed in your ears. “It hurts, I know. But it'll be just for a moment until you get used to it. Then it will feel good, I promise... Do you trust me?”

Your grip on his arm lightened at his question, a silent answer that you reaffirmed with an affirming nod of your head. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Then let me show you how good it can feel.”

You did not remove your hand from his arm, but allowed him to continue. Geralt's movements became extremely slow and careful. He distracted you from the pain with pleasure, spreading kisses over every inch of skin his lips could reach, and resuming the gentle caresses of his thumb over your little bundle of nerves. Soon the pressure dissipated, your walls opening up to him, inviting him to get lost deep inside with the slipperiness of your arousal. And so he did, pushing his finger deep inside you in search of that special place that would make your toes curl and your back arch in pleasure.

He knew he found it when the volume of your moans increased and you rolled your eyes back. Your grip on his arm tightened, only this time not as a signal to stop, but as a desperate search for some support, something to help you stay grounded while the pleasure consumed you. It hurt a little when he added a second finger to his intrusion, but not as much as the first time. You were more relaxed and more comfortable. You knew you could take it and that the reward for doing so was pleasure like you had never felt before, so you bit your lower lip and took it.

It didn't take long for you to feel yourself on the edge of explosion, the tension in your belly getting tighter to the point of being unbearable. Your moans became more whiny and incoherent, your body moving without your control to the tune of Geralt's touch. You felt you could take no more, but at the same time you needed to know what lay beyond the limit.

“Geralt, I can't... it's too much.” You managed to blurt out between incessant panting. Your vision was getting slightly blurry and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You tried to pull away from Geralt's arms, but he wouldn't let you. He trapped you under his towering figure to make sure you couldn't escape his touch.

“Yes you can. I know you can... You just have to let go, all right? It's okay, I'm here. I've got you. I've got you. You're alright. Just let go, you're safe with me.”

The softness of his words contrasted with the firmness of his touch, his fingers attacking your most sensitive area without any mercy. And the combined effort of both of them was enough to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and white lights exploded behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure washed over you. The world around you ceased to exist. You could hear Geralt's voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear and feel his soft caresses on your skin, guiding you through your climax, but it all felt distant, like a dream. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure that shook your body.

Geralt's golden gaze was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He was silently admiring you, one finger stroking your cheek in a circular pattern while his eyes watched every little detail of your face. There was something in his gaze, a sparkle in his eyes that captivated you. It was more than lust, more than the lasciviousness you were used to seeing in Lord Veldren's eyes. You couldn't quite name it, but you knew it made you feel good, comfortable and safe. Geralt desired you, but not in the possessive, objectifying way that your previous suitor did. When he looked at you as he did at that moment you knew he didn't see an object he wanted to possess, he saw you as the woman you were. You felt seen by Geralt in a way you had never experienced before. He gave you confidence and self-assurance and you loved the way that felt.

“How do you feel?” his raspy voice whispered close to your ear.

The corners of your lips curved upward slightly, demonstrating the state of complete bliss you were in. “Good... I'm fine.”

“You did so well...” Geralt trailed off, his thumb following the line of your lips as his mind was lost in the image of your eyes closed and your mouth parted open letting out moans and gasps as you came undone in his arms.

It was a beautiful image that he wanted to engrave forever in his memory. Giving you pleasure was his new addiction, the way your body trembled beneath him, the sounds you made, the scent of your arousal, it was all too intoxicating. He was dying to see you in such a state again. And again. And again and again, until his scent was so impregnated into your skin that everyone knew you were his wife when they came near you.

“Do you think you're ready for more?”

You nodded eagerly, regaining the strength to lift your arms and cling to Geralt's neck, pulling him to you to melt into a kiss. “I am, I want everything from you... I want to make you feel good too, even if I don't know how.” You admitted with some embarrassment.

“You don't have to worry about that, my beloved. It makes me feel good to see you enjoy yourself. Tonight is about you and I will take it upon myself to show you all the pleasure you don't know.”

Your heart pounded as you heard the affectionate nickname he used for you. His beloved... You liked the sound of it, even when it wasn't real. You let yourself get lost in the moment, drifting into a reality where he really loved you enough for those words to mean something.

The softness in his voice and the tenderness of his touch made you feel good, safe. It was soothing to know that he had no great expectations for you and was willing to take the time to teach you what you didn't know. However, your newfound confidence suffered a blow the moment his naked body was completely exposed to your curious eyes. He was beautiful and big, almost too big. As you looked at him you remembered the discomfort you felt when his fingers pushed inside you and felt your stomach twist with nerves, thinking there was no way the experience could be pleasurable for both of you.

Geralt noticed the concern on your face immediately and rushed to comfort you. His body was on top of yours in no time, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you with softness in his eyes. “You need to relax,” he muttered against your lips.

“B-but, it's going to hurt...it won't fit.” You closed your eyes as he spoke, feeling embarrassment taking hold of you. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel good and let him guide you through the pleasure, but you had to admit you were a little nervous.

You feared that your comment had ruined the moment, that Geralt had grown tired of your hesitation and decided to leave you and go to sleep. But instead of scoffing, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, making you open your eyes again.

“It will fit. We'll make it fit. That's why I spent all this time getting you ready for me...so you'd be wet and ready to take me.” Geralt spread little wet kisses down your jaw to your neck as he spoke. If it was a strategy to distract you it was working wonders, because you could start to feel your body relax again. “It's going to hurt a little at first, just like before. But then it will feel good... We'll go slow and if at any point you feel it's too much we'll stop completely, alright? You are in control here.”

His words relaxed you more than you expected and with a simple kiss and a slight nod you gave Geralt permission to continue his assault on your body.

You winced as he began to thrust inside you. It felt a lot more uncomfortable than his fingers, though not so strange anymore. Your walls were struggling to accommodate his size and that resulted in a sharp burning pain between your legs that led you to consider stopping everything. And honestly you would have if Geralt hadn't let out the most beautiful sound you'd heard all night. It was a moan like no other so far, a primal growl that came from deep inside him, vibrating in his chest and filling you with confidence. You were making him feel good. Even if it hurt a little, even if you didn't quite know what to do, you were making him feel good. It filled your chest with pride and confidence to know that you were capable of such a thing and that was what you focused on to overcome the pain.

Your hands clung to him, nails digging into his back as you closed your eyes and focused all your attention on him, on his gasps and the way his body pressed down closer into yours.

“That's it, you're doing so well for me, dove” Geralt encouraged you between ragged breaths and a warm feeling filled your insides at the praise. “Just a little more, you can do it.”

“Geralt” you sighed, a mix of pain and pleasure clear in your voice. It was a plea for him to stop and for him to continue all at the same time, the expression of the conflicting sensations you felt inside you.

Geralt felt as if he could die at that very moment. The high-pitched whine in your voice, the glimmer in your eyes from tears and the hunger in your gaze was all too much. Your arousal helped him slide in with ease and he had to control himself from slipping inside you in one quick thrust. You felt so good, so wet and tight that he was going crazy. Slowly thrusting inside you was torture, but it was one he was willing to endure to make you feel comfortable and safe.

He stood still for a moment when he finally pushed all the way into you, giving you time to adjust to him as he enjoyed your warmth. “Can you feel me deep inside you, filling you more than you've ever been?” Geralt whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “You know what that means, huh? It means you're mine now.”

Your walls tightened around him, causing you both to let out a moan of pleasure. The pain slowly dissipated as your body molded to his almost as if to honor his words. You were his, body and soul. The burning pain turned to pulsing desire and it wasn't long before you were squirming beneath Geralt's body, struggling to find some friction to relieve the pressure between your legs.

“I'm yours... I'm yours...” you repeated between wet kisses, giving him the power to do whatever he wanted with you. “Please...”

Geralt loved hearing the plea escape your lips, a whiny whisper that let him know you were ready for more. He enjoyed the way you looked up at him waiting expectantly for every move, every word, knowing that only he could bring you to that sweet relief once again. He almost wanted to hear you beg more for it, to watch you squirm under his body and whimper in frustration until he decided to give you what you so desperately needed. But he wasn't sure he could hold on that long to feel you fall apart in his arms one more time. He needed to feel you and he needed it now.

“I know, I know... I got you” Geralt breathed as he slowly slid his member almost all the way out of you. You threw your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes as you felt the delicious drag along your walls. He held still for a moment and then thrust inside you again, only with a little more force this time.

The moan that escaped your lips was both obscene and pathetic in equal parts. And Geralt loved every second of it.

“Does that feel good? Was that what you wanted?” You knew Geralt was making sure you were okay with those questions, they weren't necessarily meant for you to have a particular reaction to them, just to communicate your state to him. But there was something in the tone of his voice that sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body.

“Yes, yes! More, please, more!” was all you could blurt out between gasps, but Geralt didn't hesitate to indulge you.

He set a slow, sensual pace at first, dragging his member torturously slow along your walls before thrusting back inside you, using a little more force with each time. His lips never left your body, kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach. His hands closed over your hips, holding you in place to make sure each thrust of his cock reached that special place inside you that made you scream.

Once you got used to his rhythm, you began to move your hips at the same pace, seeking to meet him halfway and forcing him inside you when he took too long. One of your hands got lost in his hair, grabbing and pulling the strands between your fingers when pleasure overwhelmed you or you wanted to feel his lips in a specific place. Your other hand clung to his broad back, nails digging into the skin until they left marks that would not fade the next morning. And Geralt loved every second of it.

He loved knowing you were feeling good. He loved being the one guiding you, teaching you things about your own body that you didn't even know yourself. But most of all, he loved the idea of you leaving your mark on his skin just as he was marking yours. Being inside you —feeling the warmth of your walls clenching around his cock, hearing your incessant moans and smelling the scent of your arousal in the air— had awakened something primal inside him, a possessiveness he didn't know he was capable of feeling. You were his after tonight and he wanted everyone to know it just by looking at you. No other man would ever dare to get close to you because his scent would be forever present on your skin, warning everyone not to lay a finger on you because you were already his.

“That's it, mark me as yours... I am yours and you are mine... mine to protect. Mine to please and to take care of. Mine to fuck and guide through the most intense carnal pleasures... Mine... My woman.” Geralt emphasized each sentence with a thrust bringing you closer and closer to that sweet relief. His movements were becoming more and more rough and sloppy, signaling that he was close to losing control as well.

You were slowly losing your grip on reality, your mind spiraling with pleasure. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the heat coursing through your body, but Geralt's words managed to bring you back to reality. The roughness in his voice and the possessiveness of his affirmations were a lethal mix designed to push you to the limit of what you could bear.

“Yes, yes! I'm yours, forever... I need... please.” You weren't being very coherent, but Geralt understood perfectly well what you wanted. He could feel the way your walls tightened around him, swallowing his cock deep inside you. You were close to exploding and he was more than willing to take you there.

“I know, I know... I got you, it's okay. You can let go, just relax. Take a deep breath... that's it. Let go, I've got you. I want to feel you come apart around me, please.”

Geralt's fingers pressed against your little bundle of nerves, drawing small circles on the swollen, sensitive skin. His thrusts became more precise, hitting that special place inside you with each thrust. His words were interpreted by your body as a command and in a matter of seconds the pleasure exploded inside you, spreading throughout your body.

You fell limp in Geralt's arms, overwhelmed and ecstatic. He only slowed his assault on your body for a moment, his hips almost ceasing to move to give you time to catch your breath.

“That's it, my good dove” he praised you as his thumb drew circles over the skin of your hip. “I wish you could see yourself right now... so beautiful, so fragile... Do you think you can take a little more? I need to fill you, to mark you as mine in the deepest, most intimate way possible, do you think you can take it?”

You moaned in response, already feeling his hips begin to pick up the pace ever so slowly. There was nothing you wanted more than that. You wanted to be his forever, even outside these four walls. You wanted to feel his warmth always with you and the weight of his body against yours. You longed to feel his scent on your skin and see the marks of his kisses on your body. You wanted everything he had to give you and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Yes, I can take it! Please give it to me! I need it... I need it all from you, please.” you pleaded eagerly and in response Geralt thrust his hips against yours, setting a fast and lethal rhythm.

It was clear he was using you for his pleasure now, but even then your body responded to his touches, the tension building again in your belly. It was as if you were no longer in control of your own body, as if it had stopped recognizing you as the one in charge and instead waited for Geralt's orders to react. And you didn't fight against it one bit, you simply let yourself be carried away by passion, feeling the pleasure through him.

His movements became more and more erratic and his moans louder and more frequent. He was losing control and you loved knowing that you were capable of causing something like that in him. You liked that he was using you for his own pleasure, that he was focusing on himself and using your body as a tool to achieve that sweet relief. He wasn't actively working on it, but with every thrust and moan he let out he brought you closer to that same edge. It was sweet and overwhelming. You felt the urge to escape from his arms so you could catch your breath, but your body could only press harder into Geralt's, moving your hips to help him find the pleasure he had shown you.

And it wasn't long before you both exploded in a sea of moans and pleasure.

“That's it, take it all in... take my seed deep inside you. Feel me inside you filling you up, claiming what belongs to me.” Geralt growled as he painted your walls with his essence, which mingled with the remnants of your release. “No one else is ever going to get the chance to feel this ever. You are mine... mine.”

You could do nothing but respond in whimpers of pleasure as your body shook with the intensity of your own orgasm, amplified by Geralt's words and the sensation of being filled with his seed.

You lost consciousness after that, reality slipping through your fingers like sand. You could hear Geralt mumbling sweet words in your ear and feel his fingers gently caressing your skin, but you didn't have the strength or ability to move or respond to him. You just laid there in his arms, full and in a state of complete bliss for who knows how long. The passage of time was a concept that had ceased to exist for you. The world around you seemed to have slowed down, but inside you felt your body working at an accelerated pace. Your heart pounded hard against your chest, the sound of pumping blood echoing in your ears. Your lungs struggled to get enough air so that your body could relax, your short, quickened breaths slowly finding a calmer rhythm as time passed.

Geralt took care of you every step of the way as you came down from your high, spreading soft kisses over your skin and whispering praise in your ear. He even went to the trouble of tucking you into bed and covering you with the sheets so that you wouldn't get cold once your body returned to normal temperature. And when you regained consciousness, his gentle smile was the first thing your eyes saw.

“There you are!” He said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear so he could admire your sweet face in all its glory. He would be lying if he said he wasn't proud of the expression of pure pleasure and satisfaction that graced your face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine... tired, but fine.” You let out an airy chuckle, still feeling somewhat disconnected from everything.

You both remained silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. You couldn't help but think that there was something different about the way Geralt was looking at you. It was something you had noticed before, but you thought it was due to the intensity of the moment. Although now that everything was calmer you began to think it was something else. You didn't quite know how to explain what you saw in his eyes, but you knew you liked the way he made you feel. The only way you could describe it was a soft, comforting warmth, like a sunny spring morning. It felt like a caress to the soul, a tender gesture that awakened a tingle inside you. You felt safe under his gaze, seen in a way you had never experienced with a man.

“Thank you...” your voice broke the silence, ”for everything, I guess... for protecting me, for being such a gentleman, for treating me so well...” You were interrupted by the yawn that escaped involuntarily from your lips, reminding you once again how tired you were. “You gave me a perfect night... If you decide to leave tomorrow and I never see you again, you still leave me with the memory of a beautiful wedding night.”

Geralt was surprised by how much he disliked the idea of walking away from you. He knew he had to do it and a couple of hours ago he was more than ready to do it, but now things had changed. Separating from you was not as easy now that he had you naked in his arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes full of pleasure. It wasn't easy after having heard you beg for his name or having inhaled the scent of your essence. It wasn't easy at all now that he had claimed you as his own, marking you in the most intimate way he could, leaving his mark forever on your skin. He no longer wanted to be away from you and was willing to fight anyone who wanted to come between you. And, to be honest, that scared him a little.

“It's okay... rest.” He murmured gently as he noticed the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open. “We'll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. You need to rest now, my dove.”

The last thing you felt before you surrendered to sleep was Geralt's arms pressing you against his body, letting you rest your head on his chest as he traced sweet caresses on the skin of your back.

The month you shared with Geralt alone in your home was beautiful. You loved waking up tangled in the sheets and his arms, and his honey colored eyes being the first thing you saw in the morning. You loved chatting with him over breakfast and taking long walks around town hand in hand. You especially liked the way he would put his arm around you when a man dared to even look at you for too long, and how he would show you off when his walks through the marketplace ran into one of Lord Veldren's men. At first it was in a provocative way, as if he was looking to generate a reaction in the man, but after days passed and he did not show up at his door to challenge him and fight for your hand, Geralt knew he had won. Then the gentle kisses and soft caresses in front of his men —and in front of Lord Veldren himself on one occasion— went from being a provocation to a brag, a constant display of the weakness the Lord sought so hard to hide.

You learned a lot about Geralt in this time, about his life, his profession and the important people in his life —although perhaps not as much as you would like, as it was hard to get him to talk. Your favorite thing was listening to the tales of his adventures at night when you were both lying in bed. He didn't seem to find them as fascinating as you did, since you sensed a slight annoyance in his eyes whenever you insisted on the subject, but he never refused to indulge you. You loved listening to him talk, especially at night when the warmth of his chest and the deep sound of his voice lulled you to sleep. But besides being a cure for your restless nights, you quickly discovered that his stories were a good way to get to know him better. Geralt wasn't good at talking about himself or his life when you asked him a direct question, but through the way he recounted his travels you were able to gather little bits and pieces of his persona —the way he thought, his moral compass, details of his work and the reality of witchers that you didn't know. You found his world fascinating, frightening and dangerous at times, but fascinating nonetheless.

However, all good things always come to an end, in your experience, sooner rather than later. And this was yours. The day had finally come for Geralt to leave and you woke up that morning terrified that you would never see him again.

You hadn't talked much about it, since you were both secretly dreading the mere thought of being apart. And this morning was no different. You went about your routine as if it were any ordinary day, though with the heavy tension in the air that came from knowing it wasn't. You tried your best to ignore it as much as possible, looking for every excuse to spend more time together, making the most of what you had left. The morning chores were a bit delayed, as getting out of bed proved to be a particularly difficult task when all you wanted to do was melt into each other's bodies until you were one. But beyond the desperation to be with each other, there was not a single mention of the countdown you both had in the back of your mind.

When Geralt had marked this date as the day of his departure he had assured you that it would not be permanent and in the blissful happiness of the moment you had believed him. But now that the time had come, you couldn't help but be saddened not only by having to part from him, but also by not knowing for how long. You had spent a beautiful time together and you wanted to believe that it would be enough for Geralt to want to come back to your arms, but the reality was that you didn't know. You couldn't help but think that he had been almost forced into this marriage and you feared that going back to his old routines would put things in perspective. After all, there was a reason he had refused your proposal so much the first time. He had only agreed to marry you after spending time living with your family, losing himself in a reality far different from his own, and you were afraid that getting back on the road would show him what a big mistake he had made.

You couldn't stop thinking about it as you watched him from the kitchen window, gathering his things and slowly loading them onto Roach. You wanted to run over there and ask him the thousands of questions that were running through your mind. You wanted more than anything to hear him reassure you that everything would be okay and that he would come back for you, but you knew you couldn't completely trust his words. That may well be what he was thinking and feeling now, but there was no way of knowing how time alone on the road, accompanied only by his old habits, could possibly change him. There was no point in exchanging words, so you focused your attention on preparing and packing some supplies for his journey, so that at least he would have fresh food and water until he reached the next town.

You dared to step outside when you noticed that Geralt was almost finished settling his saddle, signaling that you didn't have much time left to keep lamenting about the future. You approached him with a slow step, as if you were looking for any way to drag out every second, taking advantage of the moment to memorize every detail you could find in his sideways profile.

“So you're leaving, huh?” you finally broke the silence, causing Geralt to raise his head to look at you. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard you approach, though it was a pleasant surprise.

At least until he noticed the doubt in your eyes.

“For a while, yes. I have business to take care of, people that are waiting for me... but I'll be back.”

You weren't able to hold his gaze, your eyes focusing on the grass beneath your feet as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was cry, but you could start to feel the tears building up in your eyes.

Geralt noticed your concern and disbelief, and knew he couldn't leave until you knew he was being honest. He needed to make sure you understood that he wasn't playing games and that he intended to keep the promise he had made to you that evening in front of your family.

He hooked his fingers under your chin, using them as leverage to tilt your face up and force you to look at him. “I will come back for you.” Geralt assured you. “I promise.”

“You don't have to, that was the arrangement. Lord Veldren has already found another girl to focus his attention on so he no longer presents a danger to me or my family. You are free to go on with your life as it was before our paths crossed.”

“That's where you're wrong.” The corners of Geralt's lips curved upward slightly at your gesture of confusion. “Our paths did cross and I can't go back now. I can't go on with my life pretending you don't exist, that this time we shared didn't happen... I don't want to. I want to come back for you... and next time I will be the one to share some of his life with you. Perhaps I'll take you on the road with me, how about that?”

Even though nothing had changed, his words managed to bring a smile to your face and soothe your aching heart. There was something in his beautiful honey eyes that invited you to trust him, and the promise to take you on a trip with him made everything more real. It wasn't just words spoken into the wind, it was an idea, a plan for the future, something on which to build your relationship and, why not, a home over time. It was a first step, one of many you had to take if you wanted your relationship to continue, and Geralt was assuring you that he was willing to take it together, as it should be. So, while you were still saddened by his departure, you chose to give your mind and heart a break by believing his words.

“I would like that very much.” You muttered before pressing your lips together in a kiss, sealing your promise.

Watching Geralt leave was not easy, but his promise left you with some comfort. Tears escaped your eyes as you watched his white hair disappear into the horizon, and an aching emptiness built in your chest as you stepped back into a silent house that felt so much bigger now that you were alone. You realized then that you were going to miss him more than you thought and that the time apart would be much harder to endure than you had imagined. Only minutes had passed and you were already contemplating leaving everything behind, grabbing a horse and running to catch up with him. And you knew that feeling would only get worse as the days went by, growing and growing until it became unbearable. And it wouldn't go away until you saw his figure on the horizon again, coming back into your arms where he belonged.

Still, in the midst of your sad contemplation a smile formed on your lips. A gust of wind had blown in through the open kitchen window, and it brought dancing up to your nose the distinctive smell of leather, earth and wood of Geralt. And you realized then that he was still there with you, his scent lingering in the air, on your clothes, on the sheets on the bed and even on your own skin. And there he would remain with you forever, because you were his and he was yours.

Geralt of Rivia tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

(I'm so sorry guys I forgot to tag you when I posted it)

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher smut #geralt x reader smut #geralt of rivia fluff #the witcher fluff #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #henry cavill

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papiliotao · 6 months ago

Text

HOME SWEET HOME — neuvillette x reader

content: 13.3k words, lovers to exes to hopefully lovers again, reader goes to jail, mixed feelings (i hope i wrote them decently), murder, poison, lots of investigation

summary: a singular trial is all it takes to tear your world apart. after being framed for an atrocious crime, you're sent to the fortress of meropide by the decree of your own lover. however, as new evidence emerges years down the line, you're offered freedom at last — the only catch being that you must confront the real culprit (and your complicated feelings for the man who broke your heart).

a/n: merry (late?) christmas @https-sourlimes!! i'm your secret santa. i am SO sorry about the wordcount; i got carried away while writing. i really hope you enjoy! <3

Happiness is a fragile ephemerality.

One word is all it takes to set your world ablaze in a frenzy of roaring flames, once-comforting hues of warmth roaring in a final performance of oceanic havoc. A numb horror manifests in subtle shivers that wrack your body, piercing your very soul with its glacial frostbite. Echoes reverberate within your mind.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale, [name] is guilty.

Neuvillette’s words seem to ring in the air, long overstaying their welcome as they persist in a buzz of illusory ostinatos over a backdrop of stunned silence. No one stirs as the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers unfolds before them. Instead, they watch with bated breath, never once daring to intervene, allowing every act of fate’s cruel masterpiece to play out in flawless tandem.

Nothing feels real until the moment the guards slip a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Gradually, a sense of panic envelops your senses, prompting you to desperately turn to where Neuvillette had been standing. Fear begins to well up in the pit of your stomach.

You need his help.

But when your eyes land on the spot where your lover had once been, you find that he is all but gone.

Emptiness is all that remains as you’re escorted down to the depths of Meropide.

“Wriothesley,” you greet the man in front of you politely as you step into his office.

It’s only six in the morning, but you were unceremoniously dragged out of your bed earlier when you were informed that Wriothesley had sent for you. A few years ago, you would have complained about how rude it is to rouse someone from slumber without warning. However, after spending thousands of days in prison, you’ve grown to understand that societal norms have no place within the lifeless metallic walls of Meropide.

Everything runs on incentive alone. Coupons are all that matter within the underground prison, and as such, most inmates spare less than a thought towards moral obligations and frivolous sentiments. It’s a home for some of Fontaine’s most infamous criminals, for crying out loud! Only a fool would expect pleasantries to have any place in this bleak world.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Wriothesley gestures towards a chair in front of his desk.

“Take a seat, [name],” he says, his voice gruff yet comforting.

He’s been your only companion throughout your time in prison, as the other inmates have been a little too uncouth for your taste. Although Wriothesley tries to pretend he simply wants to be your friend, you know he has ulterior motives. You know the reason why he’s always checking up on you so often — why he’s been suspiciously interested in your day-to-day life.

Someone you’d rather not think about put him up to this.

Someone you used to love.

(You still remember the crystal raindrops that kissed your skin mere moments before you were taken underground. You wouldn’t put it past him to watch you from afar.)

“Is something up, Wriothesley?” you inquire.

The more he talks the better, you decide. Right now, anything is better than silence because silence is a harbinger of spiraling thoughts and unpleasant recollections. At the moment, you want nothing more than to drown the mantras gnawing at the edge of your conscience in a sea of cascading words.

“Brace yourself,” Wriothesley warns, “This is gonna be a tough one to stomach.”

You nod hesitantly. Wriothesley usually keeps your conversations lighthearted and casual, so you’re absolutely certain that he’s serious this time. His foreboding preface sends a slight shiver down your spine, but you steel your nerves and meet his gaze. Irises beaming with fading moonlight scan your eyes for any traces of hesitation, scrutinizing every sentiment that graces the windows to your soul.

“I’m ready,” you reassure him.

Although Wriothesley raises an eyebrow when he hears the tremble that unsteadily articulates your growing anxiety, he continues on. One thing about Wriothesley you’ve grown to appreciate is the fact that he never pries into your affairs (at least not openly).

“Alright,” he sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tension becomes tangible as momentary silence fills the atmosphere; it’s almost deceptively peaceful. Every transient second feels more akin to an eon spent in stagnation as suspense gnaws at your conscience. As much as you hope for the hush to dissipate with every fibre of your being, you also dread the moment your false utopia will shatter.

“Is it really that bad?” you make the mistake of asking Wriothesley.

The grimace that adorns his weary features tells you all you need to know. Before your mind can run through all the possibilities in a frenzied delirium of panicked theories, Wriothesley finally speaks up.

“It’s about him,” he clarifies.

You immediately know who he’s talking about.

It’s funny. A few years ago, you used to speak his name in a hushed tone, filled with admiration and brimming with ardor. Every whisper used to feel adoring, almost reverent, and as such, you had mistakenly believed your love was akin to an all-enduring everblaze, a crimson flame of passion that would burn bright and persevere through all.

The irony is nearly laughable. Dying embers and hollow sentiments are all that remain now. His name has become a taboo, a word that feels all-too-foreign as you attempt to fill in the silence.

“Neuvillette,” you whisper shakily.

An unpleasant ringing seems to manifest in your ears as all the memories you’ve been trying to repress ebb and flow in a wave of aquamarine recollections. You’re aware he’s always been an overwhelming presence, yet it becomes all the more obvious as thoughts of him invade and overload your mind.

Wriothesley confirms your suspicions in the form of a solemn nod. To your surprise, his steely grey eyes soften for what feels like the first time since you’ve met him, a gentle warmth stirring beneath layers of permafrost.

Great, so your situation is so abysmal that even Wriothesley is starting to feel sympathetic.

“What does he want?” you manage to breathe out.

A part of you doesn’t want to face your ex-lover ever again in this lifetime. And yet despite it all, your heart screams for closure, resolving to remain unrelenting in its desires until every loose thread of your tragedy has been tied up neatly. You don’t know what to hope for at this point.

“You remember the poisoning case from a few years ago?” Wriothesley questions you.

It takes all your willpower to resist the urge to scoff.

“Who would forget the murder that changed their life forever?” Your voice comes out wry, bitterness intricately working its way into each inflection. Despite your attempts to exercise restraint, you find that your emotions are beginning to overtake rationality.

“Alright,” Wriothesley says hesitantly, “then I guess there’s no better time to break the news.” The suffering in his drawn-out sigh is palpable. “Suspicious new evidence related to the case has emerged recently. The Marechaussee Phantom is beginning to suspect that there’s more to it than what they initially found,” Wriothesley starts. Before he can continue, you interrupt him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Right.” With an exasperated click of his tongue, Wriothesley moves on. “That’s where you come in. Since you’re so closely-linked with the events that occurred that day, the Iudex has specifically requested your help in the investigation. I take it the possibility of freedom is incentive enough?”

You huff. “Seriously? He has the audacity to ask for my help after all this time without so much as a word? Not even freedom could convince me to work with that absolute — !”

The stern look that manifests within Wriothesley’s sterling irises is enough to prompt you to pause. Although he doesn’t vocalize his concerns, the diamond-esque glimmers of worry that manifest in his eyes speak volumes. Don’t say something you might regret.

So instead of continuing on, you allow yourself a single sigh — an attempt to alleviate all your frustration in a single exhale.

“What I meant was, I’m not sure I could work with the Iudex in any official capacity,” you say, gritting your teeth lest any unsavory words find a way to slip out of your mouth, “given our… complicated history.”

Wriothesley shakes his head, a subtle showing of his displeasure at being caught up in a lover’s quarrel. You can’t really blame him. Any bystander would feel beyond vexed if they were tasked with piecing together the fading ruby fragments of a once-blissful relationship.

“I thought you might say that,” he responds, raising a hand to massage his temples. At the moment, the bags under his eyes appear more prominent than ever, and you begin to wonder how much grief your personal issues with Neuvillette will cause poor Wriothesley. “That’s why you have a week to decide.”

You narrow your eyes to meet a gaze woven from the essence of dimming moonbeams. Wriothesley stares you back, unflinching in his poise.

“Good luck getting me to change my mind,” you scoff. “I’m not facing him ever again.”

A pause.

Silence threatens to consume all under its weight, and you’re left wondering how nothingness can feel so heavy. Wriothesley’s nonchalance seems to disperse, vanishing in the midst of the tense ambience. Now you’re absolutely sure you’re in for a heartfelt conversation — an anomaly amongst the casual paradigm the two of you have been defining over the past few years.

“I’m not great with all this sentimental stuff,” Wriothesley starts, “I mean, I’m hardly experienced with romantic relationships myself despite my age.” He chuckles, and suddenly you feel as though the mood has lightened ever-so-slightly. “But trust me when I say Monsieur Neuvillette still cares deeply about you.”

Does he? Why would anyone stand by helplessly while the person they supposedly love more than life itself is taken from them forever?

Despite the protests that practically fly to the tip of your tongue, you continue listening attentively. Although you keep telling yourself you no longer care about your former lover, perhaps there’s still a small spark of incandescent hope lying somewhere within your heart — an ember of love awaiting a day where it will burst into brilliant flame once more.

“Think about it,” Wriothesley hums, his casual tone slipping effortlessly back into place as if he never broke character. “It’s been years since your case has been closed, and all the loose ends were supposedly tied up when you were sentenced, which means…” He trails off, waiting for you to piece together fragmented bits of logic within the recesses of your mind.

The muddled pieces of knowledge confound you, yet as you consider the implications of Wriothesley’s statement more carefully, a flicker of ingenuity comes to life in a sporadic burst of aureate sparks.

“Which means he never stopped investigating,” you conclude. “He believed it wasn’t me all along.”

The realization dawns on you in shades of phantasmagoric navy. It’s chilling, akin to the unwelcome touch of icy waters. Likewise, it overwhelms you. Its implications are far too profound to be ignored or pushed aside, and you begin to understand that you won’t be able to run away from the man you once loved for eternity.

“And?” Wriothesley adds.

“And he’s been trying to prove my innocence,” you breathe out, feeling disconnected from the moment.

Everything feels surreal, and the last few seconds feel no less oneiric than the ludicrous dreams you’re pulled into every night. It’s as if your world is twisting and turning upside down. You’ve spent all this time trying to incinerate every ounce of affection held within your heart for Neuvillette, bitterly blocking every memory of him from your mind all while he’s been tirelessly working to reunite with you.

Guilt pierces your entire being, enveloping you in a venomous sort of discomfort. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize how unfairly you’ve been treating the man you were once hopelessly-devoted to. Even back then in your emotional state, you should have known he would never betray you, much less in such a profound manner. Yet a part of you is still bitter that it took him this long to do anything. You can’t find it in your heart to forgive him entirely.

Remorse is a complex sentiment. While it pushes individuals to grow and defy past ordainments, it also drives them to make decisions that become ironically more regrettable later on. You feel as though your situation will fit in the latter category as a desire to reconvene with your past lover blazes to life. You’re still beyond enraged when you think about him, but a small flourish of love still remains in your heart. There’s so much you want to know, so without a further thought, you relay your hasty choice to Wriothesley before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, take me up to the surface. I need to speak to Neuvillette.”

The moment you resurface for the first time in years, an epiphany overcomes your senses. You realize how much you missed all the sights and sounds of the outside world — how much you had taken everything for granted back when you were still free.

Every caress of an aquatic zephyr feels like a gentle luxury, and the sensation of golden sunbeams enveloping you in threads of luminous comfort is something entirely otherworldly. You savour the ephemeral peace and serenity that surrounds you, losing yourself in the salty spray of azure waves and the vast beauty of the divine skies above.

As someone who’s allowed above ground routinely for official business, Wriothesley either doesn’t notice your wonder as he escorts you to your destination, or he chooses not to comment on it. Perhaps the beauty of the overworld has become nothing more than a mundanity to him.

The Palais Mermonia is every bit as grand as you remember. It towers over Fontaine, as if watching over the city and all its affairs. The smooth stone walls and opulent detailings adorning the building serve as a welcome reminder of how magnificent Fontaine’s architecture can be — a nice change of pace after spending countless days locked away within the monochromatic metal walls of the Fortress of Meropide.

As Wriothesley leads you through the intricate doors of the Palais Mermonia, you feel a sense of anticipation swell within your heart. Polychromatic butterflies desperately flutter their wings in the pit of your stomach, manifesting in a swarm of discombobulating chaos. With every step you take towards Neuvillette’s office, you feel your feet grow heavier. By the time you’re standing before the entrance, you feel as if you’re practically glued to the ground. The only things that keep you going are Wriothesley’s watchful stare and careful guidance.

The dark-haired man beside you pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. As much as you’d rather hide behind Wriothesley, you decide to swallow your nerves and step into the office before him.

Unfortunately for you, the first sight that greets you upon entering the office is the face of a man you’ve been trying to avoid for years now, whether in the waking world or slumber. Against your own will, you note that he appears just as breathtaking as the day you lost him. Every detail of his suit is as pristine as ever, not a single wrinkle in sight, no matter how hard you scrutinize. His hair looks as soft and voluminous as usual, each strand of cerulean a sharp contrast to silken starlight. Simply put it, nothing has changed, and as you look into his eyes, you realize just how accurate your inference is.

Molten tanzanite fills eyes akin to galaxies occupied by subtle glimmers of emotion. Even now, you find that you can read him perfectly. Although he appears serious on the surface, a single examination of Neuvillette’s gaze is all it takes for you to spot the luminous adoration that gleams beneath layers of carefully-crafted defenses.

Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.

It’s a look you’d recognize anywhere — a look you had once loved with all your heart, yet now it feels detestable more than anything. The ironic juxtaposition between your feelings in past and present nearly makes you laugh. It’s a bleak reminder of how greatly circumstances have shifted — how everything is wrong now.

Not a word is spoken as you sit down in a chair across from Neuvillette. Although you had assumed Wriothesley would join you, he stands off to the side before you can even protest. Any attempt to call him back over would definitely make it obvious that you didn’t want to have what was essentially a one-on-one conversation with your ex.

“[Name],” Neuvillette greets you formally, his tone steady and practiced. It feels unnatural after all you’ve been through; in the past, endearment would lace his tone each time he spoke to you, conveying the true depth of his feelings with a single whisper. This stiff rendition of the fantasia that used to be your name falling from his lips is nothing like the soft melody you’d become accustomed to so long ago.

“Neuvillette,” you shoot back, trying your best to keep your voice from reverting to its affectionate default. Although you’re unsure about acting cold towards the man, you’re certain neither of you would be fine with immediately going back to the way you were before the entire disaster unfolded in a matter of mere seconds.

(And besides that, you’re still somewhat angry it took him literal years to find a way to get you out of Meropide.)

“I hope you’ve been well,” Neuvillette says, his tone softening ever-so-subtly. Vulnerability works its way into a slight waver of his voice, a nearly-unnoticeable detail that any average person would miss. However, you are not an average person. You’ve acquainted yourself with every intricacy of Neuevillette’s personality over the years, and even now, every detail is preserved perfectly within the archives of your memory.

“I was as well as I could be in prison, I guess,” you mumble.

Even you’re not quite sure if your passing comment is an attempt at humour or a jab at your previous lover. Fortunately for you, Neuvillette doesn’t attempt to laugh. Instead, he simply nods.

“I see…” he trails off, staring at you intently. Eyes filled with hues of softened lilac and faint periwinkle blue bear into your soul, inspecting you with a gaze woven from twilight. Stardust suspicion seems to glint in Neuvillette’s irises, but he doesn’t pry. “What have you be—”

“Enough small talk. Can we get to the point?” you force out. You’re still not quite sure how you feel about the fact that Neuvillette still cares about you, so you push aside your emotions for the moment to focus on the main issue. As much as you want to ask what your relationship has become, everything feels far too overwhelming now that he’s in front of you again for the first time in years. “What exactly do you want me to do for you?”

Neuvillette pauses for a second, mulling over his next words. He doesn’t try to push the previous topic. Instead, he complies with your request.

“Work alongside me,” he says. “I’m aware that you may not find this to be the ideal arrangement, but ever since your sentencing, your reputation has become…” Neuvillette can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, so you interject.

“Awful? Dismal? Lower than low?” you chuckle bitterly. “I know. I didn’t expect any more when I agreed to come back up to the surface.”

For a second, pity sparkles in Neuvillette’s eyes, a look reminiscent of fragments of sunlight reflecting off sapphire ocean waves. You promptly decide that you hate it.

“Yes. Although I would not put it in such — brazen terms. If you would like an opportunity to clear your name, I would suggest putting serious consideration towards aiding in the second round of investigation. Please do let me know your verdict as soon as possible.”

“Why are you asking me as if I have a choice? It’s either help you or return to prison. Obviously one option is better than the other,” you sigh as a shiver runs down your spine. You know you’ll be in for an awkward few weeks. Spending every second by Neuvillette’s side is a harrowing nightmare come to life, but there’s no better way out of your dilemma. “I’ll join your stupid investigation.”

“Very well then,” Neuvillette responds. “I will show you to your accommodations in due time. Guards will be stationed outside your door around the clock in everyone’s best interest.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even with contradictory evidence, you’re still going to be treated like a criminal until you’re proven definitively innocent.

“Please note that you will begin assisting me tomorrow.”

With that, Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, acknowledging him for the first time since the two of you entered the room. “Mr. Wriothesley, thank you for escorting [name] to my office. You may now take your leave.”

A part of you wants to beg Wriothelsey not to leave you alone with Neuvillette, but for once, you decide that you have to start being brave. So with bated breath and a heavy heart, you watch as your sole companion in recent times turns away, heading back to an unreachable world below the surface.

You’re on your own now in a place that has become entirely foreign to you.

The silken covers of the bed you’re provided are surprisingly comfortable. Wrapping each seafoam-coloured blanket around your body feels like being enveloped in a cloud, and sinking into a soft mattress is a luxury you have long forgotten after becoming accustomed to your dorm in the Fortress of Meropide. Needless to say, you find your slumber shockingly restful despite all the turbulent feelings arising within the pit of your stomach, threatening to overtake your rationality and fill you with a cold, chilling panic.

No, the panic only sets in when you’re escorted back to Neuvillette’s office the next morning by the two guards sent to oversee your activities. It’s akin to being plunged into the depths of freezing lapis waters, losing your grip beneath waves forged from midnight essence. A whole day alone together with Neuvillette is going to be a challenge, and unfortunately, your nerves get the better of you.

You hear his voice as cool perspiration forms on the back of your neck, slight shivers running down your spine.

“Good morning,” Neuvillette greets you, as composed and regal as ever.

You envy his ability to behave as though he’s tranquility personified, even in such an awkward situation. His composure is a virtue.

“You let me sleep in,” you note. The sunbeams that filter through Neuvillette’s window in a flurry of faded daffodil shades look nothing like the gilded threads of light that grace Fontaine at sunrise. Besides that, you can already hear a fair amount of chatter outside the office, and you even recall spotting a few passer-bys scurrying about as you were accompanied to the Palais Mermonia.

“Indeed I did,” Neuvillette confirms your suspicions.

You glare at him. “I thought you wanted me up bright and early to help you investigate.”

The man before you sighs. “Based on your behaviour yesterday, I inferred that the past few days have been rather taxing on you emotionally. I wanted to give you ample time to recuperate to ensure that you would be able to think optimally today.”

Neuvillette’s eyes soften, a rare sort of gentleness manifesting in dulled lavender, a hue pulled straight from an evening afterglow.

You recall a passing thought from a time you had watched nightfall overtake the heavens with Neuvillette a few years back. At the time, he had looked at you with the same soft gaze, examining you with an expression that conveyed unspoken understanding and affection. You remember noting the way his irises seemed to reflect the muted iridescent shades above. Back then, everything had been so tranquil, euphoric. A part of you can’t help but desperately wish to go back in time.

“Thank you,” you relent, finally acknowledging Neuvillette’s kindness.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “There is no need to thank me,” he states. “This is beneficial to both of us. After all, I don’t expect you to work effectively with a tired mind.”

Without another word, Neuvillette pulls out a pile of official documents, their worn ivory pages a stark contrast to a second untainted milky white stack he sets on his desk.

“As you may be able to tell, these are the case files from the initial investigation,” Neuvillette points to the first collection of papers, “and these are documents containing new developments.” He points at the pristine new records.

“Can you summarize what exactly made you revisit the case?” you ask Neuvillette. Personally, you don’t feel like spending a full day poring over documents instead of investigating. That’s just inefficiency at its finest. Why do that when you have someone who seems to revel in records to explain everything to you?

Neuvillette allows a light chuckle to slip past his lips, the sound a nostalgic fantasia as it reaches your ears. “I see that you haven’t stopped finding the easiest way to complete your tasks,” he jests, “but very well. This will save us a considerable amount of time.”

You sit with bated breath, suspense filling the atmosphere as you patiently wait to learn the exact evidence that may have altered your fate entirely.

“Firstly, to reiterate, the murder was a poisoning,” Neuvillette starts. “A member of the Marechaussee Phantom was found dead at a banquet with a drink in hand. Its contents were found to be normal for the most part, but when investigated more thoroughly, trace amounts of a toxic substance were found.”

You nod with fervour, every intricate puzzle piece of the case that had dictated your destiny all those years ago still fresh in your mind.

“You were the one who poured the drink.” Perhaps your mind is playing tricks on you because for the first time in your life, you hear Neuvillette’s voice tremble slightly, like a resplendent leaf as it drifts on an autumnal breeze. “There was no way to prove your innocence at the time, and no matter how hard we tried to trace the origins of the poison, all we could discern was that it was fast-acting, which thankfully meant that there were no other casualties. Unfortunately, we were unable to find any compelling leads…” Neuvillette pauses, “until now.”

“Recently, a worker from a drink factory has approached us with reports of suspicious activities within the facility. Although most employees are kept in the front of the building to manage the machines and ensure that the quality of each bottle sufficiently meets company standards, there are a select few allowed in the back to oversee the entire operation.”

“What does this have to do with the case?” you interject. You can feel your interest waning as Neuvillette’s words become tangent-adjacent.

“Not everything is as it seems,” he assures you. “Around a week ago, the worker ventured into the back, desperately searching for one of their superiors. The higher-up in question had assigned them a task, and afterwards, they proceeded to disappear for weeks on end. When looking for their manager, the worker discovered the truth of the facility.”

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

“Put simply, the entire drink production operation is a deception. The company’s real purpose is to produce a rare variety of poison. Fortunately, we managed to procure a sample of it, and when tested, it was found to be identical to the very substance used to assassinate the victim of your case.”

Although you want to correct Neuvillette, you hold your tongue. There’s no point in getting off-track.

“So you want me to help you find out who put the poison in the bottle?” you ask.

Neuvillette nods. “We could have simply paid a visit to the Fortress of Meropide and interrogated you from there, but I thought you would appreciate a little freedom and control over your own destiny. Besides that, I know you’re competent, and the rest of the investigation could greatly benefit from your assistance.”

“Is that really all there is to it? I’m sure lots of people out here were against the idea of letting me roam free for fear of their own safety, so it must have been quite a challenge to get me out in the first place,” you scoff. “If my comfort was the only factor in play, then you would have simply taken the easy way out and questioned me in prison to appease everyone.”

For a moment, Neuvillette hesitates. Transitory silence fills the air before being fragmented into crystalline shards of dissonant revelation that cause goosebumps to grace the surface of your skin.

“Your intuition is as sharp as ever,” he sighs. Suddenly, he looks all too exhausted, and you begin to realize how hard he fought to earn you your temporary freedom. “All the citizens of Fontaine believe that the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale is perfect, flawless in its very nature. However, after your sentencing, doubt started to circulate, and I found myself among those who questioned the outcome of the case. It felt as though the full truth had not been revealed to us yet, and your punishment was ordained solely by a hasty collection of shaky facts gathered through a rushed investigation. It was entirely… unjust… the opposite of what Fontaine stands for.”

“There it is. You’re doing this all in the name of what’s right, as usual.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting Neuvillette to say. Perhaps you wanted him to tell you that he would never lose faith in you, his once dearly-beloved. Or maybe you were wishing with every fibre of your being that he would simply say he still cared and wanted you back.

But no, he’s Neuvillette.

Above all, he is fair.

He is justice.

The gazes of everyone in the interrogation room seem to burn with the light of a thousand stars, their pressuring radiance serving as an instrument of truth — a way to seek sincere answers to any questions that are posed. You shrink under their phosphorescence, feeling insignificant as the demands of all the officials in the room coalesce.

Before you stands Neuvillette, a few guards, and a couple members of the Marechaussee Phantom. You recognize the latter two as personal friends of the victim — people with personal stakes in the case.

“Do you remember who gave you the bottle?” a melusine inquires.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, oxygen feeling like the sweetest ambrosia as you try to calm yourself. It’s funny. The small creature is at most half your size, potentially even less, yet you’re the one who feels intimidation well up in the pit of your stomach like the ebb and flow of an evening tide.

“A man named Gabriel, I think? He handed me the bottle while I was walking around and asked me to pass it around for him because he was busy running other supplies around the party.”

“That seems to line up with the records from the trial,” Neuvillette muses, flipping through his documents, “but when we investigated, we found no trace of such an individual, which leads us to believe that they utilized an alias and a disguise to conceal their true identity.”

You have enough restraint to hold back a groan. Here we go again with all the complexities.

“The bottle was screwed shut and completely full before you poured the victim a glass of juice, correct?” The melusine continues their questioning, meeting your eyes with a gaze composed of molten tourmaline.

“Yes,” you confirm. “Doesn’t that just make me look more guilty though? Clearly the poison couldn’t have been in the drink because the bottle hadn’t been unsealed yet, so the court deemed that the only logical conclusion was that I slipped something into the victim’s drink in the split second where nobody was looking.”

The melusine sighs. “With the emerging evidence, we’ve come up with a new theory. If the person responsible for the murder truly wasn’t you, then perhaps the actual perpetrator had a different means of mixing the toxic substance with the beverage. Keep in mind, the poison manufacturer is also a drink manufacturer.”

You pause for a moment, a frown etching itself into your features. You’re starting to see where this is going, but you don’t quite understand the big picture yet. “Elaborate, please.”

Neuvillette takes over. “If our new running theory is correct, then this is how the timeline of events occurred. The suspect was likely an authority figure at the aforementioned drink company, or at the very least, they were relatively close with someone who had power there. In order to throw off the investigation, they managed to spike the beverage before it was sealed in the factory. By doing this, they falsely led us to believe that the poison was poured into the cup instead of into the bottle, thereby alleviating the manufacturer of any suspicion.”

Oh. Suddenly everything is beginning to make a lot more sense. As each string of evidence begins to fall into place, a tapestry of truth is woven. At long last, an alternate story is starting to replace the false narrative that had been in circulation at the time of the case’s unraveling.

“It worked,” you breathe out. “Nobody even bothered to check the contents of the bottle because they were so focused on who was close enough to sneak something into the victim’s cup in the brief moment between the pouring of the drink and the first sip.”

“And for that I must apologize,” Neuvillette sighs, a thousand unspoken regrets lacing his tone. “Our investigation was not thorough enough, and this time, I do not intend to allow any more injustices to befall you.”

As you peer into Neuvillette’s eyes, you catch sight of sincerity manifesting in their depths, each glint of violaceous luminosity conveying a silent promise to protect you. At that moment, you’re sure that Neuvillette believes you were nothing more than an innocent bystander entangled in a web of schemes. Even if the rest of the world is still against you, at least you have him.

“Thank you. I’ll try my best to help you as much as I can.” You finally relent and decide that perhaps it’s time to adopt a policy of compliance; now that you’re sure your intentions all align, you feel ready to work with Neuvillette without reservations.

“Permission to share what we found out about the bottle?” the melusine from before interrupts your moment with Neuvillette, your transient flash of bliss disappearing within a blink. You can’t blame them, as your main priority right now is getting to the bottom of things.

Neuvillette nods, wordlessly indicating his approval.

“As you may know, we took in all items related to the investigation that day. The bottle of beverage was among them. We recently tested the liquid inside, and as expected, there were traces of poison mixed with the drink. It’s worth noting that the drink itself is the same one produced by the suspicious facility we received a report about recently.”

“So I’ve almost been proven entirely innocent?” You can’t resist the urge to ask, the idea of being pardoned after being assumed guilty for so long a saccharine respite.

“Yes, as long as we can apprehend the real criminals and get them to confess to their crimes, you’ll be free,” the melusine confirms. “Fortunately, the worker and the contents of the bottle have led us to the perfect place to start our second inspection — the factory.”

Not even a day later, you rise bright and early to look into the manufacturer with Neuvillette. As the suspect framed in a murder linked to the factory’s poison, your reappearance above ground is bound to set off some red flags in the minds of those who helped orchestrate the entire ordeal. Consequently, you don an uncomfortable disguise while Neuvillette simply plans on masquerading around the place as himself.

It’s ironic. Neuvillette, the renowned Iudex of Fontaine, can roam without fear of interference as his genuine self. Meanwhile, you, a mere nobody, are forced to adorn yourself with layers of obscurities, masking every aspect of your identity.

The contrast between your situations is almost amusing, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh. Even as silken strands of opulent golden sunlight grace your skin, sending a rush of warmth through your body, you can’t help but tremble. The stakes are high, and the possibility of being discovered is distressing to an extreme.

“Shall I go over the narrative one last time?” Neuvillette asks you as your destination seems to grow larger and larger. The grey stone that the building is forged of is reminiscent of the colour of storm clouds — ominous and foreboding.

“Wouldn’t hurt to,” you mumble, willing yourself to stop shivering immediately. You’ll draw even more attention to yourself if you continue to shake like ultramarine ripples on the surface of a turbulent lake.

“Fontaine’s food and drink products have been suffering a decline in quality lately,” Neuvillette states, “and we are here today to perform a health inspection. Although the Iudex is typically not involved with investigating such trivial matters, the issue has become profound. The lives of several Fontainians have already been jeopardized, so in an attempt to prevent any further tragedies, I have decided to personally step in alongside my assistant.”

You hum absentmindedly, still distracted by your nerves. It feels as though permafrost has infused itself with your soul, as you continue to quiver despite all your attempt to ground yourself. “Compelling,” you manage to force out.

You’re drawn back to reality by Neuvillette’s next actions. To your horror, his familiarity with your emotions due to your shared history is your detriment. Before you can process what’s happening, he takes your hand in his. His gentle grip is soothing, and it serves as a much-needed reminder that you’re in this together.

“No matter what happens, I will be by your side,” he reassures you.

For a second, it feels like you’re back in the past. Everything is fine between you and Neuvillette, and you can still trust him unconditionally. Although your relationship has deteriorated now, you find that his presence still brings you a sense of comfort.

Perhaps some sentiments are simply meant to endure forevermore.

There’s nothing remarkable about the inside of the factory at first glance. As expected, typical assembly lines are present within the vicinity to ensure that every bottle is assembled and packaged in an efficient manner. On the surface, nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary.

Your tour guide is friendly and welcoming, not intimidated in the slightest by Neuvillette’s regal presence. Although his appearance garners a few curious glances from the employees you pass by, no one is outright alarmed.

“So as you can see, our humble facility does indeed live up to all the health and safety regulations mandated by Fontainian law,” your guide concludes as your mundane tour draws to a close.

In all honesty, you’ve learned nothing even remotely useful. However, you refuse to leave empty-handed. As such, you decide to make an impulsive decision — a choice that will perhaps cast suspicion upon you, but if everything goes well, you could obtain crucial evidence pertaining to the case.

“We haven’t seen the back of the factory yet,” you muse. “Is there something you’re trying to hide from us? Mold, perhaps?” you pause for dramatic effect, trying your best to play it up. All you can do is desperately pray that your acting skills are enough to convince the tour guide you’re being genuine. “Or maybe an insect infestation.”

A laugh slips past the tour guide’s lips, piercing the awkward atmosphere with a timbre and articulation far too forced to indicate any sort of amusement. No, the guide is nervous, which means something is definitely off. You just need to gather concrete evidence of the misdemeanours being conducted behind the scenes of a grand diversion — something that means more than a simple vial of poison hailing from an unknown origin brought to you by a worker.

“Oh, my superiors typically prefer privacy,” the guide continues to chuckle, a slight hint of anxiety permeating his tone. “There are lots of important meetings held in the back, and they’re not the most fond of disturbances.”

One scrutinizing glance from Neuvillette is all it takes to send the guard reeling. Eyes swimming with delicate lilac narrow, any hint of gentleness fading like the brilliance of wilting petals.

“But I’m sure they can make an exception for our most honoured guests.” Swiftly, the guide makes his way over to the door leading to the back, pulling it open and gesturing for both you and Neuvillette to pass through.

Yet again, you find that you’re met with a sight that’s mediocre at finest. There’s nothing extremely telling about the meeting rooms you’re led through. However, as you wander through the winding corridors and desolate hallways of the surprisingly large area, you spot it — a sizable wardrobe sitting within what feels like the hundredth meeting room you’ve passed through.

Like everything else in this strange place, there’s nothing off about the furnishing upon initial inspection, but after a few moments of careful consideration, you note that it’s far too sumptuous to be in a place like this. It’s horribly out-of-place, a polished oak eyesore amongst the cool-toned decorations within the room.

As you share a look with Neuvillette, you can see that he’s having similar thoughts. At some point in time, someone moved the wardrobe into the room, likely to conceal something. Taking a closer look is essential, but first you need to find a way to distract the guide.

“Excuse me,” you interrupt the guide’s tangent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere nearby?”

Within a matter of minutes, both you and Neuvillette are escorted over to the nearest bathroom. You enter the room and lock the door. Although you haven’t had an opportunity to discuss a plan with Neuvillette due to the prying ears stationed right next to the two of you, you know what he’ll do next. You’re sure he understands you well enough to know that what you need at the moment is a diversion.

Sure enough, your silent pleas are answered as Neuvillette walks a few steps away from the bathroom door, his footsteps thrumming against the frigid ground as a percussive background to the eerie soundtrack that seems to flood the entire factory.

“Is that an insect?” he inquires.

You hear a rush of frenzied steps, ones that you can distinctly differentiate from Neuvillette’s. That must be the guide.

“Where?” the guide’s voice rings out.

You hear the soft rustle of clothing as the guide supposedly leans over in order to take a closer look. Then, a loud bang shatters the quietude into jagged shards of chaos. You take it as your sign to open the bathroom door and sneak off quietly.

“Ah, forgive me. I was mistaken,” you hear Neuvillette’s voice fade into the distance.

The labyrinth of passages is difficult to navigate, but thankfully your memory is sufficient enough to guide you back along the route from whence you came. In a matter of minutes, you’re back at the wardrobe, scrambling to unveil every enigmatic secret hiding behind its prosaically plain exterior.

Common sense tells you to simply open it first, and sure enough, you find that the back of the furnishing has been hollowed out in order to form a passageway leading to an unknown location. Although you’re nervous, moving forwards is the only way you’re going to make any progress.

You force yourself to confront the mysterious tunnel, heading into its depths in order to collect the next piece of information you need to fully unravel the identity of the true killer.

This is for justice, you tell yourself. Begrudgingly, you also find thoughts of it’s what Neuvillette would do invading your mind.

When you finally step into a mundane office space, you feel as though you can breathe again. The daze slowly begins to subside, and in its wake, you find rationality once more.

Time is of the essence, so you decide to head over to the singular desk stationed in the room. On its surface is a collection of scattered papers, some frayed and others in mint condition. Immediately, you make a dash for the yellowed pages, scanning each one quickly before setting it down.

The documents seem to detail transactions between the company and those buying from their hidden business in the back. Each one is stamped with a date and a signature from the buyer stating that they will not (under any circumstance) reveal where the product they purchased came from. Perfect — all you have to do is find a file that seems to align with the relative time period where your crime took place.

Fortunately for you, the once-daunting plethora of papers is actually a far more meager pile than you had initially thought. Perhaps not many people know about the nefarious schemes that lie behind the factory’s fabricated façade, or maybe humans are simply sensible enough to avoid purchasing poison.

You search urgently, constantly looking over your shoulder and hoping, praying, to any archon listening to keep your deeds obscured and unwritten. However, through it all, you’re hindered by the fact that you have to actively try not to move things around too much. If someone returns to see that objects have shifted on their own, they’ll surely be on high alert.

After what feels like eons of blindly flipping through anything you could get your hands on, your eyes settle on a splotch of achromatic ink bleeding into canary. It’s a familiar date — around a week before your entire life fell apart. You grab the paper, and with one last scan of the other files, you’re nearly certain that it details the transaction of the very poison that broke down fate’s last defences, landing you in a prison you were never supposed to step foot in.

With haste, you stuff the document into your pocket and set off back to Neuvillette.

“We used to frequent that restaurant often,” Neuvillette muses as you wander the streets together.

Your tour had concluded around half an hour ago, and now you’re on your way back to the Palais Mermonia. Although you assured Neuvillette that you had obtained some useful evidence earlier through words whispered in the secrecy of a hushed voice, you know that you can’t discuss anything openly for fear of nosey bystanders — or worse, the criminals themselves — hearing.

You had taken a long time to find what you needed, so consequently it had been difficult to throw off any lingering doubt harboured by your guide. However, thanks to Neuvillette’s quick thinking, you were able to come up with an alibi.

The whole “bathroom” ruse had simply been a test — a plan to conduct your thorough inspection of the facility in an area typically skipped over, even on the most comprehensive tours. You had chimed in and said that the company passed with flying colours, and at that the guide simply beamed and continued leading you through meeting rooms.

Your reminiscence is interrupted as Neuvillette speaks again.

“Perhaps we should take a detour and visit,” he offers. “You must be famished after a day of hard work.”

You freeze, and your body tenses against your will. Isn’t it more important at the moment that you safely transport your evidence back to Neuvillette’s office? You tilt your head at Neuvillette curiously, as if to pose a question. Why are we wasting time?

“Trust me,” he leans in to whisper. You can feel his breath tickling your ear, yet you don’t flinch. It’s a feeling you had grown accustomed to years ago, and even now, having him close to you feels detestably right. “It will seem more like a casual outing if we make a leisurely stop along the way back. If we’re seen rushing back to the Palais Mermonia with a sense of urgency in our stride, then those around us will surely conclude that something is wrong.”

Neuvillette’s reasoning is sound, so despite your aching feet and your desire to simply get away from the cacophony of symphonic noise surrounding you, you allow him to pull you towards the restaurant. As you walk in, you find that all your senses are enveloped by the familiarity of deja vu. The pleasant lighting and floral arrangements begin to pop up in your memory, and the ornate furnishings that adorn the place are the same as ever.

A part of you finds that you missed this. You missed your simple traditions with Neuvillette.

The two of you are seated the moment you step foot in the restaurant. You can’t seem to recall if the staff had ever been this efficient before, but something tells you this is a special circumstance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” a waiter greets the Iudex as you both take your seats. You find that you recognize him. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here with company, much less someone other than [name].”

Right. No one recognizes you because you’re still clad in your stupid disguise.

“Ah, good evening, Pierre,” Neuvillette responds. “My companion here is a newly-hired assistant. They have been working tirelessly all day, so I decided to treat them to a meal. Although they are not [name], I hope you will be able to treat them with the same hospitality.”

A frenzy of nods follows Neuvillette’s words.

“What can I get for you today?” Pierre frantically asks you. As usual, people are eager to please Neuvillette, his position of power ever-pertinent within the recesses of their minds.

You scan the menu, and a rush of nostalgia overwhelms you for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. There are a variety of dishes listed in neat loopy handwriting, each cursive word causing recollections to ebb and flow within your memory. However, your eyes settle on one menu item in particular — a former personal favourite of yours. Feeling satisfied, you decide to place your order. As you speak, you notice shock dance across the waiter’s visage.

“Is something wrong?” you question Pierre, scrutinizing his dumbfounded expression. If you could, you would dissect the meaning behind every line etched into his features — examine the anatomy of his curious stare.

Pierre shakes his head with fervour. “Nothing’s wrong, per se…” He trails off, the aquamarine lakes that comprise his irises fogging up with a shine unique to someone who’s reminiscing. “It’s just… that dish is one of our least popular, but [name] used to order it all the time. Nowadays, the only person who really consumes it regularly is Monsieur Neuvillette himself.”

Tension begins to materialize within the previously-lighthearted air of the restaurant. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels heavy as the implications of Pierre’s statement sink in. Once upon a time, you had offered Neuvillette a bite of your food when dining here, and although he didn’t mean to insult it, he did say that he understood why it was unpopular. In other words, he indirectly insinuated that he didn’t like the taste of the dish.

Perhaps you’re overly-optimistic, but a part of you begins to speculate that Neuvillette only willingly ordered the menu item regularly because of the memories associated with it. It’s a shockingly sweet revelation. Despite your distance over the years, he’s still tried his best to keep you in his heart.

Bittersweet affection gnaws at your heart, chipping off pieces of garnet in a cataclysmic heartbreak. As if you don’t already feel bad enough about your attempted erasure of his existence from your memory during your time in prison.

You zone out as Neuvillette places his order. All you manage to catch is the fact that he doesn’t ask for a serving of your favourite meal this time around.

So it really was all for you.

As Pierre walks away, you turn to study Neuvillette, your gaze sharp.

“What was that all about?”

For a second, Neuvillette stills, collecting his thoughts. Then, he makes eye contact, a stare composed of crepuscular shades of amethyst.

“I must admit, my heart longed for you throughout the years we spent apart,” Neuvillette confesses.

Darn it. Why can’t he be normal for once?

Your heartbeat, once a steady rhythm, begins to become erratic. It pounds in your ears with an unmatched urgency, as if its ultimate goal is simply to leap out of your chest and retreat back into your ex-lover’s gentle grasp.

“I see,” you mumble, beginning to feel awkward.

Silence envelopes your own personal world with Neuvillette as you wait for the waiter to come back with your food. Neither of you can bring yourselves to keep the conversation going. Any small talk would seem disingenuous at this point, and the mere idea of pressing on with the previous topic is enough to make you shudder.

Thankfully, Pierre is surprisingly quick (although that may have something to do with the fact that you’re dining with the Iudex himself), and you find that you’re able to dig into your meal to distract yourself in no time.

It tastes the same as you remember. In fact, nothing has really changed, even with the passage of time. Out of everything in the entire restaurant, you find that you and Neuvillette have undergone the most profound transformations, your once-loving relationship eroding into a confusing mess of broken trust, dubious betrayals, and yearning.

(At the end of the night, you find that a miniscule ember of love remains alive in your heart — a weak crimson glow beginning to ignite once more.)

The journey back to the Palais Mermonia is tranquil, the night air soothing the anxious thoughts plaguing your mind. Stars beam down at you from above, shedding brilliant silvery light over the entirety of the nation. Likewise, the moon guides your path back to the grand building where you wrap up your investigation for the day.

Upon entering Neuvillette’s office, you immediately beeline for his desk, pulling the document that took you a painstaking amount of effort to obtain out and setting it on the polished wooden surface. Curiously, eyes the shade of dulled anemone petals scan the contents of the page.

Neuvillette reads quickly, taking in all the information contained within the file in no time. After a lifetime of poring over records, he’s become accustomed to processing critical points of knowledge efficiently. However, he freezes as his gaze settles on the signature at the bottom of the page.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

You’ve never seen Neuvillette quite so shaken up, his composure torn away from him momentarily. In the moment, all that matters to you is ensuring that he’s okay. Before you realize it, you find yourself reaching out to him, an evanescent flash back to the past in a present that feels so far-removed. A few days ago, you never would have dreamed of comforting him, much less allowing him to make any sort of contact with you. Now, however, you’re beginning to unwind all the hasty misconceptions you had harboured for years on end.

You’ve come to understand that despite being worlds apart, you were still at the forefront of all Neuvillette’s sentiments throughout the past few years. He’s cared about you from afar beyond simply spying on your life through Wriothesley for all this time. It’s time you finally start treating him right.

To your relief, he doesn’t refuse your hand. Instead, he intertwines your fingers as he continues to gape at midnight upon ivory, reading the buyer’s name over and over. Finally, the calm returns to Neuvillette, his vulnerability dissipating after what feels like eons (in actuality, it’s no more than ten seconds).

“Apologies,” Neuvillette says, his voice as steady as ever. “Seeing the signature of the buyer… confirmed a suspicion of mine. However, this revelation is not necessarily a thrilling one. In fact, I would say that it is rather… disappointing and tragic.”

You tilt your head slightly, wonder swirling through your thoughts in spirals of erratic questions. “Why’s that?”

The sigh that Neuvillette heaves out is perhaps the most dramatically-depressing noise that’s ever left his lips. Creases line his forehead, marring porcelain skin with lines that convey concern and dismay.

“This is the name of one of our current Marechaussee Phantom members,” Neuvillette breathes out. “As a matter of fact, he was the one who assumed the position of the victim after their death. In addition to this, he was the only member who was intentionally not informed of the dealings of the deceptive factory. I withheld information from him because I had my own suspicions. I fear that my judgement was correct. If I had informed him that we were looking into the facility, these records would have been destroyed long before we stepped foot inside the building.”

“Wait a second! That sounds way too suspicious,” you say, your voice coming out slightly more aggressive than you want it to. You flinch as your tone reaches your ears. “Why didn’t anyone look into them or at least suspect them?”

“He was the deceased’s lover.” Your breath hitches as Neuvillette continues his explanation. “His grief after learning of the death was immense, so much so that no one could dare to consider the possibility that…”

“That he was the culprit,” you finish. “No one wanted to believe the lovers could betray each other.” You nearly scoff as you realize the irony of you saying this to your very own ex.

Neuvillette nods as you exhale tiredly. Everything is finally coming together after years. At long last, you’ve found another candidate for the possible murderer — the real deal this time.

“I had my doubts about him,” Neuvillette mumbles. “Although tears serve as an effective distractor, insincerity shines brighter than even the most dramatic of theatrics. I have never revealed this to anyone, but besides his qualifications and honouring the memory of our fallen comrade, one of the reasons I assigned him to his current position was to maintain a close watch over him at all times. Despite the precautions I took… I had hoped with all my heart that I would not be proven right.”

“And yet you were, so what now,” you inquire. “Do we just apprehend him and call it a day?”

“I would be pleased if it were that easy,” Neuvillette smiles wryly, “but there are many who would still be unwilling to trust our claims without further evidence. Think about it — would you really want to believe that a trusted member of the Marechaussee Phantom is a cold-blooded murderer? The very notion is inappropriately ironic.”

As Neuvillette’s reasoning sinks in, you nod along. What he’s saying makes sense, but you’re unsure of how you should proceed from here. To your relief, Neuvillette has a solution, as always.

“Considering the fact that the perpetrator has insider information, he’s already aware that we are currently revisiting the case,” Neuvillette reiterates. “As such, his main priority at the moment is to cement your status as the real culprit behind the crime. All he needs is an ample opportunity.”

This is getting far too complicated for your liking.

“In order to catch him in the act, we’ll organize another banquet. It will be the perfect opportunity for him to frame you for another poisoning.”

Neuvillette’s logic is hard to follow, and as you pause to think about it, every thread of reasoning becomes lost in a jumble of nonsensical speculation.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter. “He’s not stupid enough to assume that I’d poison someone right after obtaining freedom. That would look too hasty, so foul play would be suspected immediately.”

“And that’s why I think he’ll target you with his poison,” Neuvillette interjects.

Your frown deepens as his claims become more and more bizarre.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Let me explain everything,” Neuvillette starts. “In order to connect the two cases to each other, the perpetrator will likely use the same weapon again. However, this time his target will be you. As you pointed out, if he harms anyone else, it will instantaneously appear as though someone is eager to falsely accuse you of committing crimes. By non-fatally poisoning you, he can claim that you willingly drank your own weapon in an attempt to throw off suspicion. He can point to the similarities in the compositions of the substances used in both cases to frame you as the one true mastermind behind everything.”

The pieces finally begin to coalesce in your mind, forming a shaky plan that hinges on oceans of luck and protection from Celestia above. It’s risky, but it may be your only chance to set things straight.

“Your great plan is just based on endangering me in order to collect a sample of whatever that person is going to give me?”

“I understand that it may be difficult for you to trust me entirely after everything,” Neuvillette sighs, “but if you agree to my proposition, then I promise I will personally ensure that no harm will come to you.”

After the events of the past two days, you know where your heart wants to stand. In spite of this, your mind screams at you to reject Neuvillette’s idea. You’re scared — terrified. The thought of being let down by Neuvillette again induces a fear in you like no other. Despite it all, you understand that you’ll never truly heal if you don’t at least try to give him another chance, so ultimately, you decide to comply.

“Alright, let’s start party planning.”

Weeks of preparation lead up to the big evening, every passing day a countdown to a finale to end all finales. On top of gathering supplies, arranging catering, and decorating, you’re also drilled on how to act when the moment of danger eventually arrives. You train relentlessly to ensure that Neuvillette’s scheme will go off without a hitch.

All your tireless practices pay off. As you walk into the banquet venue, hand-in-hand with Neuvillette, you find that you’re far less nervous than you had been when the idea was initially proposed. The kaleidoscopic butterflies that once fluttered around in the pit of your stomach have stilled, and you’re utterly calm — exactly what you need to pull this off.

Despite assisting in the planning of the party, you still find yourself awed by the extravagance of it all. You’re not quite sure if Neuvillette has come up with an occasion for celebration yet, as he had initially stated that it was a surprise on the invitations he had sent out. However, you’re sure that no matter its grandeur, the sheer opulence of everything around you is more than sufficient.

Aureate accents adorn nearly every item in the room, and the crystal chandeliers above gleam as though they’re catching moonlight from the midnight sky. The music that envelopes you is warm, each melodious note ringing out in a sweet droning of strings. It’s a perfect backtrack for an elegant waltz.

Most noteworthy of all, however, are the guests that surround you. Not a single person is dressed less than exceptionally. Sparkles, gems, and sequins are commonplace here despite being everyday rarities. Shades of seafoam, cobalt, turquoise, and periwinkle surround you as if the fabric of every guest’s clothing is a component of a lavish ocean of luxury.

Everyone around you dons elaborate masks that obscure only a portion of their faces. It’s a masquerade — a way for you to conceal your true identity from innocent civilians without appearing odd.

You’re quickly dragged out of your thoughts as Neuvillette leads you into the crowd. Everyone is swirling around in a series of intricate steps, twirling to the song that’s resonating within the idyllic air of the room. If not for Neuvillette’s tight grasp on your wrist, you fear you would have been swept away by a tide of partygoers.

“Do you recall how to waltz?” he asks, leaning in closer to ensure that you’re able to hear him over the unpleasant discordance surrounding you from all sides.

“Why does it matter?” you shoot back. Although you’ve opened up more and more to Neuvillette with each passing day, you’re not quite sure you want to dance with him just yet. “It’s not like this is necessary.”

“If we simply sit on the sidelines and observe everything, our suspect is bound to notice,” Neuvillette explains, his voice hushed. “Their eyes will be on you all night.”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“So do your best to enjoy the moment and act as though you’re simply here to rejuvenate yourself.” Neuvillette pulls you closer, yet he leaves enough room to ensure that you’re not outright uneasy. “Is this arrangement sufficiently comfortable?”

You nod shakily as words seem to stick to the sides of your throat. It’s as though saccharine honey is sugar coating everything, its viscous properties slowing both your lips and your mind.

With your consent, Neuvillette guides you through the steps of a graceful dance. Although he moves with tact, practiced sophistication, you’re the absolute antithesis. Throughout your years underground, you never saw the opportunity to waltz, and as such, you’ve forgotten every intricacy of the choreographies you used to run through with Neuvillette. Thankfully, he keeps you in line, correcting every misstep you make with gentle guidance.

You find that the tenderness with which he handles you is something you’ve missed. Even now with contrasting feelings warring in the depths of your conflicted mind, Neuvillette’s arms are comfort manifested in a physical form. At the end of the day, he’s still home to you, and maybe he always will be. No one else will ever be capable of calming you down right before a criminal attempts to poison you.

For once, you decide to take Neuvillette’s advice. You forget all the duress of the current moment, and instead, you allow yourself to savour the warmth of Neuvillette’s embrace. So much for not being sure about dancing with him.

Time becomes an anomaly. Although each moment seems to slow, drawing out in a montage of careful movements, the dance is over before you know it.

Neuvillette leads you over to your table, and you take a seat atop the rose-coloured cushions of a plush chair, allowing a cream tablecloth to drape over your legs. As you sit down, you feel him tap your shoulder. He’s pointing to a man clad in a striped grey suit, his mask adorned with midnight blue stitching and matching feathers.

It’s your culprit, Francis, as you’ve learned. You don’t intend on allowing him to get away this time.

Patiently, you wait for him to approach you and Neuvillette. You already know he’ll walk up to you with the intention of ensnaring you within his trap. However, you’re two steps ahead in this twisted game of chess.

Sure enough, a grating voice rings out behind you before long.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Predictably, you’re met with the face of your prime suspect as you whip your head around. “And [name].” Right. He knows exactly who you are. Perhaps your imagination is weaving deceptions from preconceived notions, but you swear that you can hear a hint of a sneer in Francis’ words.

He spends some time chatting with Neuvillette, his dialogue consisting of flattery and exaggerated compliments. You’re not sure what your suspect believes he’s accomplishing, but a frown dances across your features as you continue listening in on the conversation. Any average person would be able to detect the deceit in his sickly-sweet tone, so the fact that he’s trying to utilize such a tactic on Neuvillette of all people astounds you.

You can’t help but wince as he makes blunder after blunder, your frustration welling with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. Finally, when it all becomes too much for you, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“Neuvillette, I’m parched,” you complain. “Wanna go get something to drink?” Your own voice makes you cringe. Note to self: learn how to act in a compelling manner if you manage to make it out of this absolute disaster.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, but unfortunately I must remain here. Although tonight is a night of leisure, I still have matters to discuss with certain individuals, and they are expecting me here.” You find it fortunate that Neuvillette’s performance is more convincing than your own, his mannerisms and timbre completely natural.

“Oh, don’t worry about them, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Francis says. “Tell you what. I can bring them over to the drinks table for you and give them a few recommendations. I can promise you that I am an expert when it comes to this kind of stuff. My brother owns a drink company.”

This time you’re sure your mind isn’t distorting reality. The smile that he flashes at you is downright devious, assuring you that Neuvillette had been right about his schemes all along.

You take a deep breath before eagerly accepting his offer.

“Sure. Thank you so much for joining me.”

The walk over is silent, Francis’ bright persona dimming the moment you step away from Neuvillette. Instead, fractals of glacial tension seem to settle over the atmosphere, frosting everything over with a hostile air.

When you reach the beverages, you immediately reach for a cup. However, Francis waves you down.

“Allow me. I insist.” He picks up a cup for you, placing it down in front of the selection of drinks. Before you even have the opportunity to voice your preferences, Francis picks up a bottle, inspecting it thoroughly before unscrewing the lid. “This delightful beverage was produced by my brother. You simply must have a taste.”

For a brief second, Francis obscures your vision of the cup with his back. His hand traces a path to the front pocket of his suit. You know what he’s doing, so you don’t bother attempting to sneak a glance. It’s futile.

As he hands you the drink, you thank him politely. You’re careful not to spill a single drop of the liquid as you make your way back to your seat. When you finally sit down next to Neuvillette again, you continue bantering, each second ticking down and burning away into oblivion. The more time you waste the closer you draw to your goal. People are on their way to test the contents of the spiked beverage at this very moment.

Despite your attempts to simply wait it out, a problem arises when Francis begins to pester you.

“Go ahead,” he urges you. “Try the drink and let me know your opinion. I’m eager to take notes for my brother!”

In response, you shake your head with fervour. Sampling poison is just about the last item on your bucket list. As you continuously refuse, Francis begins to become irritated, his words beginning to crescendo in volume.

Neuvillette’s crystalline lilac gaze begins to grow concerned. Subtle moonbeams glint within his irises, reflecting his worry for your wellbeing. However, his eyes continue to hold an unuttered promise — an oath to ensure that no harm befalls you whatsoever.

That’s what comforts you the most when Francis finally snaps, lunging at you as he jabs a finger into your face. As he begins to speak, his tone is accusatory more than anything.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” he snarls. “The two of you,” Francis glances back at Neuvillette, who’s silently watching the entire exchange. “You’re not drinking the beverage because you knew I’d poisoned it all along.”

“Mister Francis, I would advise you to remain silent,” Neuvillette speaks, his tone authoritative. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law.”

Unfortunately for Francis, he doesn’t take Neuvillette’s advice seriously. Instead, he’s hellbent on exacting his revenge. You begin to realize his philosophy is one that entails dragging others down with him when he pulls out an enchantingly-gorgeous translucent vial from his pocket.

It’s deceptively beautiful, its design making it seem as though it should contain nothing less than the finest divine nectar. However, you know how deadly the contents of the glass tube really are, and as such, a sense of panic begins to overtake your senses, overwhelming your head with countless scenarios where everything goes horrendously wrong.

Every diverging path vanishes into nothingness the moment Neuvillette steps in. A swift burst of aquatic energy fills your vision, and a cascade of pristine dewy droplets of water splatters your face as you close your eyes. When it’s over at long last, you glance around to find that Francis is on the ground, drenched and shivering as Neuvillette bends down to collect the vial he had been carrying.

“This will make for good evidence,” he notes, setting it down on the table alongside the drink.

It doesn’t take long for your backup to arrive after Neuvillette knocks Francis out. In fact, the timing of the poison-testers is a little too serendipitous to be organic. You’re starting to think that Neuvillette had planned to provoke Francis all along, but you don’t find an opportunity to ask before the team confiscates the drink and the vial to run experiments.

A crowd of onlookers has already begun to congregate, amalgamating in a curious frenzy. Everyone thinks they’re slick, but you can clearly see the way their eyes wander over to Francis’ unmoving form on the ground every so often.

“Follow me,” Neuvillette tells you as he takes off after the forensic team. Someone carries the samples of liquid that have yet to be tested, and a few others grab Francis and haul him off with you. You lose yourself in the winding hallways of the venue, each twist and turn serving only to further discombobulate your frazzled mind.

It feels like forever before you finally reach your destination. It’s quite ordinary in comparison to the sumptuous party occurring outside its doors — each wall a stark and blinding snow white and the lighting sterile and plain.

Francis is set down, and the forensic team promptly begins their investigation. As they labour, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Was it really necessary for you to use so much force when stopping him?” you reprimand him. “I’m grateful, I really am, but I think we attracted a little more attention than we needed.”

Upon hearing your words, Neuvillette chuckles. The sound of his laughter is a sonorous tune that you’ve missed hearing, no matter how much you want to deny it. Your heart races involuntarily.

“I was not intent on leaving your fate up to chance,” he says, sincerity weaving itself into every syllable he speaks. “Although keeping our operation a secret would have been ideal, I wasn’t planning to compromise anyone’s safety in exchange — especially not yours.”

Sometimes you resent Neuvillette for saying the most romantic things without realizing it. Every single rose-tinted word is like a shot to the heart, ensnaring your feelings in crimson threads of love. It’s as if you fall deeper and deeper into oceanic clutches, drowning — suffocating — as the weight of emotions hailing from both the past and present overwhelm you.

“We’re finished,” a member of the team chirps.

You feel the tension in your shoulders alleviate as both you and Neuvillette rush over to take in the results of the investigation.

“The two poison samples match the exact substance that was used all those years ago,” the analyst confirms, presenting you with the conclusions drafted on a sheet of paper. “With all the eyewitness evidence and the fact that he personally confessed to having connections to the very factory that prompted this investigation in the first place, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the light of day for a while.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief that you’ve been holding in for weeks. Your name has finally been cleared, and the real threat has been eliminated.

Above all else, justice has prevailed once more.

To your surprise, Neuvillette leads you to the grand stage at the forefront of all the festivities the moment you re-enter the main hall. Despite the pandemonium that had become the most prominent spectacle of the banquet earlier, people have resumed their lighthearted conversations and elegant dancing, swaying to and fro as if the alarming exchange between the Chief Justice and Francis had never occurred in the first place.

As people begin to notice the diminuendo in music and Neuvillette’s presence at the anterior of the room, the chatter gradually begins to die down, diminishing in a steady waning of volume. Eventually, silence consumes all, and you’re reminded of the sheer gravity of the Iudex’s aura alone.

“Greetings, esteemed guests.” The hall amplifies Neuvillette’s voice, each booming word reverberating and echoing off the opulent walls. “I stand before you today to announce a joyous cause for commemoration as well as to clarify the cause behind the commotion that some of you may have witnessed earlier.”

Whispers permeate the crowd as gossip and speculation begin to circulate. However, Neuvillette shuts everything down as he continues.

“The person here by my side today is [name],” gasps ring out in the silence, fragmenting every semblance of false tranquility that exists in the moment. “Yes, the very same [name] that was sentenced to life in the Fortress of Meropide due to suspected misdemeanours that resulted in an egregious death.”

Protests spread like wildfire through the rambunctious group of people gathered in front of you. Flames of disapproval threaten to engulf your entire being, stinging you with a rutilant aggression as you try to tune out everything.

“Silence,” Neuvillette commands. Thankfully, it’s enough to get everyone to settle down. “I apologize. For the past few weeks, I have concealed the true nature of the situation from you all. A while ago, I personally received a report detailing the suspicious activities of a company producing drinks as a front. Their more sinister schemes laid behind the scenes, as they produced toxins and other deadly substances away from the watchful eyes of the authorities. The composition of the poison they created was identical to that of the weapon used in [name]’s case. With this new evidence, we decided to reopen the investigation.”

Yet again, a shocked reaction is elicited from the crowd, and you begin to wonder how many times they’ll collectively gasp before the end of Neuvillette’s speech.

“When we looked into things more thoroughly, we discovered that the true culprit was Francis, a member of our very own Marechaussee Phantom. At the moment, he has been detained and is currently awaiting trial.”

Relief propagates amongst the crowd, blossoming in a pure flourish of unadulterated solace. A few people look at you with pity, each starlit glint of their eyes conveying their woe on your behalf.

Neuvillette waits this time, allowing the partygoers to mutter amongst themselves. When they begin to settle, he moves on to more positive news.

“I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to listen to my rather mundane explanations,” Neuvillette says. “Now for something more lighthearted.”

He gestures for you to take centre stage, and you reluctantly comply, gazing out at the ocean of people surrounding you.

“[Name] has finally been proven innocent, and as such, they will no longer be required to return to the Fortress of Meropide. This feast has been organized in their honour as a celebration of their return as well as an apology for years spent in isolation.”

Chants of your name begin to flood your ears along with cheers and apologies alike. At long last, you’ve been absolved of the burden wrongfully weighing on your shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Neuvillette whispers to you as he intertwines your fingers to help you off stage. “You’re finally home.”

You hum.

“Thank you.”

No one has the ability to predict the future, and fate’s ordainments are always an enigma to even the most omniscient entities that traverse Teyvat. You have no way of knowing how your relationship with Neuvillette will develop with the passage of time — whether it will mend or fade away as the last spotlight upon the very murder case that brought you back together fizzles out. However, you think you’ll take a chance and revel in his proximity for the time being. He’s proven that he still cares immensely over and over again.

Perhaps with enough patience, your seed of hope will bloom and fill the abyss that had once overtaken your heart, transforming it into a garden of romance reborn.

The weight of Neuvillette’s words begins to settle as you realize that yes, you really are home.

Even after a desolate rain of bitterness and sorrow, the feeling of your hand in his is still home — home sweet home.

thank you so much for reading!! sorry for the long wait riko!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#hvntersecretsanta #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic

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buttercandy16 · 5 months ago

Text

What She Deserves...

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: In a world devoid of omegas, Agatha Harkness becomes fixated on her beta neighbor, willing to do whatever it takes to claim her.

WARNING(s): Omegaverse, Dub-con, Obsession, Cheating, Forced Transformation and other Dark Themes.

A/N: Two fics in one day? I'm on a roll, lol! Time for some Alpha Agatha to claim me... I meant you... or us?

The night was moonless, the perfect backdrop to Agatha Harkness’s restless prowling. Salem was quiet these days, much quieter than Agatha preferred. The world had changed; omegas, once sought after and cherished, were no more. The natural order had shifted, leaving only alphas and betas to navigate the complexities of their desires.

Agatha wanted more—needed more. For centuries, she had used her power to survive and thrive, but loneliness gnawed at her now. She longed for the soft yielding nature of an omega, for the irresistible pull of a bond. No beta could match the primal fire in her, no matter how desperately they tried. Then, fate intervened.

When the moving truck pulled up next door, Agatha leaned against her window, watching with detached interest. A couple, newly married from the looks of it, stepped out, smiling and holding hands. Two betas, utterly unremarkable. Her gaze lingered, however, as the wife’s laugh carried through the air, melodic and warm, laced with something that sent a spark down Agatha’s spine.

Interesting.

Her new neighbor—you—was the epitome of charm. Your kind smile and bright eyes captured the attention of everyone who came to welcome you to the neighborhood, but it was the way you walked, moved, and carried yourself that made Agatha’s heart twist. There was something beneath your beta exterior, something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t long before her curiosity became obsession.

Over the weeks, Agatha ingratiated herself into your life. She’d drop by with welcome gifts, offer to help with the garden, and invite you over for tea when your husband was at work. You couldn’t understand why you were drawn to her company so fiercely, but there was a magnetic quality to her presence that you couldn’t resist.

“Do you ever feel like you’re meant for something… different?” Agatha asked one evening as the two of you sat by her fire. Her voice was low and smooth, curling around your thoughts like a whisper of temptation.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, staring into the flames. “Sometimes I feel out of place. Like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.”

Agatha smiled, the kind of smile that would have warned anyone wiser to tread carefully. “Perhaps you just haven’t discovered who you truly are.”

It wasn’t coincidence that you began feeling odd a few days later. Your emotions grew unpredictable, your body feverish, and your senses heightened in ways you’d never experienced. Agatha, always conveniently close, reassured you.

“Your husband’s not a doctor,” she chided when you insisted you were fine. “Let me take care of you. Trust me.”

You did.

She concocted teas with herbs you’d never heard of and whispered strange words into the air when you were too tired to question. She stayed close, too close perhaps, but you were too distracted by your own turmoil to see her true intentions.

Her plan was working.

She had found an ancient spell buried in forbidden texts, a ritual designed to awaken dormant omega traits in betas. It wasn’t supposed to exist in this world, but Agatha was nothing if not resourceful. You, her beautiful and unsuspecting neighbor, would be her masterpiece.

The night you fell into Agatha’s grasp felt like falling into a storm—a force far greater than yourself, impossible to fight. It started as a faint haze of discomfort in your veins, a whisper in your body that turned into a scream. You couldn’t control it, couldn’t understand it, but Agatha… oh, she understood it perfectly.

Her knocking on your door that evening was no coincidence. You had spent the entire day spiraling, feverish and restless, aching in ways that frightened you. Your husband had tried to comfort you, his hands fumbling as he touched your sweat-slick skin, his concern obvious, but his presence was unbearable. He smelled wrong, his voice grated against your senses, and the thought of him even looking at you during your vulnerability made your stomach churn.

Agatha had known. She always knew.

“Darling,” she cooed as you opened the door, her violet eyes sharp with concern—and something darker. Her touch, deceptively light, found your trembling hand, grounding you instantly. Her scent was intoxicating, calming the chaos inside you just enough to make you forget the warning alarm in your brain. “You look terrible. Let me help you.”

You hesitated, clinging to a last shred of caution. "I... I don’t understand what’s happening. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha stepped closer, her voice soft, hypnotic. "It’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Your body is finally awakening to its true nature. Let me take care of you. I can make this better."

Desperation clouded your judgment, and before you knew it, you were in her home, her hands guiding you to a comfortable chair by the fire. Her touch was everywhere—gentle on your shoulders, soothing on your back, each caress unraveling your defenses. She offered you tea laced with faintly glowing herbs that smelled of earth and magic. When you drank, the liquid burned in your veins, igniting something so primal you gasped.

Agatha’s smile widened as she crouched before you, one hand resting on your knee, the other cradling your chin. "Feel that?" she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "That’s you transforming. Your body knows exactly what it needs now."

Your skin burned under her touch, your pulse roaring in your ears. Something about her proximity set your senses ablaze. Her scent filled every breath you took—lavender, dark spices, and something raw, something Alpha.

"I need—" you started to say, but your words faltered, your voice caught between a whimper and a growl.

Agatha tilted her head, feigning innocence though her eyes betrayed her cunning. "Need what, darling? Tell me."

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how. Your instincts were at war with logic, and the only thing grounding you was Agatha. Her smirk deepened as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Say it," she purred, her voice molten and commanding. "Say what you need."

You shuddered, torn apart by the intensity of her presence. Every rational thought drowned in the tidal wave of heat coursing through you. Her touch dragged you down further, and then she whispered the word that sealed your fate.

"Me."

You trembled under Agatha's intense gaze, her words echoing in your mind like a siren's call. Me. The thought both terrified and thrilled you. Your body cried out for her touch, for her dominance, and the force of that need scared you. You weren't supposed to want this—want her—like this.

Agatha seemed to sense your hesitation, and she pulled back slightly, her hand still resting on your knee. "It's alright," she murmured, her voice soothing even as her eyes glittered with dark promise. "You don't have to be afraid. I can help you through this."

Help. The word was a lifeline in the storm of your new sensations. You needed help, needed something to ground you in the chaos of your awakening omega instincts. And Agatha offered that, along with the temptation of her touch, her scent, the magnetic pull of her alpha energy.

Slowly, you nodded, surrendering to the inevitable. Agatha's smile widened, victorious and hungry. She leaned in closer, her hand sliding from your knee to your thigh, her touch burning through the fabric of your pants.

"Good girl," she purred, her breath ghosting over your lips. "Now, let's get you out of these clothes. We need to see what's happening to you."

Your breath hitched as Agatha stood, her hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. You watched, mesmerized, as she pushed the fabric off your shoulders, exposing the smooth expanse of your skin to the warmth of the fire. Her eyes raked over you, filled with approval and something else—something dark and possessive.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her fingers trailing down your collarbone, over the swell of your breasts. "So perfect."

You shivered at her touch, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your bra. Agatha's lips curved into a wicked smile as she leaned down, her mouth hovering just above the valley between your breasts.

"Can you feel it, darling?" she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. "The heat in your blood, the ache between your legs? That's your omega nature rising to the surface."

You could feel it—the raw, primal need that pulsed through your veins, demanding attention. Your body felt like a livewire, every nerve ending screaming for stimulation. And Agatha seemed to know exactly how to touch you, how to stoke the fire within you.

She straightened up, her hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. "Let's get these off you," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "I want to see all of you."

With a quick movement, she tugged your pants down your legs, leaving you bare before her except for your bra and panties. The cool air of the room hit your skin, making you gasp, but Agatha's eyes were like a physical caress, warm and approving.

"Look at you," she breathed, circling you slowly, drinking in every inch of your exposed flesh. "So beautiful, so ripe with potential. You're going to be a stunning omega."

The word sounded foreign on her lips, but somehow right. Omega. It explained the ache in your body, the restlessness in your soul. It explained the inexplicable draw you felt towards Agatha, the alpha who stood before you now, her eyes dark with desire.

Agatha stepped closer, her hands cupping your face, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. "I'm going to take care of you," she promised, her voice low and firm. "I'm going to show you what it means to be an omega, to submit to your alpha. And you're going to love every second of it."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation mixed with a hint of fear. You knew you should be scared, should fight against the pull of her dominance. But your body craved her touch, craved the relief only she could provide.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha's hands slid down your body, one cupping your breast through your bra, the other dipping between your legs, pressing against your aching core through the damp fabric of your panties.

"Can you feel how wet you are?" she murmured, her fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex. "That's your omega essence, darling. It's nature's way of preparing you for mating."

The word made your head spin, but it was the pressure of Agatha's fingers that made you gasp, made your hips buck forward involuntarily. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your panties, caressing your slick folds directly.

"So responsive," she purred, her touch gentle but firm. "I can't wait to break you in properly."

Break you in. The words should have terrified you, but they only served to heighten your arousal. Your body craved submission, craved the dominant touch of an alpha. And Agatha was more than willing to provide that.

She continued her slow exploration of your body, her fingers gliding over your sensitive flesh, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra, dipping between your legs to gather your slick essence. All the while, she whispered words of praise and possession, telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect, how utterly hers.

You could feel yourself losing control, your omega instincts taking over as the alpha's touch consumed you. Your hands clutched at Agatha's shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as she brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Please, Agatha..."

She smiled against your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone. "Please what, darling?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr. "Tell me what you need."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could voice your deepest desires. But the fire in your veins demanded satisfaction, demanded release.

"I... I need you," you gasped out finally, the words raw and honest. "I need you to make me yours."

Agatha's eyes flashed with triumph and hunger. "Oh, I will," she promised darkly. "I'm going to claim you in every way imaginable. I'm going to fill you with my seed and make you scream my name until everyone knows you belong to me."

The dirty words sent a shiver of excitement through you, even as a small part of you knew this was wrong, knew you were betraying your husband. But your body didn't care about right or wrong—it only cared about the alpha who held it in her thrall.

With a low growl, Agatha captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of you. At the same time, her fingers found your aching clit, rubbing hard and fast until you were writhing against her, desperate for more.

"Come for me," she commanded against your lips, her fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Show me how much you need this."

Her words pushed you over the edge, and with a cry of release, you came hard, your body convulsing as pleasure crashed through you. Agatha held you through it all, her touch steady and dominant, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy until you collapsed against her, boneless and sated.

But even as you caught your breath, you could feel the need building again, could feel the omega inside you demanding more than just a quick orgasm. She demanded completion, demanded an alpha's knot and seed.

As if sensing your thoughts, Agatha picked you up easily, cradling you in her strong arms as she carried you towards the bedroom. "Don't worry, darling," she murmured, her voice low and reassuring. "I'm going to give you everything you need."

And as she laid you down on the soft bed, her body covering yours, you knew she was right. This was only the beginning.

Agatha hovered above you, her eyes dark with desire as she gazed down at your naked form. She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, laid out before her like a feast. Her hands trailed over your skin, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened under her touch. You gasped at the sensation, arching into her hands, craving more.

With a wicked smile, Agatha leaned down, her tongue swirling around one hardened peak. Electricity shot through you at the contact, your back arching off the bed as you cried out in pleasure. Agatha chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of sensation through you.

"Your body is so responsive," she purred, her fingers continuing their exploration of your curves. "I can't wait to feel it spasming around my knot as I fill you with my seed."

The dirty words made your core clench, your arousal growing with each passing second. You could feel your omega nature taking over, your instincts screaming at you to submit, to let the alpha claim you completely.

Agatha seemed to sense your desperation, and she moved down your body with purpose, her hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she paused, her breath hot against your slick folds.

"Look at you," she murmured, her fingers brushing against your entrance. "So wet and ready for me already. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be an alpha's mate."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, her mouth latching onto your clit instead. The sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. Agatha's tongue worked magic on you, flicking and circling and sucking until you were writhing against her face, your hips bucking shamelessly as you sought more of that exquisite pleasure.

But Agatha controlled the pace, her hands holding your hips down as she lapped at your essence, savoring every drop of your arousal. She brought you to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you gasping and aching for release.

"Please," you whimpered, desperation clawing at your throat. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

She cut off your plea with another swipe of her tongue, her fingers dipping inside you as she finally allowed you to find your climax. You shattered with a scream of her name, your body convulsing as ecstasy tore through you.

But even as the waves of pleasure crested and began to ebb, you could feel the need building again, stronger than before. Your omega instincts demanded satisfaction, demanded an alpha's knot stretching you open and filling you up.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha moved up your body, her clothed form pressing against your naked skin. You could feel the hard ridge of her arousal through her pants, and it made your mouth water with desire.

"Can you feel what you do to me?" Agatha murmured, her hips grinding against yours in a slow, sensual motion. "Can you feel how hard I am for you? How much I need to be inside you?"

You nodded frantically, your hands reaching for the buttons of her shirt. You needed to feel her skin against yours, needed to explore the curves of her body just as she had explored yours.

Agatha allowed you to undress her, watching with a satisfied smirk as you marveled at the sight of her. She was lean and toned, her breasts full and her abs defined. And between her legs, her cock stood at attention, thick and heavy and glistening at the tip.

"Such a beautiful sight," Agatha purred, her eyes devouring you as you gazed at her in awe. "I'm going to enjoy wrecking this pretty little body of yours."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as she settled between your thighs. You could feel the heat of her cock pressing against your slick folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

"Tell me you want this," Agatha demanded, her voice low and commanding against your lips. "Tell me you want me to claim you, to make you mine."

"I want it," you gasped out, unable to deny the need coursing through your veins. "Please, Agatha. I need you to fill me up. I need your knot."

Her eyes flashed with primal hunger at your words, and with a growl of satisfaction, she thrust into you in one smooth motion. The sensation of being stretched and filled was overwhelming, your inner walls clenching around her thick length as she bottomed out inside you.

"Fuck," Agatha hissed, her hips stilling for a moment as she savored the feeling of being inside you. "You're so tight. So perfect."

She didn't give you time to adjust, pulling out slowly before slamming back into you, setting a hard and fast pace that had you crying out in ecstasy. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through you, the head of her cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

You clung to Agatha's shoulders, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and Agatha's grunts of exertion.

"Mine," she growled, one hand fisting in your hair as she angled your head back, exposing your neck to her teeth. "You're mine now, little omega. I'm going to mark you, claim you, fill you with my seed until everyone knows you belong to me."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your omega nature rejoicing at the thought of being claimed so thoroughly by an alpha. You felt wild, free, as if all the constraints of your old life had fallen away and all that mattered was this moment, this primal act of mating.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips meeting Agatha's thrusts eagerly. "Please, mark me. Claim me. I'm yours."

Your words seemed to spur Agatha on, and she picked up the pace, fucking into you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as she took you harder and faster than you ever thought possible.

And then, without warning, she was there, her knot swelling inside you, locking her in place as she finally found his release. You felt her cock pulsing inside you, felt the warm rush of her seed filling you up as she came with a roar of triumph.

The sensation of being claimed so completely sent you over the edge, and you came with a scream of ecstasy, your body milking Agatha's cock for every last drop of her essence.

You collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, both of you panting and sated as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded. Agatha stayed buried inside you, her knot keeping her in place as she nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent with a contented sigh.

"That was incredible," she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. "But don't think we're done yet, my little omega. I've got a lot more to show you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through you at her words, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. You knew this was just the beginning, knew that Agatha would demand your submission over and over again until you were thoroughly claimed and mated.

But for now, all you could do was bask in the afterglow of your first true mating, knowing that your life would never be the same again.

From that night, your transformation was complete, irreversible. You woke in Agatha's arms, marked in ways you couldn't yet understand. The ache that had consumed you was gone, replaced by something deeper—a connection that bound you to her. You were hers, every part of you attuned to the alpha who had made you this way.

Your husband came looking for you days later, frantic and confused. Agatha welcomed him with a cool smile, standing tall and unyielding at her doorway as she blocked his frantic attempts to push past her.

“She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” she said, her voice smooth, her words cutting like a blade. “You couldn’t handle what she’s become. Let her go.”

The scent of your omega status wafted through the air, reaching him like a slap to the face. His eyes filled with despair as realization struck. He couldn’t argue. There was no fighting the primal laws of biology.

From the shadows, you watched, torn between guilt and the overwhelming relief of having Agatha’s arms around you. She caught your gaze over her shoulder, her smirk cold, victorious.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she murmured, shutting the door in your husband’s face with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll take care of you now. No one else ever could.”

Agatha didn’t just claim you; she consumed you. Every part of your life, every piece of who you had been, was now wrapped around her. And as much as a part of you still resisted, another part—darker, hungrier—craved her attention, her dominance, her endless power.

She molded you into her perfect vision of an omega, lavishing you with touches and whispers that lingered long after they ended. Your world shrank to her presence, her approval, her praise. Each moment of submission felt intoxicating, as though her dominance filled an empty space you’d never known existed.

And though her methods were dark, her spell forbidden, Agatha would argue it was a fair exchange.

After all, wasn’t it her right, as an Alpha, to finally have what she deserved?

_-_-_

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#agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #dark fanfiction #agatha all along #agathario #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #aubrey plaza #dark!agatha harkness #omegaverse

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cosmica-galaxy · 3 months ago

Text

♣--Ex!SMC Underling!Reader x Pure Vanilla Cookie--♣

Genre: Can be Romantic or Platonic Warnings: Manipulative/Partially Abusive SMC Word Count: 3,173 Words

You’re tired. You are so…so…tired. You have tried everything to please your master and you never found anything that could ever bring him any happiness nor praise. What were you doing wrong…?

You were loyal to Shadow Milk even before he fell from grace as the Sage of Truth. You weren’t some…nobody welp that he happened to take in from off the streets. You were there when he fell…when he became the beast of deceit. His large web of lies spread chaos in the surrounding region…and you were a minion that was destined to spread it as far as you could across Earthbread. It wasn’t just you that served as a minion, but you also had two fellow loyalists that would help do Shadow Milk’s bidding. Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie. Black Sapphire Cookie would spread rumors far and wide, cause couples to fall apart or fight, and would break apart friendships and relationships with such grace…and your lord would give him so much praise for his deeds. Candy Apple Cookie would deceive, assassinate, and infiltrate so many places to deal with any forms of resistance to your lord’s rule with such savagery and devotion…and he would praise her as well. Then…when you went out and performed so many deeds in the name of deceit ...you have told so many lies, broken so many friendships, and even had kingdoms fight one another over petty lies and deceitful tactics to please your lord. But…he would barely look your way. However, he would always take notice of your mistakes rather than your accomplishments. The moment you messed up, he would berate you. Shadow Milk would always comment about how you were such a worthless minion and how he could literally replace you with a puppet and have better results. But that was him on his good days. On his bad days, it was worse for you. He would physically abuse you for your failures by forcing you to act out plays as a puppet. Strings would pull you roughly around the stage, forcing you into painful positions, and you would take very real attacks from other members of his ‘cast’ during his tales. Beaten, battered, wounded, and breathless…Shadow Milk would laugh at you, as well as the “audience” he would conjure up. Among the crowd were his two disciples, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. While Candy Apple Cookie seemed to enjoy your torment, Black Sapphire seemed to be more…reserved in his reactions. “Aww…are you all done? Learned your lesson yet?” Shadow Milk would taunt from above your entangled form. Yet, like a beaten submissive dog, you would always crawl back to your master. Agreeing and begging for more chances to prove your worth time and time again. Much to your master’s dramatic disgust-filled reaction, and then he would drop you from his strings. Then Shadow Milk would bring up the statues in the spire courtyard…all the time. Always telling you that if you wanted the empty pedestal to be filled with your stony visage, you had to earn it like Black Sapphire and Candy Apple did. And you would always try so hard to do as he demanded. To earn your place in the garden of deceit and to finally be recognized as a valuable member of his following. But, that was during the time of the Beasts’ reign over the continent you once called home. When the Witches intervened and your lord was broken and sealed away in the seal guarded by a silver sapling, you waited for your master to return with such eagerness. But many springs…summers…autumns…and winters passed. Many moons later…you suddenly find yourself doubting why you were waiting in this forsaken spire for your lord to return. His sealing had given you plenty of time to think and wonder…just…why? What were you doing wrong? Then, one fateful moonless night…you had an epiphany while staring at the empty pedestal in the garden of deceit just outside of the spire. You…were never going to get recognized as an honorary minion of deceit.

Only during that moment on the moonless night did you finally understand the truth…you were being constantly deceived…and you felt it in all of its cruel irony. Shadow Milk Cookie cared for you less than his other underlings…but you were useful for all the hard work and labor that the other members didn’t feel like doing. You were just being strung along by Shadow Milk…like a puppet on a string. He would dangle the carrot in front of you and you would pursue it relentlessly, and would get no closer to your goal. Your world became shaken and suddenly…your devotion in your lord of lies…waned. You and the other minions of deceit would regularly talk or hang out at the spire during your master’s absence–until after that night. You began to shut both of them out of your life slowly and steadily. You would stay away from them at dinner, hide in your room all day, and you even swapped your sleeping schedule to avoid them entirely. Candy Apple wasn’t as bothered by your sudden isolation, but Black Sapphire Cookie would always try to check up on you at least once in a while. Yet, you refused to reach out or indulge in the rumor spreader when he came knocking on your door. He always asked if it was about Shadow Milk Cookie being imprisoned…but you would never reply. If only he could understand the betrayal and heartache you were enduring because of your revelation in the garden that night. Then one full moon night, after all those tear-filled sleepless nights and silent suffering of what you were going to do that you endured, you decided to make the difficult choice to leave the spire entirely…to leave the chaos of deceit that you had grown to know for so long behind. You had packed your bags with all of the necessities, packed food and drinks, and opened the window to the outside. Your demon-like wings spread wide and your bag close to your side. You could only look back at the room that once served as your home one last time before you turned around and flew out the window. You slipped away to the far borders of the Beast of Deciet’s territory. Stopping on a moonlit hill to look over what used to be your kingdom and your place of residence. There was only one thing left to do. You look at the insignia you wore, the crest with the slitted eye that held your pledge to the lord of deceit himself, and you ripped it off. You stare at it with a mix of uncertainty, fear, and hatred.

For a moment, you hesitate. But…you already came this far.

There was no going back now…besides…what would await you at the spire anyway? An abusive lord that would eventually return to give you more empty promises? A life of never being good enough for him? An empty statue pedestal that would never be filled?

You were no longer going to be some Beast’s loyal little puppet. You raise your hand up high…and you sling the deceitful jem that held your pledge towards the ground with force. It shatters. With the shattering came the pain of you being severed from the powers of the dark side of the moon, the otherworld, and even your own master of deceit.

You wince and grit your teeth as your corrupted form is burned away from existence by a golden light and you could only let out breathless gasps when you finally feel the weight of your pledge of servitude that was marked upon your very soul be lifted away from you–like a heavy ball and chain that was finally cut from your leg and how that allowed you to fly away freely. You have done it. You had freed yourself from the Beast and liberated your soul from his influence. You had the chance to be reborn anew. Your wings remained, but they now held a different shape, and you took that as a small blessing from your shift away from the path of deceit. You gathered up your things and finally turned away from the place that served as your cage for the last time. You disappear into the jungle of Beast-Yeast and never look back towards the spire ever again. . . .

That was years ago now.

You had taken on a different name, a different appearance, and began to travel the continent of Beast-Yeast for a majority of years.

You became known as a rather talented traveler. Going from place to place and seeing all that Beast-Yeast had to offer…until the day of the Dark Flour War.

You had remembered when the skies had darkened, the moon turned red, and the continent itself shook with such fury. You won’t lie…you hid away for most of that era, as it reminded you of the time when you used to serve…him. How kingdoms would fall, how lies would reap what was sowed, and how easily others crumbled when pushed to certain limits. But…the war had passed and life continued on like not much had happened. You continued with your own soul searching journey that you undertook in solitude. Traveling, meeting other cookies, fighting dangerous beasts, and finally getting to a point where you felt like you could cross the licorice sea and discover what lied beyond this land that you had now explored over the years. Plus…you would do anything to get farther away from the hellhole you crawled out of. You managed to make a decent boat, cross the sea during the calm season, and then you began your explorations in the land of Crispia. You explored the mighty mountains of the dark cacao kingdom, drank the fine berry juice in the dragon-ruled Hollyberry Kingdom, sampled the various delicious cheeses of the parmesan desert (apparently there used to be a kingdom here…but it got wiped out long ago), and finally you began to make your way over to a rather far away kingdom. However, you were surprised that you got ambushed during your walk through the chasms that supposedly led to a fabled “vanilla kingdom” by a Cookie who used raisin crows as companions. She tossed raisin buns at you, which you caught and began to eat without hesitation. “Thank you! I was quite famished!” You had exclaimed and continued to eat the raisin bun, much to the Cookie’s surprise. “You…aren’t from around here. Who are you? Where did you come from?” The cookie interrogates, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Me? I’m just a traveler. Going from place to place and meeting all types of cookies. As for where I came from…well, it’s pretty far away. It doesn’t really matter where I came from…since I didn’t belong there anyway.” You explained. “I promise that I mean you no harm, unlike those unfriendly waffle robots I ran into a little while ago…” “The waffle bots attacked you as well?! . . .I see that you are injured. You said that you have no home, right…? . . . Follow me, I know someone who can help heal your injuries.” That was how you met him.

At the time, he was known as “Blind Healer Cookie”. A cookie that helped heal a group of injured and famished cookies. You have never met someone so…kind before. He was the polar opposite of your old master, the one you had deserted so many moons ago. The moment that Black Raisin Cookie lead you into his tent, you felt a strange feeling of nostalgia. Regardless, the cookie smiled at you while he healed the sick and injured in his tent. “Oh? Who is this?” The kind cookie inquired and he welcomed you into his tent after spotting your injuries. “Oh my, you’re hurt…please come in and have a seat. I will be with you in a moment!” You had sat down obediently and waited patiently. Thankfully, your injuries weren’t as nearly as severe as some of the cookies in the tent. You could afford to wait for your treatment. “This is a drifter. They claim to hail from a far away land…and that they don’t have a home. Like most of us.” Raisin Cookie explains in your place. “Oh…that’s a shame.” The friendly cookie smiles warmly at you. “Do you at least have a name?” You tell the cookie your name. “What a lovely name! I can see you now, please allow me to assess your injuries.” “Oh…they’re not that bad. If someone needs assistance, you can help them first!” “. . .Traveler, your arm is leaking strawberry jam with a deep gash! How can that possibly be a not that bad?” The healer cookie had asked you in worry. “. . . I’ve had worse.” You mutter out and look away as the healer looks at your deep injury with concern. “Goodness…you must have had quite the journey to get this far…” “Well…I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I was on my way to the vanilla kingdom, but I just ran into trouble on the way there and those waffle bots gave me this nasty cut. I will probably move on after I heal so I don’t use up too much of your resources.” “Nonsense! If you ever need a place to rest your head, you are free to stay here in the village with Raisin Cookie and I. Any cookie is welcome here!” “. . . Thank you, Healer Cookie.”

From that moment on, you stayed with the healer cookie in the small unimpressive village. You truly had no reason to stay, but you didn’t want to travel with such an injury for a while. Yet, the longer you stayed…the less you wanted to leave. Especially if Healer Cookie wasn’t going to go with you. Instead, when you got well enough, you began to help Black Raisin Cookie defend the village from the onslaught of waffle bots that would come every red moon. Your survival and combat skills have served you well over the years, as it has kept many a cakehound, cake wolf, and even a ferocious ridge lion from devouring you. Many of the villager cookies have even taken up calling you a “knight”. You also tried to help understand where the robots were coming from, and they seem to be originating from the island floating in the sky. Which you later found out to be the fabled Vanilla Kingdom…but why would a kingdom send down so many robots to hurt cookies specifically? You wouldn’t get an answer to that until a ragtag bunch of Cookies by the name of Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookies came hurtling into town. One thing led to another and the next thing you know, you’re helping fight off an invading force of cake monsters that had taken over Healer Cookie–no…Pure Vanilla Cookie’s old kingdom. Your sword skills served the group well and you never strayed too far from Pure Vanilla Cookie until he was separated from your group during a fight in the bedroom. Once Dark Enchantress Cookie revealed herself, and your imprisoned friend, you flew into a rage that you haven’t ever felt before. The team joined you in your assault on the Cake Witch and you all sent the beast reeling. Pure Vanilla even broke out of his confinement and assisted you all when you needed it the most. In the end, the enchantress and her unwanted lackeys fled the kingdom that now rightfully belongs to Pure Vanilla Cookie and the Villagers that housed you while you healed. You could only feel delighted when you see Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard cookie off as they continue on their journey across Crispia to bring the letters that were written by Pure Vanilla to the other surviving ancient heroes. Then, you get an unexpected proposal from the king himself as he addressed you by your name to get your attention. “I was wondering if you would accept this offer of mine. You see, I think you would make a great knight for our kingdom. If you want to…would you like to become the first Vanilla Royal Knight?” You could only blink in response and your wings fluttered slightly in excitement.

Admittedly, it took a lot of time for you to start opening up to anyone at all. Let alone to learn to trust again after your abandonment of the Beast of Deceit. But something about Pure Vanilla just made you feel…warm and safe. Maybe it was his kind demeanor or his devotion to his subjects that made you feel this way…or maybe it was because he was so willing to give what you were craving so much from Shadow Milk Cookie.

A sense that you belonged. “. . .I would…I-I…” “Ah?! Are you okay?! You’re crying…” “I…am I?? My apologies…I just…do I deserve it…? Have I earned my place h-here?” “Shh…” Pure Vanilla Cooke quickly embraces you and strokes your trembling back lovingly. “Of course! Why wouldn’t you belong here? We all love you very much and the only thing we would hate about you…is if we had to see you go.” For the first time in your ancient life…you lean into a figure that was giving you the affection and recognition that you seeked so desperately from the Beast you used to serve. “So…will you stay?” “. . .Yes, my king.” From that moment on, you had fully shed your past life as a follower of deceit.

You have taken on a new identity, a new title, and now…a new kingdom to call home and a new king to follow, Not a king of deceit…but a king of truth.

You served as his strongest knight that fought off any lingering waffle bot threats and guarded the edges of the floating kingdom with your wings serving as your method of transportation. You now wear a signature vanilla kingdom set of armor that was crafted for you specifically, dressing your once tattered clothes into a fine suit of armor. Not only that, but you were given a powerful sword to replace your old and worn one.

Now you spend your days standing protectively at his side as Pure Vanilla went about his business in the kingdom. Whether or not he was in a meeting, checking on his devoted villagers, or even watering the vanilla flowers in the garden.

You were always nearby and watching over his kingdom with rigorous and unshakable loyalty. You were no longer a pawn of some puppeteer to tug around and be forced to dance for entertainment. Though, you do wonder from time to time how Black Sapphire is doing…but he and Candy Apple Cookie were in the past…and that is where they can stay. You have changed.

You now reside as a resident of the new vanilla kingdom and a servant to a king who actually deserves your loyalty, tenacity, and devotion to your duties. And the king would return your effort with so much kindness, praise, and words that always reassured you… That you would always belong here with him.

#cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x you #crk x reader #crk x y/n #crk tag #haxorus imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #cosmica-galaxy #my writing #POSTING ON TUMBLR IS A BITCH HOW DO YOU ALL DO IT?!

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kuruptt · 7 days ago

Text

BILLY HARGROVE X READER

That’s My Girl. Pt.1

Here's a little something while you wait for part 5 of 'You're Mine, You Know That.' This new fic actually goes back to the beginning, showing you how (Y/N) moved to Hawkins to be with Billy, which is before all the events in my previous fics. Enjoy!

**SUMMARY - A year after separating from Billy and settling into a new relationship, a call from Max changes everything. Her desperate plea to save Billy reignites old feelings, hinting at a reunion you've been waiting for, forcing you to confront where your heart truly belongs. Angry Billy, Soft Billy, Possessive Billy, Flayed Billy (only for a short while).

**TRIGGER WARNINGS - Violence towards an original character, Brody. Kissing, swearing, threatening language and possessive behaviour. I think that’s all :)

WORD COUNT - 6k

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY !!!

i do not own the rights to the following characters, other than Brody Baker who I created myself, all other characters are created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.

Requests open !!!!! :)

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You and Billy were deeply in love, a connection so strong it was indescribable and it was obvious to everyone around you. With you, Billy felt safe enough to let his guard down, even showing vulnerability. You brought a genuine happiness to his life. Others saw him as a thoughtless jerk who treated everyone so poorly, but with you, he was gentle, loving, and incredibly kind. It felt like a perfect dream unfolding, a perfect, beautiful reality.

Then, with a suddenness that was both shocking and cruel, that dream was shattered. One minute you were making plans for a future filled with promise. The next, a harsh twist of fate intervened, tearing you apart.

About a year ago, Billy moved from your sunny California hometown to a place you’d never heard of before, Hawkins, Indiana. The decision made by his father, Neil, had followed a painful realization that the distance between you both was simply too far to sustain your relationship. You'd made the difficult choice to break up, hoping that the separation would allow both of you to move on and build new lives, not that you could imagine yours without Billy.

However, Billy never truly moved on. He was miserable in Hawkins, constantly haunted by memories of your time together. He repeatedly told you that he would come back for you, willing to make the long journey to California whenever possible. But you wouldn't allow it. You insisted that the constant travel would be too much of a struggle for him and you genuinely hoped that he would find a way to start a better life in Hawkins.

Despite your attempts to encourage him to move forward, Billy remained fixated on the past. He would call you late at night, his voice filled with longing and regret, recounting cherished moments and vowing to return. Each conversation was a painful reminder of what you had lost, a pain that teared through your chest, even across the miles. The weight of his unhappiness was a heavy burden for you to bear, knowing that your decision to end the relationship had caused him so much pain.

While Billy was struggling with his unhappiness in Hawkins, you found yourself seeking solace in the arms of a new boyfriend, Brody Baker. It was no secret that Billy despised Brody and that’s why you could never bring yourself to tell him about your relationship. Oddly enough, Brody reminded you of Billy in some ways, a similarity that both attracted and disturbed you. In truth, you had gotten together with Brody as a distraction, a way to numb the pain of missing Billy so intensely. But as your relationship with him deepened, you found that Brody wasn’t actually very nice to you at all, he’d often make fun of your clothes and the music you liked, leaving you humiliated and hurt.

Billy found it increasingly difficult to contact you with you never being home to pick up his calls. You spent most of your time at Brody's house, immersed in a new routine that seemed designed to keep Billy away. Yet, despite the physical distance and the new relationship, Billy never truly left your mind. You loved him, you’d always, love him. Something you couldn’t feel for Brody, though you’d tried.

Fleeting memories of your shared past would surface unexpectedly, stirring up a mix of longing and guilt. You told yourself that you would likely never see Billy again, that the chapter of your life you shared with him, was closed for good.

That was, until, last night, when the fragile sense of closure was shattered by a terrifying phone call from his sister, Maxine. Her voice was filled with panic, hinting at a crisis that threatened to unravel everything you thought you knew about Billy's new life in Hawkins.

“(Y/N), hello!" Maxine's voice burst through the phone, laced with a desperate urgency.

"Hey, Max, what's going on?" (Y/N) asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

"(Y/N), Billy needs you, I need you! I don't have time to explain right now, but can you please come to Hawkins? As soon as possible, please!" Maxine pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Max, me and Billy have been over for over a year. I can't just-" (Y/N) started, but Maxine swiftly cut her off.

"No, you don't understand. Things are happening in Hawkins, very BAD things. The Mind Flayer got into Billy. He keeps switching from Billy to someone I don't even recognize. He's hurting people, not like before, he’s really hurting people and-" You interrupted her, your mind reeling.

"Mind Flayer?" (Y/N) questioned, the words sounding like something out of a nightmare.

"It's like... a huge shadow monster. I know it sounds dumb, I didn't believe it at first either, but please, (Y/N), please believe me. You're our last hope, our last chance at helping Billy, please.” She begged, her voice trembling.

The call left you shaken and disoriented, Max's words echoing in your mind like a broken record. You struggled to make sense of the bizarre claims, but you trusted Max’s words. If Maxine, of all people, was saying things as strange as this, it had to hold some truth, no matter how unrealistic it seemed. You pushed aside your doubts and resolved to do what she asked.

"Alright, Max, I'll come. Just calm down and sit tight, okay?" (Y/N) said, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

"Okay, got a pen?" Max asked quickly.

You grabbed an old pen and a crumpled piece paper, jotting down a time and directions Max rattled off, guiding you to the community pool where Billy worked. You couldn't fathom why Max wanted you to go there instead of their house, but you trusted her judgment and her plan, clinging to the hope that you could somehow make a difference in this unfolding nightmare.

The conversation with Maxine lingered in the air, each word a heavy weight. You took a shaky breath, the scent of vanilla from your half burned candle doing little to calm your nerves. Hesitantly, you picked up the phone, your thumb hovering over the familiar digits before finally making the call. Brody answered on the third ring, his usual laid back tone grating against your frayed nerves.

"Hey.” (Y/N) began, her voice trembling slightly. "Maxine needs me... Billy... he needs me too. Something's happening and I need to get to Hawkins." She rushed the words, a desperate plea laced within them.

There was a pause, a beat of silence that felt like an eternity.

“Are you crazy? Hawkins? Do you know how far that is? You're asking me, your boyfriend, to take you to Billy, your ex-boyfriend, to help him because he's having a hard tim-“ Brody stopped abruptly, the air thick with unspoken resentment.

A sinister chuckle then filled the line.

“Sure, I'll take ya." He said.

Relief washed over you, but it was quickly tainted by the unsettling tone in his voice. It wasn't about helping, it was about something else entirely. Brody wanted to take you, wanted to parade you in front of Billy like a prize, a trophy. He wanted to see Billy's reaction, to assert his dominance.

It wasn’t long after the phone call until Brody beeped the horn outside of your house, the sound a sharp, impatient blare that echoed in the tense silence. You’d thrown on whatever clothes you could find. Tight black shorts that hugged your thighs like a second skin, a faded black tank top clinging to your torso and Billy’s old denim jacket that Brody thought was yours, the worn fabric still carrying a faint trace of his familiar scent. You paired everything with your black Converse to match the look. Usually you’d go for the white option, preferring lighter, brighter clothes, but today, you felt like matching your clothes with your mood, dark and heavy.

You rushed outside to get inside the car. The gravel crunched sharply under the hard soles of your shoes as you practically yanked the passenger door open. Brody was already smirking and leaning back in his seat like he owned the place… And you. You slid in, avoiding his gaze and slamming the door shut with a hollow thud. The sooner you got this over with, the better.

——————————————————————————-

The drive was an endless blur of long, winding roads and hazy landscapes, the only thing you’d seen for hours were gas stations and public bathrooms. Each pit stop was a fresh wave of exhaustion, impatience gnawing at your insides like a persistent hunger, until finally, the headlights of the car caught the faded wording of the 'Welcome to Hawkins' sign. A wave of relief washing over you.

Driving through Hawkins, you kept your eyes peeled, judging every little detail of the town Billy was forced to call home. The cookie cutter houses, the overgrown lawns, the crushing stillness of the air. You started to realize why Billy hated it here, why he felt trapped and suffocated.

You pulled out the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket, the edges softened and frayed from repeated folding and unfolding and started navigating your boyfriend, Brody, to the community pool. You took a few wrong turns down eerily quiet streets, each one more unsettling than the last, until finally, you spotted a familiar shock of red hair in the distance.

Max.

You could spot that vibrant, defiant red head from a mile away.

Brody cut the engine and you practically dove out of the car, the sudden movement startling Maxine. She snapped her head back, her eyes widening as she saw you emerge from the darkness of the night.

"(Y/N)… You’re here!" Max exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Wait there.” (Y/N) said to Brody, her voice sharp and tight, before rushing towards Max.

"Max, what's going on? Why are we here?" (Y/N) questioned, her eyes darting around the community pool, the only light source coming from the pale glow of the moon.

"Uhh- I thought you could just speak to Billy and, and, and make things better, you know? But things got worse, much, worse and now I don't know what to do. My friends are over there planning something.” Max said, pointing towards a small bunch of teenagers huddled near the pool entrance.

Lucas, Max, El, Will and Dustin were their names.

"Where is Billy?" (Y/N) questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He's inside, showering.” Max said, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

Fifteen minutes had crawled by, each second stretching into an eternity as Max explained the whole horrifying situation. You were startled, scared, even. This all seemed impossible, ripped from the pages of some twisted comic book, but you knew that Max was telling the truth. She'd never call you all the way out here in the dead of night if it wasn't.

The group of teens, their faces grim and determined, came over to the three of you and declared their plan to release the ‘Mind Flayer’ from Billy's body. 'It likes it cold'. The words echoed in your mind, a brief, chilling memory of Max's explanation. So, when they told you about trapping Billy in the sauna, a horrifying kind of logic clicked into place.

The teens made their way to the building of the community pool, gathering outside of the sauna, the humid night air heavy with tension. A human dummy was placed inside to catch Billy’s attention. Mike, on the other hand was the only one who went a different direction, disappearing into the shadows. He was going to be the one to lure Billy in, the bait in their desperate trap. And you, stopped back to inform Brody of what was about to happen.

——————————————————————————-

Billy’s pov -

Billy, fresh from his shower, tugged on his denim jeans at his locker, jumping up slightly as he did it, the damp denim clinging uncomfortably to his thighs. Before he could reach for a shirt, a sharp bang echoed from around the corner.

“Pool's closed.” He announced, followed by the unmistakable clatter of chains.

Irritated, Billy's wet feet slapped against the tile as he stalked toward the sound.

"Hey! Did you hear me? The pool is closed!" He yelled, hammering on the door, only to find it locked from the outside by strong, thick chains and steel padlocks.

"Billyyyy.” A sing-song voice taunted.

Billy spun around instantly.

“Who's there?" He asked, his voice low and menacing.

The taunting continued.

“Billyyyy."

“Who’s thereeee?” Billy sang back, voice still low and increasing with anger.

Billy yanked open shower curtains, checking every corner, his frustration mounting.

“You think this is funny, huh.” He said with a low, raspy voice.

"Come find me.”Mike giggled.

“I find you, it is your funeral.” Billy growled, lowering the bass in his voice.

Pacing through the steamy rooms, Billy's eyes finally landed on the sauna door. Through the small, square window… He spotted the dummy.

"Got you.” He grinned, rushing inside.

But his smile suddenly vanished as he realized it was a decoy. Grabbing the dummy by its neck, he forced it up high, his brows furrowed in fury.

“Hey, turn around.” Mike's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie that was taped to the dummy’s torso.

Billy whirled around, spotting the teens. Eleven stood firm, hand raised and with a surge of power, sent Billy flying into the wall behind him. The impact shattered the already cracked tiles around him as he crashed to the floor. Eleven slammed the sauna door shut and Billy quickly scrambled to his feet to escape, but Mike and Lucas had already jammed a silver pole through the door handle, securing it behind a nearby pipe, followed by yet another thick chain and steel padlock.

Billy's desperation escalated into a frenzy, his sweaty palms pounding against the door with a force that echoed through the entire place. Each failed attempt to break free only worsened his panic. He scanned the room, his eyes darting wildly until they locked onto Max's. A wave of disbelief washed over him.

“Max.” He whispered.

A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Max's gaze was unwavering, a complex mix of love and resentment swirling within her eyes. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice firm.

"Do it." The command hung in the air, a point of no return.

Mike, his face a mask of determination, darted to the side of the door. With a swift motion, he cranked the sauna's heat dial to its maximum setting. A surge of oppressive heat began to fill the box that Billy was trapped in, a silent promise of the torment to come. The air crackled with anticipation, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"MAX! LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Billy shouted, his voice cracking as he pounded on the door and window.

"Let me out.” He pleaded, his breath hitching.

"You kids… you think this… is funny? You think this is some kind of sick prank, huh?" Billy gasped, struggling to breathe.

He pulled his head back and spat against the window, leaving a long smear of saliva.

“YOU LITTLE SHITS THINK THIS IS FUNNY?" -

“What is this?" Billy asked, teeth gritted, shoulders rising and falling with a ragged breath.

"Open, the door, OPEN THE DOOR!" He screamed, voice escalating with each strike against the door.

"OPEN. THE DOOR!" Sweat drenched him as he continued his frantic assault.

"OPEN THE GOOD DAMN DOOR!" Billy roared, his final blows weakening until he collapsed onto the floor.

——————————————————————————-

(Y/N)'s pov -

Outside, you were explaining the situation to Brody when loud thuds echoed from inside snagging your attention.

"OPEN THE GOOD DAMN DOOR!" (Y/N) heard Billy shout, a wave of sadness washing over her at his pain.

“What the-“ Brody started, his voice trailing off as your footsteps quickened, darting towards the side door that had been left ajar for you by Mike.

You raced inside, bolting from room to room, following the trail of steam until you found the group of teens gathered before the sauna. You stood back, listening to Billy's screams and cries, each word breaking your heart and crushing something deep inside your chest.

"We're at two twenty.” Will announced, declaring the sauna's heat.

"It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault Max, I promise it's not my fault.” Billy sobbed, huddled on the floor.

"What's not your fault, Billy?" Max questioned.

"I've done things, Max, really, bad things, but I didn't mean to… He made me do it.” Billy cried.

"Who made you do it?" She asked.

"I don't know… It’s like a shadow.” Billy whispered.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, MAX! PLEASE BELIEVE ME, PLEASE!" Billy shouted through floods of tears, laying his head on the wooden seats of the sauna and reaching for a sharp piece of tile from underneath.

"Jesus, Billy.” (Y/N) whispered to herself.

Will gripped his neck and turned to Mike.

“I feel him… He's activated." He stated, fear rushing across his eyes.

"Max, get away from the door!" Mike demanded.

"What?" She whispered.

"GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!" He screamed.

Billy smashed the sharp tile through the window, shoving his arm and head through straight after, trying to reach for Max, a look of fear settled over her eyes as he started pounding on the door with the tile.

"AHHHHH, LET ME OUT YOU BITCH, LET ME OUT!" Billy screamed, banging at the door before pulling out the wedged pole from the handle, the chains remaining tight in place.

"Oh my god.” (Y/N) Said under bear breath, eyes wide and fixated on Billy.

Billy took a few steps back and ran at full speed straight ahead of him, slamming his body against the door followed by three more attempts after it. He reached out again, trying to get ahold of Maxine.

"LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT! I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU!" He threatened.

You took a few shaky steps forward, hands balled into fists and your nails digging into your sweat soaked palms.

“Billy.” (Y/N) whispered, a quiet, gasping exhale.

Billy froze, every muscle in his body locked in place. He remained motionless for several seconds. Was this real? The question echoed in his mind, demanding an answer he was terrified to voice.

The sound had sliced through Billy like a shard of ice, lodging directly into his chest. Your voice. It couldn't be. A wave of nausea washed over Billy as he slowly turned to face you.

The furrows etched between his brows, deepened by confusion and a lingering pain, began to smooth out, his eyes, previously narrowed in disbelief, widened, pupils dilating as if starved for light and the harsh lines of his face softened, replaced by a look of stunned awe. There, bathed in the soft glow of the room, you stood, a vision so beautiful, it stole the very breath from his lungs.

It WAS your voice, the comforting sound he'd dreamed of over countless nights.

“(Y/N)." He said, breathing heavily. "How… wh- what are you doing here?" He questioned while fighting an internal battle against the mind flayer.

You stood frozen, unsure of what to say or do, your eyes still locked heavily onto Billy's.

His breathing grew heavier the longer he stared back at you.

“Come here, please... come here." He pleaded, extending his arm out towards you.

"Don't!" Mike shouted. "It's a trap!"

"NO!" Billy roared, pounding his fist against the doorframe he was still partially hanging out of.

"Baby, don't listen to them, okay? It's me, I'm still me. Come here. I would never hurt you, you know that. Just come to me, please... I need to hold you." He pleaded.

"I can't, Billy.” (Y/N) managed to say, tears welling up in her eyes.

Billy pounded at the door a few more times, his frustration building rapidly.

“Damn it, yes, you can! Yes you can. Come to me, now, baby, please…(Y/N), please. Just let me hold you, it’s all I want I promise, please." His plea was a mix of desperation and anger, fueled by the fact that you were so close, but not close enough for him to reach you. The restraint only riled him up more.

“Open the door! Open the door!" He screamed, his gaze fixed on Max.

"BILLY, STOP!" (Y/N) shouted, her voice cracking slightly.

His head snapped back to you, the tension in his eyebrows quickly easing.

“I'm s- I'm sorry, baby... I'm sorry.” He stammered, his voice laced with regret.

You began to walk slowly towards Billy, your eyes locked on his and a nervous energy, now filling the space between you.

"(Y/N), STOP!" Mike yelled again, his voice filled with urgency.

"No, no, no, don't listen to them, listen to me, baby, come on.” Billy urged with his voice coated in desperation.

He extended his hand, palm open, fingers twitching with the need to touch you.

“Come on.” He repeated, his eyes pleading, silently begging you to ignore whatever phantom voices held you captive. With a surge of adrenaline, he pulled his hand back and forth, gesturing for you to come to him, to break free from whatever invisible chains bound you.

“That's it, baby... that's it. Come here, come to me. I got you. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come to me... come on.” He whispered convincingly, his voice trembling with each deep, uneasy breath, tears now brimming in his eyes.

He watched as you reached for him, but he was quicker, propelled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate need to bridge the impossible gap. Still hanging out the door, one arm strained, body swimming in the suffocating heat of the sauna, he lunged. His hand curled around your back, a desperate grasp and he hauled you forward until you were pressed against the barrier, the cruel door that kept you separated.

His breath came in ragged gasps, much heavier than before, a frantic rhythm against the backdrop of his rising panic. He dipped his head, resting his against yours, a fragile connection in the face of overwhelming darkness. Then, the dam broke. Tears streamed down his face, hot and uncontrolled.

"Let me out, baby, let me out, let me hold you.” He begged, each word a raw, desperate plea torn from the depths of his soul.

You cupped his cheek with your small, sweaty hand that was now imprinted with sharp nail dents. The gesture was a tender contrast to the chaos swirling around you. His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes searching, pleading and In that moment, you knew what you had to do. You had to flood his mind, break through the unwanted darkness with the light of your shared memories and remind him of the love that still burned within him.

And so you began.

You poured forth a torrent of images, sensations and emotions, the first time you met, the laughter that echoed through Billy’s beloved Camaro, the quiet nights spent tangled in each other's arms. For twelve excruciating minutes. You’d painted a vivid tapestry of your love, each memory a weapon against the insidious force that held him captive.

He focused on your words, clinging to them like a drowning man to a plank of wood, his eyes widening as each memory resurfaced, each shared moment strengthening his soul.

You watched, frozen in horror, as the Mind Flayer began its agonising departure from Billy's body. The creature stabbed and swirled within him, the wisps of shadows rising from his flesh as it forced its way out through every pore. Billy's body became a canvas of torment, his muscles spasming uncontrollably and his face held in a silent scream. You wanted to rush to him, to hold him, to somehow absorb his pain, but you knew you couldn't. You could only watch, helpless, as he endured the unimaginable.

When the last vestige of the Mind Flayer finally slithered away through the window, leaving a trail of viscous, black, slimy residue behind, Billy collapsed to the floor, a broken husk of the man you loved. He laid there, gasping for air, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the possession before violently throwing up the remaining slugs from the creature that had infested him, a cruel pile of black that seemed to carry so much evil inside of it. He laid still for a moment, gathering his strength, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion.

Until finally, he pushed himself to his feet, his movements shaky and uncertain. He peered through the window, his eyes searching for you, needing to confirm that you were still real, that you were actually here, in Hawkins, with him.

"Let me out.” He pleaded, his voice raw with desperation, his eyes begging for your touch.

Max rushed to the chains to unlock the door and you followed her closely, standing just outside, your heart pounding in your chest. Billy reached through the window, his hand trembling as he cupped your face, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent promise of reunion.

But then, a voice shattered the fragile moment.

"Hargrove." The word dripped with malice, laced with a sinister amusement that sent a shiver down your spine.

Billy's head snapped towards the sound, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher why Brody Baker, of all people, was here. The realization dawned on him quickly and his eyes blazed with fury as he shot a venomous glare in your direction. You instinctively reached for Max's hand, stopping her from opening the door.

“Why is he here?" Billy questioned, his voice deeper and more menacing than before.

“Max, away from the door.” You whispered with your eyes fixed on Billy, watching his every move.

"I'm here because MY GIRLFRIEND, asked me to bring her here, to babysit your ass.” Brody sneered, his voice full of arrogance.

A burning rage surged through Billy. He couldn't believe it. Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be the one person he hates the most above all others? He threw himself against the door, slamming his body against the it with a force that threatened to snap the chains.

“He can't get out, right?" Max asked, her voice riddled with fear.

“No way, impossible.” Lucas reassured, but his voice lacked conviction.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, Billy burst through the door, sending padlocks in every direction. He stumbled out of the sauna and lunged towards Brody, his eyes burning with a murderous intent.

Brody's ‘tough guy’ act soon evaporated, replaced by a sharp terror. He knew he could mouth off when Billy was trapped, but now that he was free, he was defenseless against the storm of fury that was about to be unleashed.

Billy landed a series of brutal blows to Brody's face, causing Brody to fall flat against the floor, each punch fueled by years of resentment and a burning desire to protect you.

"Thought you could take MY girl, huh? Thought you could... Take her… From ME?! Thought you could, replace, ME?!" He screamed, each word punctuated by a brutal punch to Brody's face.

"Billy, stop!" Maxine screamed, her voice lost in the frenzy. But Billy was deaf to her pleas and consumed by a rage that fueled his relentless assault.

Another series of blows landed, each one a harder than the last.

“BILLY, ENOUGH!" (Y/N) finally demanded, her voice cutting through the haze of violence.

Billy's arm, cocked back for the final strike and froze mid air. Your voice, coated with a mixture of fear and desperation, had broken through his rage. He snapped his head in your direction and paused, his eyes locking onto yours, the fight seemed to drain out of him.

You were a mess of tears, hating the monster Billy had become. You never cared much for Brody, a fact that now twisted in your gut with guilt. You'd led him on, used him for comfort and the shame of it was a bitter taste in your mouth. But your heart ached for Billy, for the pain that had driven him to this.

He stood up, a raw, animalistic energy still radiating from him and rushed towards you, hesitating for a short moment before engulfing you into a crushing hug. His head buried in your hair, taking in your familiar scent that he’d longed for, for over an entire year and his arm secured gently, around your back. His knuckles were a canvas of blood and his skin radiated the boiling heat and sweat of the sauna.

“Billy, I'm s- I'm so sorry, I-" (Y/N) stammered, choked by her sobs.

He cut you off, his voice rough but tender.

“No, no sweetheart, I get it. Don't worry, it doesn’t matter anymore. You thought you'd never see me again, you needed a shoulder to cry on, I get it." He said softly.

You clung to him, the sobs clawing at your throat.

“You're staying here, with me. I'm not letting you go again, I can't. I only listened to you the first time because I thought you'd change your mind, but I won't do it again.” He declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He pulled back, his hands framing your face, thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tracks of tears.

"Don't do that to me again.” He pleaded, his voice thick with an emotion you mirrored.

"Stay here with me." He begged, his eyes searching yours for a silent answer.

“You can live at my place, with me and my dad, he’s the chief of Hawkins police, he'll let you stay with us for sure. He's a hero, too, he saved lots of lives, in a mall fire." El said with a smile, a genuine, hopeful smile that tugged at your heart.

You nodded, the agreement tumbling from your lips before you could even process it. You couldn't bear the thought of leaving Billy again, of losing the magnetic pull that had always drawn you back to him. You missed the electric touch of his skin against yours, the comforting weight of his arm around your shoulders that never failed to keep you safe, the way his presence filled every space around you with a familiar warmth. You sniffled, wiping your nose on the worn cuff of the denim jacket you were wearing… HIS, denim jacket.

Billy chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated between the both of you, as he pulled you closer.

"You kept it?" He asked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

You smirked, the remaining tears still clinging to the wisps of your lashes.

“Yeah, I never stopped wearing it. Even slept with it sometimes." (Y/N) said.

The sound of shuffling feet broke the soft, almost romantic moment.

Brody, looking like a wounded animal, found the strength to stand, staggering slightly as he did.

"(Y/N), get your shit together.” He slurred, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

Billy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Brody with a cold stare.

"We're leaving.” Brody demanded with his voice cracking.

Billy turned his head back to you, his gaze intense, a silent question hanging in the air. A look that said, 'show him who you belong to'.

The message was clear and the response was instinctive.

You walked over to Brody and without a word, punched him square in the face. The force of the blow surprised both you and Billy. You don't know why you did it, but in that moment, it felt like the only possible way to make it all up to Billy, that and the fact he kind of deserved it for the year of torment he gave you over your clothes and music taste.

"We're over.” (Y/N) stated, the words ringing with a finality that settled like a stone.

A loud, uncontrollable laugh erupted from Billy as he stalked towards you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He dipped to your height and his chin rested beside your face and onto your shoulder, then he looked up at Brody with a playful glint in his eyes.

“That's my girl!" He chuckled proudly, squeezing you tighter as he said it.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me, man. You can go home now. I'll be taking MY GIRLFRIEND home with me." He mocked, his voice dripping with possessive arrogance.

Brody's face scrunched with rage and defeat.

“Fuck you, Hargrove.” He spat before turning and scurrying out of the place, leaving you standing there, caught between the wreckage of one relationship and the undeniable pull of another.

Max smiled and turned to leave through the fire exit, the rest of the teens followed, understanding the need for a private moment between you and Billy.

You turned in Billy’s arms and his eyes met yours, a genuine, heart stopping smile lit up his face, revealing those perfectly shaped teeth.

“I love you, Billy.” (Y/N) confessed, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. “I tried to fight it, to numb myself to the feeling, but I can’t anymore. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for not telling you about Brody.” (Y/N) stated as regret flooded in her chest.

Billy's grip tightened slightly.

"I know, baby.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you too. I’ve been a mess, so God damn miserable without you. But I needed you and you came for me, just like I knew you would." He paused, his eyes searching yours.

“My dad’s gone for the week, took Susan, said something about a stupid vacation. Max wanted to stay, so he made me stay back to babysit. Will you come home with me? We can forget about all of this for tonight and then figure out the rest tomorrow, I’ll take you over to El’s and explain everything to Hopper and get you settled in.” He pleaded.

A wave of relief washed over you and a tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

“Yes.” (Y/N) breathed out, the word filled with all the hope and love she thought she’d lost.

Billy's hands found your face, pulling you into him as he latched onto your lips. The kiss was intense, urgent, a raw expression of need. He kissed you aggressively, his tongue tangling with yours as you both gasped for air. It was a wild, desperate dance, a silent conversation of longing and reunion that Billy had craved for the past year.

The world seemed to fade away until finally, the kiss broke, leaving you both breathless and flushed as a long string of saliva that met at the fullness of your lips, snapped.

Without a word, Billy scooped you up into his arms, a groan escaping his lips as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his body from the pain he’d just endured. Ignoring it, he held you securely, determination plastered on his face. He turned and strode out of the building, the other teens trailing behind, giggling at how soft Billy was for you, it was something they’d never witnessed from him before… Ever.

As you reached the outside, a familiar click echoed in your ears. It was the unmistakable sound of Billy’s Camaro door. The car you had both cursed and loved, the car you swore would be the death of you both one day, yet the car you had missed with an ache you couldn't explain. It was a symbol of so many memories, a promise of reckless freedom and shared adventures.

No one other than Max had sat in your seat since he moved to Hawkins, not a single soul had dared to occupy the space you once held, not that Billy would’ve let them.

Maxine scrambled to the back seat and the rest of the teens made their way home.

Billy gently slid you down into the worn leather that had been waiting for you, for what seemed like a lifetime and eternity, his touch lingering for a moment, longer than necessary. He rounded the hood, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips and opened the driver's side door, settling in comfortably beside you.

You glanced into the backseat and a surprised smile lit up your face.

“My blanket.” (Y/N) breathed, reaching out to touch the familiar fabric.

“Yeah.” Billy said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "It's uh, it's still there. Always kept it. Sometimes I sleep in my car when shit goes sideways with my dad so uh, I don’t know, the smell of it reminded me of you, when you'd calm me down after a fight with him." He chuckled softly, a touch of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Billy, I'm not going to leave again.” (Y/N) said, her voice laced with sincerity. "I'm sorry, okay? I wish I never did." A wave of regret washed over (Y/N) as she remembered the pain she had caused. "I love you.” She whispered, the words carrying the weight of her remorse and renewed commitment.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He replied, his voice thick with emotion and his hand reaching out to grip your thigh.

“You ready?" (Y/N) asked, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

Billy started the engine, and it roared to life, the familiar sound filling the car. The interior was exactly how you remembered, the worn leather seats, the scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes that burned at your nostrils. A strange combination that transported you back to stolen moments.

Billy couldn't wait to get you back to his house, to hold you in his arms all night long, to erase the distance that had separated you for such a long time. He shifted the car into gear, the movement smooth and practiced, and said,

"Yeah, baby, let's get outta here."

The car lurched forward, carrying you both away from the shadows of the past and towards the promise of a brand new future together, a future that definitely didn’t consist of Billy beating everyone’s ass or being in pain.

Or as you’d hoped…

I may do a part 2 depending on y’all’s opinions?? :)

Let me know if you’d like a part 2 to this or a part 5 to You’re Mine, You Know It first :)

Click here to read the You’re Mine, You Know That series.

@klutzylaena @i-crav3-blo0d @shes-an-odd-bird @bugs-n-roses @fishfooddude @aryannavspx @alagalaska @alexissuave @alagalaska-makes @aieis1 @broadwaybabe18 @biasedtoncrackt @bryandechartisasmolbean @bunnyfamily @cheezbot @coleys-a-nerd @chandlerlovesme @cannibalhellhound @courtbailed @daphnexxlovee @dilutedbanshee @dayandnighthyuck @daisy-rome @drenix004 @empath-bunny @everythingsgucci98 @enmoana33 @eddies-acousticguitar @ellajar @fearlessxlaurin @flamewriterr @fatherfood @flickerluxe @gunlikesgirl @gwinamlvr @grazihilario6 @grxnde-dwt @hgvbnkjhdccg @hunnybuncounsumers @hbkchokeme @hraegant @harley-kalani @ich-liebe-dich-mehr47 @ireallydgafsblog @its-you-or-me-amplified @imjusthearforthegoodfics @jessica778me @julievirgen @jazzlynn29 @jasperstrangers

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x female reader #x fem!reader #female #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #x yn #billy x reader #x reader #dacre montgomery

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fangswbenefits · 4 months ago

Text

The Arrangement (16) - When All Things End

Summary: Astarion would never forgive himself for having you die by his hands, even if indirectly. A choice is to be made, and one he has no control over.

Rating: Explicit/18+

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav

Warnings: Character death. Trauma. Gore

Word count: 5.1k

Series masterlist. AO3.

Thump.. Thump… Thump… Thump… Thump…

If regret could kill, Astarion reckoned he would be buried underground with, at the very least, several hundreds of layers of scorching dirt imprisoning him. And deservedly so. He would seldom bother concocting antidotes, considering how little use he’d have for them. After all, he aimed true and with purpose whenever he coated his blades in lethal poison, never intending for his targets to live long enough to tell the tale of their vapid encounter.

And now he was paying the price for such… arrogance.

Both men holding him and keeping him at bay, quickly fell limpless on the ground when the familiar blinding rays of yellow hit them mercilessly.

Shadowheart.

Through roars of hurried incantations and deafening screeches of pain, the former servants of Cazador Szarr met their doom by daring to cross you.

Pain and anguish quickly took over him, as he managed to pick up his dagger before hurrying towards you, almost losing his footing as his senses blurred.

“No.”

The word kept tumbling from his lips like a prayer. The Gods above never took notice of his pleas – and if they did, they never bothered intervening. However, you weren’t him. He could perhaps understand now why such grace and benevolence wasn’t extended to him.

But you weren’t him.

Please…

You were you, and you didn’t deserve this fate.

“No.”

You didn’t deserve to have your last breath being drawn because of his past deeds.

Eyla still held on to you, blade fully lodged in your body and blood pouring out in an obscene quantity, drenching the fabric of your gown in an ever-growing stain.

The sight itself was enough to make his steps falter, but when the scent of your blood hit him, he audibly cursed. Unfortunately, his sanguine hunger was very much bound to you. Even in this moment of distress, he could feel his nature as a vampire being pushed to the surface, urging him to succumb to his desires.

It was enough to root him to the ground for a brief moment.

“Astarion!”

Shadowheart had clearly taken notice of this, her face of pure focus immediately shifting into something akin to sheer frustration.

His head snapped in her direction, and he almost lost his balance again as waves of disgust met waves of hunger within him. A raging war taking place as he tried his best to reach you.

Once he managed to lock eyes with your lifeless form lying next to Eyla, Astarion knew there and then that it was too late.

The realisation hit him hard, and he felt cool tears streaming down his face.

He was a master at poisons. No decent rogue could call themselves a deadly assassin if they couldn’t brew the deadliest of poisons. It was an art, but one that sought only to wreak pain and misery.

With the entire blade having been coated in it, there was no way you could survive it.

You were… gone.

Silence encased him at once, and he wasn’t sure if it was his mind blocking out any distractions, or if it was merely the sign that Shadowheart’s wrath was finally spent.

“You may kill me, but she goes down with me.”

Astarion gripped the handle of his dagger with such force, he feared he might snap it in half. His feet began moving once more, on their own accord, and he found the hunger inside him give way to something more primal.

Something he hadn’t felt since he had carved Rhapsody in Cazador countless times – a welcome source of immediate release that allowed him to find a semblance of revenge.

He wasn’t going to kill Eyla.

No.

That would be too kind, all things considered.

He would take his sweet time making sure she wouldn’t part this world until she was begging him for it.

The cruelty that was taking hold of his mind almost blinded him, and he found himself baring his fangs, embracing the creature he truly was. Over the past few weeks, he had learned how to conceal his more questionable emotions, locking them away inside.

But there’s only so much anger one can bury before it starts overflowing.

His steps quickened in her direction with a newfound purpose. Blinding rage swallowed him whole as he gained speed.

But before he could deliver an incapacitating blow, Eyla’s neck met the blade of a longsword, which effectively severed the head from the rest of her body.

“Tsk'va…”

Ropes of blood spurted from Eyla, as the head rolled over across the grass, painting it in crimson red.

Lae’zel was quick to kick the decapitated body away from under you, rushing to cradle you in her arms.

His knees wobbled momentarily once he reached the bench, greeted with a sight so revolting it made his stomach lurch dangerously, threatening to spill its contents.

Eyla’s warm blood was spread along your limpless face in a thin layer, and he wanted to hold out his hand to clean it off of you, but decided against it. He was still very much a vampire and his senses were now betraying him and urging him to feed.

Blood is the gift of life and… death, child.

Cazador’s words rang inside him and he stilled his movements at once, realising just how hard it was to deny his instincts, especially since he hadn’t properly fed in so long.

“Astarion…”

Lae’zel’s voice was a low, warning snarl, but it was enough to snap him from the haze that was quickly taking over his mind.

“Don’t remove the blade just yet.” Shadowheart was by Lae’zel’s side, assessing the situation with shaky hands.

“She’s going to die.”

Lae’zel wasn’t one to dance around inconvenient truths. It was a simple and clear statement, because anything other than the obvious would lead to unnecessary pain.

As if pushed down by an invisible force, Astarion finally dropped to his knees.

He wished he could take her place and be the one holding you instead, but he couldn’t bring himself to even suggest such a thing. Not when he could see your open eyes fading as your breath slowed down, small whimpers of pain getting stuck in your throat as life spilled from you, drop by drop.

Suddenly, your eyes found his and he wasn’t sure if it was the faintest of smiles that was ghosting along your lips.

A shell of that smile that had ruined his plan all along.

He had heard your footsteps and couldn’t help but to inwardly grin when you finally made your presence known by softly clearing your throat. Were you in search of some late night company? Had you found what you were looking for?

After all, the two of you had grown quite close over the past few weeks.

In fact, he found himself enjoying your company more than he cared to admit, much less voice it out loud. You had become more than just the person leading this group of… worm-brains while occasionally giving him access to your delectable blood.

But more importantly, you had begun to crawl your way under his skin, tugging persistently at the needles of his moral compass. What had started out as a mere plan to have you fall for him in exchange for protection – and mayhaps a little aid when it came to facing Cazador, if luck would have it – soon morphed into something he had never experienced before. Granted, his vampirism had warped his memories before he was turned, but he was certain that such a feeling wouldn’t be so quickly forgotten.

He wasn’t sure there was a name to describe how you made him feel. Obviously, it wasn’t love. The mere thought of ‘love’ nearly caused him to laugh aloud.

Affection seemed like a more appropriate term.

Whatever it was, it was weighing down on his conscience as time went on, causing him to question the very foundations of his being.

“Maybe one day you could teach me how to brew a poison.”

Oh.

How very… dull.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and gave you a dismissive scoff instead. “Whatever for, my dear?”

You crouched next to him as he readied the campfire for nightfall, your penetrating gaze never faltering.

“Well, I think it would be rather advantageous to…” you started off rather sweetly, gentle fingers reaching for the satchel he had by his feet, “... you know, share some of your knowledge as a silent assassin.”

But before your fingertips could touch the vials carefully lodged in it, he caught hold of your wrist, abruptly stilling your hand.

“Poisons aren’t to be trifled with, nor are they bedside toys for unsuspecting children,” he said, his tone coming out harsher than intended, which he immediately regretted when you withdrew from him at once, as if burnt by his very words. “I… apologise.”

There was still a glimmer of kindness in disappointment when you gave him an understanding smile as you held his stare.

Astarion wished you would have been offended or hurt instead by his rash words. It would have made it easier to ignore the constant voice inside his head that kept goading him towards you. On good days, he was able to fully ignore it.

But whenever you were too close… whenever you displayed random acts of kindness around him… whenever he could almost hear the blood rushing through your body… he wasn’t as strong to resist the temptation.

After all, your blood had been his first.

He didn’t let go of your wrist, and instead glided his thumb to rub slow circles along the warm stretch of skin.

Your smile promptly widened, as he stilled the pad just above your artery, feeling its pulse quicken with each passing second.

He knew that smile and the offer that came along with it.

“You can feed on me tonight.”

The grip around you tightened.

On days like this, Astarion wished you hadn’t such a hold on him; that the two of you had never crossed paths, because he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to tolerate your absence if you were to leave him now.

With your free hand, you undid the laces of your chemise, exposing your neck to his gaze. Your heartbeat quickened and he could hear that delicious thumping he had grown so fond of.

Thump… thump… thump…

“Take her. All of her,” the voice taunted.

And so he did.

Astarion couldn’t bear looking in your eyes any longer, so he had no choice but to avert his gaze at once.

“No. Don’t you dare,” Lae’zel snarled in a menacing tone. “You don’t get to look away from what you’ve caused.”

Shadowheart’s voice was louder, still. “We must act fast, if there is any chance!”

Lae’zel didn’t seem quite as convinced of such urgency, and reluctantly lay your body along the blood-soaked bench.

“She’s not going to make it unless there’s an antidote,” she hissed, staring at Astarion. “Do you have one? Quick!”

Shadowheart had her palms spread across your chest and abdomen, uttering words of healing, as frosted beams of light surrounded the dagger lodged inside.

“Astarion!”

He shook his head faintly in utter defeat. “There isn’t one.”

Lae’zel grunted in response, cradling your face in her hands, her forehead touching yours, as your breathing slowed down and your blood stilled with each failed beat of your heart.

He had learned to listen to your heart long ago, out of necessity at first to ensure he could keep you out of trouble, but soon it turned into a meek way to connect with you when everything else about the two of you had crumbled down.

And now he had nothing left of you.

And it had come by his hand.

“Could you try a scroll of Resurrection?” Lae’zel suddenly suggested, caressing your cheek.

She laced her fingers together in prayer, keeping the magic afloat along your body. “It would only work if her body was whole, and she has lost too much blood.”

Thump….. Thump…… Thump…..

Your heart was giving up on you as his poison quickly took over.

“What can we do?” Lae’zel asked.

Shadowheart shook her head, brow furrowed in extreme concentration as foreign words spilled from her lips.

Astarion had never felt as useless as he did now. He could barely recognize the scent of your blood, since it was no longer yours. His poison was corrupting you from within.

“We might have a shot if we get Gale,” Shadowheart said after a while, sweat drops rolling down her forehead. “We need to portal Halsin.”

His head snapped in confusion. “Halsin?”

But Lae’zel was already gone, heading towards the house at lightning speed.

Shadowheart’s lips were pressed into a fine line and her hands moved past your neck, palms now pressed against your skin that was now losing all its warmth.

“The healing she requires is beyond my skill.”

Astarion felt a glimmer of hope burst within him, quickly dragging his knees across the damp grass, bringing both hands to frame your face.

“You’re the most competent cleric I know of.”

She gave a constricted snort, looking somehow less tense. “And how many clerics do you know of?”

“That’s beside the point,” he promptly said. “Why do you think Halsin can help?”

“Well, it just so happens that he's in tune with nature in a way I am not as he’s a druid.” She then turned to him. “You brew your poisons from plants and flowers, don’t you?”

Brilliant!

Astarion felt an uncontrollable urge to kiss Shadowheart for always being the brain whenever the situation called for it, but quickly decided against it. There had been enough casualties without the need to add another one.

Thump……………..thump……..

“There is a chance.”

He nodded.

Astarion wasn’t sure whether she was saying that because she truly believed it, or because she wanted to convince herself.

He glanced down at you, and he could have sworn he saw your lips twitching as he caressed your forehead with the pad of his thumb. Tears didn’t come easy to him these days, but he could feel the prickling in the corners of his eyes. Over centuries, he had committed acts that still haunted him, but he realised nothing would ever compare to this.

Shadowheart was struggling to keep her magic afloat, and it wasn’t enough to keep your heart from beating its last beat.

Thump.

And the silence in his head had never been so loud.

The sharpest of pains tore through you to the point of agony, stirring you awake at once. You tried to blink away the discomfort from the flashes of light high up above you, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. In reality, you weren’t sure if you could muster the strength to move, and felt as though an invisible weight kept you pinned down to the ground.

A warm breeze ghosted over your face, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of rain and… smoke?

Was something burning?

As the humid haze intensified, a jolt of alarm had you moving your legs and arms in an attempt at fleeing whatever was headed your way.

You blinked once more, and had to squint hard for a moment to help your eyes adjust to the new environment, and just as you had managed to get on your knees and hands without losing balance, you realised you weren’t in Baldur’s Gate anymore.

In fact, you weren’t quite certain you were still in Faerûn.

“What the-”

But your words were cut short as dust caught in your throat, causing you to cough violently, as your fingers dug through sand. Roars of thunder and flares of lightning slowly filled your field of vision, and you felt your body convulse slightly in place.

The wild magic within you stirred lightly as if rising from a deep slumber along with your numb senses.

Lightning came first, quickly followed by Fire.

Embers engulfed the palms of your hands and you felt despair overtake you.

It had taken you decades to master the chaos that you had been born with. Much to your dismay, the same lack of control you once felt as a child was now taking over, the elements no longer bending to your will.

“Please. No… no…”

The embers morphed into liquid fire that was now beginning to pool around you, and in a flash of panic, you tumbled backwards to escape it. You had realised at a young age that you had been graced with the chance to wield the elements, but also knowing you could fall victim to them.

Another gust of wind and the flames along your hands turned into erratic bolts of lightning, and you felt the familiar cool of water coursing through your body barely giving you any time to adjust.

You whispered spells and words, seeking desperately to gain back any sense of control.

But then, up ahead in the distance, you witnessed a waterfall of molten lava falling into a pocket of air, which then quickly turned into a whirlwind that swirled across the jagged beds of rocks and trees. The sky rumbled with storms and thin layers of light that seemed to pour from the stars above. There was no sun or moon. No night or day. The sky was split in a vast array of dulled out colours.

None of it made any sense.

With much effort and no less amount of willpower, you managed to get on your feet, pausing briefly to steady yourself. Luckily, the sparks that were bursisting from your hands had come to a halt, and you could feel the conglomeration of elements inside you begin to simmer down.

Another burst of pain in your abdomen had you bending over, a hand instinctively coming to apply pressure.

And that was when you remembered.

You had died.

At least, you should have.

Tentative fingers prodded at the tear in the fabric of your nightgown, finding jagged edges that stretched along your skin from a blade. Upon glancing down, you saw no blood. And while the magic inside you had soothed into a lulling whisper, you knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I am sure you have many questions.”

You turned so fast towards the sound that you promptly fell on one knee, hissing in sheer pain once more.

Before you stood a young woman wearing simple robes and hair neatly pulled into a hairdo, loose strands swaying in the sandy breeze. Her body was slightly translucent in a hue of blue, and you could see the line of the horizon behind her where more fire whirlwinds emerged from every direction.

She remained still, waiting for you to compose yourself, and once you did and your vision cleared up, you realised you were actually looking at.

“Mother?”

A tender smile curled her lips, as she nodded curtly.

Back on your feet, the elements that had started to become dormant, flared up to the point you felt as if about to burst.

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it, sweetheart?”

At this point, you were in full panic mode, glazing around and looking for an exit strategy.

Your mother was dead. She had been dead ever since you were merely seven. Whoever was standing in front of you had to be the result of some cheap trick. From the Hells? A curse? Was this the afterlife?

The figure took a few steps towards you. “You’re not dead, but I can assure you that fleeing will drain you into unconsciousness.”

Was that a threat?

“Where am I?”

Thunder cracked above your head and you flinched as she came to a stop. “You were always such a curious child. Want to take a guess?”

Anger snapped you straight. “I don’t care to play games.”

“Very well, then,” she said, lacing her hands together over her abdomen. “You’re in Limbo.”

You blinked twice in sheer perplexity.

Limbo.

The name triggered crumbling memories of old from when you were far too young to rummage through books that spoke of distant lands from this world and the next. And others that lay somewhere in between.

The Ever-Changing Chaos of Limbo.

In that moment, you felt tiny - so incredibly tiny you might slip through the grains of sand under your bare feet.

This revelation transcended you. There was no rhyme or reason to this plane, and it was evident by its chaotic nature that so fiercely rivaled your own wild magic. Elements were at war here, merging and bursting within each other, as if fighting eternally for dominance.

“You’re in the safe zone,” she spoke, snapping you from your thoughts. “Its size is dictated by the intelligence the individual controller possesses.”

You remained silent, assessing all this information that was coming back to you in bits and pieces. A quick glance around revealed a circular zone that evidently seperated the two of you from the utter chaos outside.

A delicate smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Fortunately for you, you didn’t take after your father.” She then extended one arm, and your gaze followed the swift motion, as an invisible force circled both of you, keeping the majority of the mayhem at bay, with only the occasional breezes and droplets of water passing through. “So long as you stay within the safe zone, no harm shall come to you.”

At last, you take in the image of the woman who looks exactly like your mother once did when she passed away. Not a day younger or older. In fact, you were now around her age, which only served to make the concept of this encounter even harder to grasp.

So much of you was from her, save for the eyes. Those were your father’s. Even though she appeared translucent, it didn’t lessen the pain of gazing at her once again.

“Who are you?”

“Your mother.”

You swallowed hard and balled your fists in defiance. “My mother is dead. Whatever trick this-”

She raised one hand and you fell silent. “I’m a projection of your mind, hence why I look this young. As such, my spirit lingers here and it’s given corporeal form by you.”

Somehow, the answer felt disappointing, even though it was the only logical explanation. Even then… “Why is your spirit here? Why am I here?”

She too was barefoot as she strode around you, keeping her distance. “Let’s just say that I meddled with what I shouldn’t have when I was younger. There are forces here that I cannot explain, nor do we have the time to exhaust such options.”

“Why not?”

More bursts of thunder burst overhead as she placed her hands behind her back, drawing closer with each step she took.

“You’re my daughter and they killed you.”

There was a hint of a sadness in her voice you hadn’t heard in such a long, long time.

And you were reminded of what had led to such a turn of events.

Astarion.

You expected a familiar skip of a beat that always came at the thought of him these days, and then you quickly understood why something felt off. Your heart was still beating, but at a much slower pace nigh imperceptible, to the point you could hardly feel it even when you placed your palm on your chest; your skin was tepid at most, and your breaths were shallow and spaced out.

“You’re fading, but you don’t have to,” she said with the same kindness from your childhood. “It matters only if you wish to go back.”

The proposition took you by surprise, mostly because while there were ways to cheat death, they weren’t cheap or easy to come by, and such graces were seldom handed out freely.

Seeing that you offered no response, she went on, locking eyes with you. “Or you can choose to stay.”

A deep-seated fear had taken root inside you, giving way to despair.

And if there was a chance…

“I want to go back,” you said firmly at once. “This is not living.”

Her expression softened in a way that brought memories of her breaking the news that playtime had prematurely come to an end. “It isn't dying, either. Hence the name Limbo.”

Your nails were digging into the palms of your hands, and you could feel it nearing the point of breaking skin and drawing blood.

“Let me out.”

She now stood so close you could see all the details on her face, and it was as if staring in a mirror. A few freckles dusted across her cheeks and nose and the same tender smile you remember Astarion adoring.

“If only it were that simple, child.”

“Was that what happened to you?” you said, your growing anger nearly bursting at the seams. “When you suddenly dropped dead in front of me? You had a choice and you chose to leave your child?”

For once, she was taken aback, her face twisted in a mix of pain and outrage. “Long before you were born, I made the foolish mistake of seeking answers in worlds that weren’t meant for the mortals, even those who treaded paths of pure magic such as us.”

You waited for her to go on.

Her voice faltered momentarily and she heaved a deep sigh. “I had read about this place and my stubbornness landed me here. At the time, I was pregnant with you, but I didn’t know it yet, and those who rule this place offered a bargain.”

The more she talked, the more it dawned on you that wherever she was headed with this conversation wasn’t a pleasant place, and at this point you weren’t so sure you wanted the answers to the questions you’d asked.

Still, you remained silent, simply crossing your arms.

“Those who come here aren’t offered a way out unless there’s something of value to be traded,” she said. “All those years ago, I was offered a way out if I allowed them to meddle with you.” Her eyes widened in alarm, realising the conclusion you’d immediately drawn. “I only learned about you that day. They knew of my wild magic and how powerful it can be, but there is never a certainty that it’s passed off to an offspring.”

The implication that dangled from her words was enough for you to figure out what was coming next.

She looked at your almost pleadingly, hands brought together close to her neck. “It was either that or I would have remained here and perished, and you along with me. So I agreed with the terms, and they branded you to ensure you’d have wild magic coursing through you.”

You tried to muster any words, but you couldn’t speak. It was too much to digest all at once, especially given the current circumstances.

She made a move as if to grab your own hands, but you immediately pulled back and away from her touch.

For a few seconds, you allowed silence to fall between you two, only occasionally broken by the elements that were trying to break into the safe zone.

“But when I left this place, you took something with you,” she said, curling her arms back against her chest. “Unbeknownst to them at first, but it didn’t take them long to realise they had made a mistake by embedding such power in you.”

Each revelation proved to be worse than the latter. “Took what?”

“Your magic manifested itself even during the pregnancy. I could feel it. Hells, even your father could. It wasn’t normal. I had no answers, but I knew it was related to this place.” She paused and you saw tears outlining her eyes. “You were born and it took all of my own magic to keep yours at bay. All the while I kept searching for a way to sever your connection to this place.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and for a split second you wondered if this wasn’t the work of some cambion merely playing mind tricks on you.

Then, surprisingly, a faint, sad smile settled on her lips. “As expected, they found out about it and I had to trade my life for yours. My magic wasn’t as valuable to them as yours, but it was enough to deter them from you until you one day died, and regardless of whether it was a timeless death or otherwise, you’d end up right here.”

It was all too much to process, and you weren’t sure how to feel about the woman you had mourned for years, wishing every day you had been strong enough to keep her from dying.

“You can loathe me and I expect it,” she went on, voice but a whisper. “But in the end, you can now take advantage of this and get a second chance at life.”

“So I should thank you?”

She shook her head. “No, but you can choose to go back and forfeit the afterlife.”

“So…” you drawled out, half perplexed and half outraged, “is that what you’ve come here to tell me? That I have to trade something off?”

She nodded.

“What is it?”

Before she replied, she took a look around. “The safe zone is shrinking. Time is running out.”

At this point, you were sure that if there was a chance you might go back and live the life that was robbed from you, you would take it.

“What is it they want?” you pressed, feeling yourself grow weaker as the barrier that kept the chaos at bay was now fading with each passing second.

Still not glancing at you, she spoke, “Your magic.”

This time, you did feel your heart skip a beat. “How so?”

Your mother looked you in the eye with that nurturing expression on her face that you adored so much growing up.

“If you go back, you will no longer possess magic,” she said. “If you stay, you can still wield it and learn to roam these lands under their watch. Or…” She paused again, “you can choose to pass on and fade away.”

Drop by drop, it started to pour, and in a few seconds you were drenched from head to toe. An uncomfortable jab in your upper abdomen stirred you from your state of shock.

“You’re bleeding.”

You pressed a hand to the open wound, feeling thunder and fire and water coiling under your skin, wanting to burst free. A quick glance down and you saw rivulets of blood seeping through your fingers.

“Tell me,” she said, closing the gap between you two, and pressing her hand atop yours, “what do you want, child?”

Your vision began to blur and your knees gave up under you.

“I want to live.”

AN: I have taken some liberties with DnD lore in regards to Limbo and healing/wild magic. For plot purposes, and because I believe that's the most fun you can have with DnD! Homebrew your own adventures hehe

Thank you all for the lovely comments and for waiting so patiently. I am still very much in love with this story!

#astarion x tav #astarion #the arrangement #astarion x female tav #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x f!tav

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hyorijie · 5 months ago

Text

Valentine's Day Special

Little Dear | Alastor x F!Reader

Warnings Smut, Nsfw, Alastor is in hell for a reason, possessiveness, attraction, sexual tension, strangers to lovers, P in V, raunchy sex, creampie, Lector is in hell for a reason, bratty attitude, Discord (Lucifer), MDNI, Typical canon violence, Mafia implications, Mimzy knows who is Reader, lots of bad language. Summary Fleeing a fate worse than damnation, your steps lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, the most ridiculed place in all of Hell. You couldn't have come at a worse time much less crossed paths with the worst person in Hell. N: I'm sorry for the delay, there were some technical problems (disease) but here I bring this piece of smut, enjoy! Second story coming soon *wink*.

Of all the places you could be right now, you never imagined you would end up in front of the huge, decadent Hazbin Hotel, the place that all hell was making fun of as if it were a bad joke. A place that, for many, was nothing more than a badly told joke, a ridiculous fantasy of redemption in a world where forgiveness was as scarce as sunlight.

And you were beginning to think you had arrived at the worst possible moment.

Your gaze swept over the scene in front of you, trying to process the spectacle of overflowing tension unfolding between the King of Hell and the radio demon.

How had you ended up right in the middle of this? Just another tenant in a hotel that sold itself as a haven of redemption, caught up in a game of egos that vibrated with static electricity and bad intentions.

Cornered between facing the consequences of your decisions or running away without dignity, you had chosen the latter. But now you were here, caught in a storm of power and influence where every glance carried a different poison.

The nervous twitch in Alastor's eye did not go unnoticed by you. His usual mischievous grin was stiff, the pressure of his jaw evident even beneath the glint of his sharp expression. One glance and you knew this was going downhill imminently.

Lucifer stood there, with his imposing bearing - despite his short stature - and that damned smile of false courtesy, holding his staff with an apple on the tip, as if this was all a game that he was assured of winning. Alastor, for his part, remained steadfast, radiating a presence that darkened the atmosphere, especially when his hands rested too familiarly on Charlie's shoulders.

It was an instant, a spark, but enough for Lucifer to intervene. His smile didn't falter for a second, but the way he pushed Alastor's hand away with a swipe of his forearm made his displeasure clear.

You watched as Alastor brought his hand to the affected area and slowly stroked it with his fingertips, without losing his smile.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Not from the blow, but from the look the red demon cast towards the sovereign.

It was not anger.

And yet, it was still something dangerous.

You rolled your eyes, feeling that you were witnessing the most ridiculous and dangerous rivalry at the same time. As if both were two beasts in a territorial duel, using gestures and sharp words instead of claws and fangs.

—Charlie, daughter, why don't you introduce me to your other friends? — Lucifer exclaimed in a light tone, his melodic and charming voice echoing in the air. His staff was raised a little higher, the red apple glowing in the light.

Charlie broadly, trying to hide the obvious tension in the air.

— Oh, of course! Dad, this is Vaggie, my girlfriend.— replied the princess, as she looked at Vaggie with a cozy, sweet affection.

The King of Hell seemed to exhale with relief at hearing the word "bride," as if that dispelled any misconceptions that hovered in his mind about the closeness between his daughter and Alastor. The latter, however, remained in the background, his dark eyes watching the scene closely.

It was only for a second, but you felt his gaze meet yours.

That simple eye contact was enough for a shiver to settle on your back.

You didn't know how long you were caught in that exchange of glances until Charlie grabbed your arm, abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts and away from Alastor's enveloping presence.

— And she, Dad, is our new tenant. —Charlie announced excitedly.Lucifer turned his attention to you, and for the first time, examined you with genuine curiosity.

—Well...— he whispered, smiling a broad, refined smile.

In his bright gaze something difficult to decipher. Perhaps surprise. Perhaps interest. Or maybe he was just evaluating something he himself found fascinating.

As if it was the first time he had seen a sinner without obvious demonic traits.He stepped forward and took your hand gently, bending slightly to bring it to his lips.

— It's such a pleasure.— he murmured, his silky voice bordering on charming and calculating.

His touch was brief, just a light pressure of his lips against your skin, but enough to send a shiver through you. You knew how to hide it well, keeping your expression serene, but when Lucifer winked at you in an uncovered way, the discomfort became more evident inside you.

Instinctively, your gaze lifted... and you made a grave mistake.

Alastor was no longer simply staring.

No.

The twitch in his eye had intensified, his smile was strained to the point of looking like an edge about to tear. His brow barely furrowed, his fingers gripping his cane with calculated pressure.

The atmosphere became dense, and without warning, the sharp stroke of his staff broke the contact between your hand and Lucifer's.

— Oh, what a pity, your majesty! —Alastor intoned with venomous politeness, bowing his head in mock apology.— I didn't notice.

The impact resounded, but Lucifer only raised an eyebrow, smirking.

— How clumsy, Alastor. I'm surprised you're not more careful. — Alastor kept his smile, but the darkness in his eyes intensified.

— It's a flaw of mine, I suppose.— he replied with wry lightness, as his fingers gripped his staff tighter.

The air around him vibrated with a slight crackle of static.

And then, the tension exploded in a crossfire of words laden with mockery, defiance and hatred disguised as diplomacy. Subtle insults and veiled jabs of arrogance filled the air until, finally, Alastor dropped the entire facade of politeness with a single word, one that escaped his mouth with a charge of pure irritation.

— Fuck you! — The filter in his voice distorted the word, but the rage hidden in it was impossible to ignore.

Lucifer blinked, then laughed. Not with genuine amusement, but with the kind of laughter of someone enjoying an impending fight.

And you, caught in the middle of it all, could only wonder how the hell you were going to get out of there without the situation becoming even more chaotic.

Because if one thing was certain...It was that the storm was just beginning.

The air was already tense, charged with the growing hostility between Lucifer and Alastor, when suddenly a third voice broke into the conversation.

— I've arrived, Al!

The high-pitched, overly animated sound contrasted with the gravity of the moment, causing a regretful silence in the room. Everyone present turned their heads towards the newcomer, with the same puzzled expression, as a hulking figure strode forward with a firm step and imposing attitude.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, visibly irritated by the interruption.

— Ah, Who? — he asked coolly, his eyebrow arching as he didn't recognize the voice.

But the answer came before anyone could explain.

— Mimzy, of course! — Your stomach cringed at the sound of that name.

As soon as your eyes recognized her, they widened like saucers. Mimzy. That damn woman.

Murmurs began to spread through the room as the relationship between her and Alastor became apparent. Her closeness with the radio demon, the familiarity with which she had called him...even the slight relaxation in Alastor's posture at the sight of her.

A new detail that left everyone in shock.

Alastor, who barely and barely tolerated the presence of most, seemed... pleased with her arrival.

But the worst was not that.

The worst was that, after scanning the room with an air of superiority, Mimzy fixed her attention on Lucifer, and her expression changed. His eyes shone with a particular sparkle, his face took on a smile of fascination and admiration.

Oh, of course.

Now she was also dazzled by the ruler of Hell.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore her as you discreetly slid up to the bar. You grabbed a glass at random and raised it slowly, pretending to be more interested in the drink than the new arrival.

Maybe, just maybe, if you didn't look at her, she wouldn't notice you.

But you knew it was a futile hope.

Your hunch was confirmed when Mimzy, with all the confidence in the world, advanced to the bar and settled next to you, waiting for Husk to pour her something strong.Your breathing remained steady, but your body was stiff.

Angel Dust, at your side, seemed much more interested in deciphering the relationship between Mimzy and Alastor than in noticing your discomfort.

But Mimzy did notice.

She watches you with a slight frown, as if trying to remember where she met you.

And then, it happened.

Her expression changed completely when she recognized your face.

—So here you were! — she exclaimed, his shrill tone piercing your ears like a rusty nail.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you reacted immediately.

— I don't know what you're talking about, I don't know you,— you answered in a modulated voice, trying to feign disinterest.

But it was too late.

Mimzy didn't buy your act for a second.

Her eyes narrowed and a smile full of venom spread across her face.

— Come on...— she murmured, leaning toward you with a sweet but intent tone. — You left everyone dead by your departure.

The sentence was carefully constructed. It was not a simple comment, but an accusation disguised as nostalgia.

You knew exactly what he meant.Your throat went dry for a moment, but before you could respond, before you could even process the weight of his words...An explosion reverberated through the hotel.

The walls vibrated violently, the lights flickered, and the deafening roar of the detonation rippled through the building, throwing several of those present to the floor.

Chaos erupted in an instant.

Cries of confusion and alarm rose, mingling with the crunch of falling debris. Husk cursed loudly, covering his head, as Angel Dust clung to the counter to keep from being knocked over.

Your glass shattered against the floor as the impact jolted you, but you didn't have time to worry about it.

Turning your head, your pulse racing and your mind still shaken by the recent explosion that had erupted before your eyes, you found Mimzy in a state of absolute hysteria. Her hands were shaking, her eyes moving frantically, as if her mind was trying to calculate at full speed the next step.

You frowned suspiciously. There was something about her reaction that didn't quite add up. It wasn't just fear, but an unmistakable certainty that she knew exactly what was going on.

And make no mistake.

The clatter of furious pounding against the gate echoed through the air, followed by a male voice exploding with

—Mimzy! You fucking bitch, we know you're here. — The threat came with the force of thunder, echoing off the walls, charged with hatred and the promise of imminent violence.

Your breathing stopped for a moment. That tone... that voice... A shiver ran down your spine as your mind immediately identified it. The world around you seemed to vanish for a second.

— Holy shit... — you whispered, feeling your heart hammering in your chest.

But you were not alone in that recognition. Next to you, Mimzy murmured exactly the same thing.

Her eyes met yours. You didn't need words to understand what that meant. You were both running from the same nightmare.

Before you could process it, a blinding glow illuminated the room and a portal burst open. From inside emerged Charlie, his father and Vaggie. The latter, with a frown on her face and her voice heavy with tension, asked:

— ¿Qué carajo? — Vaggie exclaimed coming out of the portal.

Chaos was tangible in the air. Mimzy, still panting, confessed with a frustrated addition:

— I fucked those bastards.

Of course, you wouldn't judge her. You had done exactly the same thing. But there was a problem.

They didn't know you were here.

— Hey, you filthy pieces of shit! — A shrill, mocking voice pierced the tension of the moment, freezing your blood. — Guess who's here!

Panic turned to pure fire in your veins. You turned your head just in time to see the wretched woman who, with a cruel smile, was screaming your name at the top of her lungs, handing over your location to those damn sharks.

For an instant, rage and survival instinct eclipsed all other thoughts.

You let out a choked scream and, without thinking twice, you threw yourself on her with the force of a wild beast.

— Fucking bitch! I'll kill you! — you bellowed as you lunged into the air.

The impact sent both of you crashing onto the bar with a crash. Glasses and bottles shattered under the weight of the fight. The bitch went cold, trying to get away, but you didn't give her a chance. Your fists descended in fury, slamming into her face with a rage that had been building up for some time.

In the background, Charlie screamed in terror, trying to stop the fight.

Angel jumped back, stumbling and falling over a table with a curse.

And Husker... that bastard just laughed, eyes narrowed in pure delight, watching you smash the face of the wretch who had just put your life in danger.

Chaos erupted in the hotel like a symphony of destruction. While your hands still clutched the traitor with the intention of beating her existence out of existence, an explosion of fire erupted inside the building. The shockwave shook the walls and sent flames in all directions, devouring curtains and reducing furniture to ashes.

From outside, the clatter of splintering wood and the deafening screams of the mobsters indicated that they had not come to negotiate. No, those bastards had brought a damn catapult.

— HAHAAHA! You've got guts, you cock-warming bitch! — roared a mocking voice from outside. — Did you really think you could run away from me, beauty?!

The tone was a mixture of sadistic delight and suppressed fury. The blood in your veins froze, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to move, to tear out the throat of the one who had betrayed you, but a pair of arms held you tightly.

— That's enough, doll! — Angel Dust struggled with you, pulling with all her might until you managed to break free from Mimzy.

The woman was left leaning against the bar, panting with a blank stare. Her face was bruised, her lipstick smeared, her hair a mess of curls and blood. You were in no better shape, but at least you could stand.

The tension rose as Vaggie, his face alight with fury, raised his spear with determination.

— I'm not going to stand here and wait for them to kill us, I'm going to fight those bastards!

Her shout echoed loudly, but before she could take another step, a guttural, mocking laugh came from behind her.

— Easy, my dear... — Alastor's voice, charming and dark at the same time, drifted through the air like a shiver. — Leave them to me.

A heavy silence spread as his smile widened wider than any normal face should allow.

— I'll show them all... why I'm here.

His figure began to change, elongating in a spiral of shadows and twisted energy. His antlers grew with a grotesque crackle, expanding like infernal branches. Its eyes took on a dull, sinister glow, dark dials swirling in its pupils as its body distended into imposing size. The atmosphere became suffocating.

From the floor, Mimzy let out a dry laugh.

— Finally! You were late, you bastard!

Alastor's laughter was the last thing you saw before he slid out the door with inhuman grace, leaving behind an echo of pure malevolence.

But while he indulged in his personal carnage, another battle raged inside.Lucifer, standing with the elegance of a king on the verge of an announced collapse, looked at his daughter with a grave expression.

—This is what I was trying to tell you, Charlie. — His voice was calm, but with an edge of deadly warning. — Sinners will never change.

Charlie, his face creaking and his hands trembling, clenched his fists tightly.Hell was on fire, and his conviction hung in the balance.

Flames were still smoldering in the wreckage when the massacre finally came to an end.

The air was thick with the smell of blood, gunpowder and burnt flesh. Outside, the dismembered bodies of the mobsters mingled with the rubble, and in the center of it all, Alastor was settling his jacket with a satisfied smile.

Inside the hotel, Charlie was trying, almost desperately, to talk some sense into his father.

— Dad, don't you see? — Her voice was laden with emotion, the pain visible in his expression. — Alastor may have... brutal methods, but at least he's helping us. Isn't that what matters?

Lucifer watched her in silence, his face inscrutable. His eyes reflected the disappointment of someone who had already seen the truth countless times and expected nothing different.

The scene was touching, it really was.

But you were too busy directing looks of pure contempt at Mimzy, who, of course, merely shrugged her shoulders with an expression of indifference. Her attitude only fueled your anger, but before you could say anything, a hoarse, cracked voice caught everyone's attention.

The last shark demon, staggering with its mangled body, dared to speak.

— You may be protecting those two bitches now... — His voice dripped venom, barely held by the thread of life she had left. — But that bitch who came before Mimzy is mine, MINE, AND I WILL KILL HER!

His words pierced the air with utter contempt.

A tense silence fell over the scene.

For an instant, Alastor did not react. His smile froze on his face, his head tilting just a millimeter as if he was processing what he had just heard.

Then he laughed.

A slow, thick laugh, full of twisted delight.

— She's yours, you say? — he repeated with unnatural sweetness. — Oh, wow... that's pretty hilarious.

And without giving a chance for more words, he devoured it.

Slowly.

Painfully.

The shark's shrieks of agony mingled with the sounds of its flesh being ripped away, its life snuffed out in desperate death throes.

Everyone present stood in complete silence, unable to look away from the horror show.

Finally, when it was all over, Alastor exhaled with satisfaction and shook his hands as if he had simply got rid of a little annoyance.

— Ah, my. — he commented in an almost nonchalant tone. — It's been a long time since I've been able to let off steam in such a way.

He settled his jacket with meticulous precision, as if nothing had happened.

Mimzy, who had been paralyzed all this time, straightened up like a frightened animal. Even with her attitude discarded, she could not hide the trembling in her hands as she muttered.

— Well... thanks for the help, Alastor. — Then, with a mocking and ironic tone, he added: — I'm very sorry for the disasters.

The demon did not respond immediately.

His smile was still present, but there was something else in his expression... something dangerous.

Then, when she dared to continue speaking, blurting out a comment about what a good friend he was, Alastor simply closed his eyes for a moment.His brow furrowed slightly.

— Go away, Mimzy. Get out.— His voice had not changed in sweetness, but the edge in his words was unmistakable.

She blinked, surprised by the cold tone.

— Huh? What's the matter with you now?

— You came here deliberately — he continued with forced patience — and endangered everyone. Go away... before I end up with you too.

The shiver that ran through Mimzy was almost visible. But instead of keeping quiet, her wounded pride made her let out one last retort, furious and defensive.

— This hotel is a trash ball full of freaks and misfits!

However, when his dark eyes landed on you, something inside you tensed.

The way he looked at you, with that smile still plastered on his face but with a twinkle in his eye that you couldn't quite decipher, sent a shiver down your spine.It was a warning.

Or something worse.

The atmosphere was still charged with the tension of what had happened, but you were no longer paying attention to any of it.

The murmur of the others faded into a distant echo as you made a clear decision in your mind: leave that damned hotel from hell.

That place was permeated with bad luck, with absolute chaos, with problems that only seemed to multiply.

Slipping into the shadows, you began to walk away without arousing suspicion. No one seemed to notice, too absorbed in the drama of Mimzy and Alastor, in the feud between Charlie and Lucifer, in the mess that still smoldered inside and outside the hotel.

You don't look back. There was no reason to.

Running through the corridors, you reached your room with your heart pounding in your chest, more from the urgency to leave than from fear. Once inside, you closed the door tightly and hurried to gather your things.

Your hands worked fast, saving the essentials: the little you had brought with you, any valuables, and, of course, the money you had stolen from that damned mobster.

With every bill you put in the bag, you felt a kind of bitter satisfaction. At least you'd walk away with something.

But when you finished and headed for the door, something changed.

The air became thick.

The electricity in the air crackled with a strange static that raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

Before your hand touched the doorknob, a presence materialized behind you.

— Too much of a hurry to flee, my dear? — Alastor's voice hit you with a mixture of sharp sweetness and a buzz of static that chilled you to the bone.

Your muscles immediately tensed.

Something inside you screamed that you were not afraid. That you didn't show weakness.

There is nothing behind you. Don't look at it. Just open the door and walk away.

You rested your hand on the knob firmly, but as soon as you tried to turn it, a dry snap echoed in the room.

A sound similar to that of a disappointed parent reprimanding a disobedient child.

— Too bad, precious... — His tone became more serious, much more than you had ever heard from him before. And worse. He didn't have the filter.

It was his real voice.

A primitive, deep sound, a whisper of something that was not meant to exist on this plane.

The sensation that ran through your body was not just a shiver. It was absolute terror.Your fingers loosened on the doorknob.

You knew you could no longer ignore it.

Slowly, with the weight of uncertainty weighing on you, you turned around.

The silence between the two of you was a suffocating presence in the room.

You watch him closely, every little detail of your posture, every shadow that seemed to move subtly around his figure. To the naked eye, Alastor seemed serene , completely at ease, with that polite smile that always adorned his face like an unwavering mask.

If you hadn't heard that voice of his moments before, the real one, the one that demanded and threatened with a tone that rumbled in your bones, you could have sworn he even seemed docile.

But you were not naive. He could not deceive you.

Fear pulsed in your veins like a slow poison, but still, it forced you to keep your composure. Pretending bravery was the only thing you could do, even if you knew you didn't really possess it.

You stepped forward, you faced him.

— What the hell do you care if I leave or not? — you demanded, your voice trying to sound firm, though the slight tremor in it betrayed you.

Alastor let out a loud, raucous laugh, the radio filter distorting the sound with an unsettling echo.

You felt a spark of genuine anger.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to resist the mockery, and waited for him to speak.

— Honey, you can stop pretending.— he said with obvious mockery, his smile stretching in an almost predatory manner. — That role of bravery doesn't fit you.

And then he advanced.

His steps were firm, graceful, but had an implied danger that made you, without thinking, step back.Still, you held his gaze.

— To run away from those pathetic attempts of demons, to hide perfectly and only be found by a betrayal... my dear, I'm impressed. — Her voice took on a honeyed, enveloping, manipulative tone. — What did you do?

The weight of his words fell on you like an unbearable burden.

But you would not falter. Not with him.

— Leave me alone — you answer in a broken voice. You wanted to sound calm, but you weren't succeeding. And you both knew it. — I just want to leave this place.

Alastor arched an eyebrow, feigning consideration, before narrowing the distance between you alarmingly.

— Mmm... I don't know. — His tone took on a more amused tinge, as if he was enjoying the game. —I have another detail in mind.

His smile widened, and the gleam in his red eyes became even more intense.

— That piece of meat I devoured a few minutes ago said something very interesting? — he muttered mischievously. — He called you a "cock warmer", if I'm not mistaken.

His gaze descended slowly and deliberately down your body, analyzing you as if you were a piece up for auction.

— A very appropriate name for you, indeed.

The boiling of your blood was immediate .

You gritted your teeth, rage burning in your chest as you glared at him.

— Fuck you... — you whispered angrily.

And in the blink of an eye, the distance between you disappeared.

— Do you think I didn't see how the great king, Lucifer, looked at you like a dirty doll to satisfy? — he remarked with apparent amusement, though his voice had a bitter, dark note, hard to decipher.

The way he said it, with that cutting laugh, with that tone full of an emotion you could not understand, puzzled you.

You opened your eyes in surprise, incredulous at his words.

But you weren't going to let yourself be swept away in anger.

If he wanted to play, then you would provoke him into his own game.

You smiled sideways, and in a mocking tone, you blurted out:

— Don't tell me... is it envy I see and hear? —you raised an eyebrow while tilting your face.

The twinkle in your eye was a direct challenge.

Alastor tightened his smile for the first time .

And that was enough for you to seize the opportunity.

— I think someone wants the place of the sexy sovereign. — you whispered provocatively and mockingly.

The demon's expression froze for only an instant, before returning to normal. But you noticed the way his fingers twitched subtly.

You smiled even wider.

— I bet if I went right now, I could check out how good your majesty is. — Your voice took on a seductive cadence, accompanied by a deliberate gesture: you bit your lower lip as slowly as possible.

The result was instantaneous .

Alastor growled.

A real growl, low and dangerous, as his patience finally broke.

In one swift movement, he cornered you against the door , his arms locking you in with no escape.

Breaths mingled dangerously at such a distance.

You met his gaze closely, his eyes burning with something you hadn't seen in them before.

When he spoke, his voice descended to a dangerous murmur, laden with a dense, heavy weight, something you didn't know whether to interpret as a threat or... something worse.

— Don't push your luck, my dear.— His tone was serious, and there was a latent frustration in it that took your breath away.

Latent sexual frustration.

The cadence in his voice distorted your perception of things, and you felt dizzy seeing him in this state.

— Any luck? — You whispered with irony as he laughed — Come on, dear radio demon, we both know what you want — You exclaimed looking him in the eyes.

Alastor's lip curved into a predatory smile as he heard your response. The frustration you glimpsed in his eyes intensified, but he did not recoil. On the contrary, he seemed pleased to have provoked such a bold reaction in you.

— Oh, really? Enlighten me, my dear, what do you think I want? — His breath caressed your face as he spoke, and you could feel the slight trembling of his body against yours.

Fury raged through you like wildfire, but you would not allow yourself to show weakness. You lifted your chin and looked him straight in the eye, not giving an inch of ground.

— Don't play. We both know this isn't about Lucifer or my past. It's about power. It's about control. And about proving that you can have what you want, when you want it.

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, laden with cynicism.

— Insightful, as always. But you're wrong about one thing, precious. Power and control are certainly attractive, but what I'm really interested in is seeing how far you're willing to go to protect your secrets. — He brought his face even closer to yours, his red eyes shining with an almost hypnotic intensity.

— How much are you willing to sacrifice? Your dignity? Your morals? Or perhaps... something more valuable?

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you refused to look away.

— have nothing to offer you, Alastor. And I'm not afraid of you.

— Ah, aren't you? —He whispered, his tone suggesting otherwise. — Then why are you trembling?

His hand slowly rose and brushed your cheek gently, tracing a line of fire along your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the wave of sensations that swept over you.

— I'm not afraid of you.— you repeated, though your voice sounded slightly weaker this time.

— Prove it. —The demand was a challenge, an invitation to cross a dangerous line.

You opened your eyes and met her gaze, and for a moment, you were lost in the darkness that emanated from it.

What did you want to prove? That you could resist her charm? Or that you were capable of yielding to temptation?

Before you could respond, Alastor leaned in and brushed your lips with his. The contact was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to ignite a spark inside you.

You broke away abruptly, feeling the heat spread throughout your body.

— I'm not going to play your games, Alastor.

— Are you sure? —He smiled, showing his sharp teeth.— Because I think, deep down, you're dying to play.

Before you could reply, his hand slid down your neck and pulled you to him, kissing you with an intensity that took you by surprise. His lips were soft but firm, and his tongue explored your mouth with a boldness that made you shiver.

You resisted at first, determined not to give in to his control. But as the kiss deepened, you felt your defenses begin to crumble. His taste was intoxicating, a mixture of sin and danger that drew you into an unknown abyss.

His hands moved down your back, tracing every curve and contour of your body. You moaned into his mouth, unable to control your body's involuntary response.

For an instant, you forgot your anger, your fear, your distrust. There was only the desire, the need to be closer to him, to melt into his embrace and lose yourself in the darkness.

But then, reality hit you like a bucket of cold water. What were you doing? You were allowing Alastor to manipulate you, to use you as a mere tool in his power play.

With a superhuman effort, you pulled away from him, gasping for air.

— Stop — you said, your voice trembling, — I'm not going to do this.

Alastor looked at you with an indecipherable expression, his dark eyes hiding his true thoughts.

— Why not? — He asked, his tone soft in contrast to the intensity of the moment before.

A small spark of fire and frustration settled in his crimson eyes, his state was no better than yours, and yet....

You refused to answer. Instead, you pushed him aside and backed away from the door, determined to put distance between the two of you.

Instead of allowing you to escape, Alastor smiled with playful mischief. In an instant, shadowy tentacles sprouted from the floor and walls, surrounding you like a dark, throbbing prison.

You found yourself cornered, your back pressed against Alastor's chest, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

— Did you think I would let you go so easily, my dear? — he whispered in your ear, his voice charged with an intensity that made you tremble. — From the moment I saw you walk into this hotel. Something about you... something drew me like a moth to a flame.

Your words were sweet poison, a promise of ecstasy and doom. The shadowy tentacles slithered over your body with deliberate slowness, exploring every curve and nook and cranny with eerie precision. You felt a shiver run down your spine as the tips of the tentacles caressed your skin, awakening sensations you thought you had buried long ago.

— No one. — Alastor continued, his voice husky and full of possessive longing.— not even you, will take from me what is mine. You brought this on me from the first moment.

Your gasps grew louder, choppy, as the tentacles traced circles around your nipples, tightening them with each rub. An involuntary moan escaped your lips, and you felt Alastor's smile widen against your shoulder.

— Yes, my dear, that's it — he murmured, his hot breath echoing in your ear. — Surrender, just like that, my precious.

Your legs trembled, unable to support your weight as desire consumed you. The fury and fear faded, replaced by a primal need, an urge to give yourself completely to the darkness that enveloped you.

As Alastor played with you, you found yourself in a feverish state, caught between the need to resist and the overwhelming tide of pleasure. You tried to speak, to demand that he leave you alone, but the words stuck in your throat, choked by the gasps and moans that escaped your lips uncontrollably.

— Let me... please...— you managed to whisper, but your voice sounded weak and shaky, lacking conviction.

The pleasure was too intense, clouding your judgment and breaking down your defenses. Against your will, you began to move your hips, desperately seeking friction against Alastor's clothed erection. It was a silent plea, a tacit surrender to the desires that consumed you.

Alastor responded to your movement with a triumphant smile. He pulled you even tighter against him, imprisoning you between his body and shadowy tentacles.

— Fuck, you sure are a dirty cock warmer.— he whispered in your ear, his voice husky and full of desire.

His tongue slid over your neck, exploring every inch of skin with torturous slowness. A shiver of pleasure ran through your body, and you closed your eyes, abandoning yourself completely to the sensation.

— More... please, more... —you begged, your words barely audible between your gasps.

Alastor reveled in your submission, intensifying his assault. His hands slid beneath your clothing, caressing your skin with a softness that contrasted with the hardness of his erection pressed against your ass. The shadowy tentacles moved in sync, massaging your breasts and thighs with expert precision.

You writhed in his arms, moaning and sighing as pleasure swept you into an abyss of sensation.

You were no longer able to think, to resist, to fight. There was only desire, the need for more, the total surrender to the impulses that dominated you.

In the state of fervor in which you both found yourselves, Alastor slid his hands between your breasts, squeezing one of them in his path, then traveled to your waist, until he reached the coveted spot. Feeling you tense, he recognized that he was needier than ever, harder than a rock.

— Beg for me, now —he demanded, his voice turning into a guttural growl.

You only nodded, your mind clouded with desire. Alastor turned you to face him, his red eyes glowing with an almost unearthly intensity.

He began to whisper words full of obscenity, sexual nicknames that, though racy, retained the elegance and twisted charm that characterized him.

— Tell me, my naughty delight, how much do you want this, mmh? How much do you want this demon who has you trembling in his clutches? You are my "little doll", my little dear.— You looked at him lost, recognizing that you were hotter than ever in your life or death.

His closeness, his voice, his hands on your body, all contributed to a storm of sensations that threatened to consume you completely.

— Say it. — Alastor insisted, his hot breath brushing your lips.—Tell me you need me.— He growled with absolute demand.

— I need you.— you whispered, the truth escaping your lips unfiltered.

Hearing your confession, Alastor smiled with predatory satisfaction. The shadowy tentacles disappeared in an instant, replaced by his arms that wrapped tightly around you, pulling you tight against his body. The closeness was suffocating, but at the same time, strangely comforting.

The bed was very convenient at the moment, and Alastor didn't miss the opportunity.

He lifted you in his arms and carried you between sloppy kisses to the soft mattress. You fell onto the sheets, feeling the soft fabric against your skin as Alastor pounced on you, never breaking the contact of his lips with yours.

You had almost no clothes on anymore, just a rustle of fabric barely covering your nakedness. Alastor, on the other hand, was still clothed, a frustrating barrier between your desire and the consummation of the act.

Desperate, you tried to remove his jacket, but he grasped both your hands with surprising strength, pinning you under his weight.

— Be patient, my little temptress. —he said, his voice husky and full of anticipation. —There is an art in waiting, a pleasure in torture.

He kissed you more intensely, sucking on your lower lip with a possessiveness that made you moan. Then, with exasperating slowness, he began to unbutton the buttons of his shirt, revealing his chest full of marks and a fur that aroused in you an eagerness to caress.

— Do you like what you see? — he asked, with an arrogant smile.

You nodded, unable to articulate a word. Alastor took off his jacket, dropping it on the floor with disdain. Then, he unbuttoned his dress pants, releasing his erection that pulsed impatiently beneath the fabric.

With a look that promised paradise and doom, Alastor grabbed your legs with his free hand, lifting them up to place you in a vulnerable, submissive position.

He lined up his erection at your entrance, feeling the heat and wetness that awaited him.

And then, in one particularly rough lunge, he began.

A lascivious scream escaped your lips, a primal, savage sound that echoed through the room, filling it with the promise of pleasure and despair. Pain mingled with ecstasy, creating a symphony of sensations that snatched your control and plunged you into an abyss of lust.

The way Alastor began to move, without giving you a single respite, just ripped the air out of you. You moaned meaningless phrases, incoherent words that expressed the maelstrom of sensations that invaded you.

You felt Alastor deliver thrust after thrust, each one rougher and deeper than the last, pushing you to the limit of your endurance.

He, meanwhile, grunted and emitted messy static throughout the room, a distorted echo of his arousal mingling with the obscene sounds of clashing skins and your occasional moans. Every time Alastor touched that vulnerable spot in you, he made you see stars, a burst of light and pleasure that took your breath away.

—You're mine, understand? — Alastor growled through his teeth, his voice harsh and possessive. — Completely mine.

—Yes... yours, ah!... more...— you gasped, your body responding to his dominance with desperate need.

— Look my eyes. — he commanded, stopping his movements for a moment.— Tell me how much you want me.

You looked up, meeting his red eyes that burned with an almost demonic intensity. At that moment, there was nothing but Alastor and the insatiable desire that united you.

— I want you, Alastor. — you confessed, your voice trembling. — I want you more than anything in this damned hell.

Alastor smiled, a wild, triumphant expression that made you shudder. He resumed his onslaught with renewed fury, bringing you to the brink of collapse.

— I will make you cry out my name, my sweet torment. — He promised, his voice a hoarse whisper in your ear. — I'm going to make you beg for me.

With the intensity of the moment, Alastor felt you on the verge of climax, and you felt it too. The tension in both of you was about to explode, and all the while, you were screaming Alastor's name in a mess of pleading.

— Alastor! Ah, Alastor! Please, Alastor! —you cried, your voice cracking with pleasure.

Meanwhile, he was transforming back into his demonic form a little, with dark eyes and dials that stood out against his pale skin. Seeing him in that state, feeling his onslaught, you couldn't help but think out loud and exclaim in a broken voice and a moan.

— I love those eyes... like that... so beautiful... — You gasped looking at him with intensity.

Alastor paused for a second, his body tense over yours. His smile widened, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

— Damn, you are divine...—He answered with his voice full of static, which caused a slight tremor in your chest. You groaned as you listened to him and your gaze only confirmed that he looked absolutely perfect.

He then resumed his thrusts even deeper, so intense that you were now a bundle of screaming pleasure as you trembled uncontrollably. Your orgasm erupted violently, your body responding to his assault, and a silent scream formed, your hands clenching strands of his hair, trying to hold on to something as the aftershocks of climax wiped out your sanity.

And still Alastor whispered obscene words in your ear, fueling your arousal and prolonging your agony.

— You're a pervert, you know that? —he gasped, his hot breath brushing against your neck, feeling you tighten around him.— A little devil that drives me crazy.

And he was so close to cumming too.

With each thrust, the tension in his body increased until, finally, he came, cumming inside you, painting your walls with his seed.

And with two final gentle lunges, he pulled you close to him in a messy kiss, his salty, heady taste flooding your mouth.

Once he was finished inside you, he was satisfied to see his work. Your body trembled beneath his, exhausted but sated. Your eyes were glassy, your breathing agitated, and a faint expression was plastered on your face.

Alastor slowly pulled away, watching you with a possessive gaze.

You, you simply looked at him, utterly exhausted.

— Well? —Alastor's voice echoed with that peculiar mixture of amusement and latent menace, as he arched an eyebrow in your direction. His gaze remained fixed on you, expectant, insistent... and fucking annoyed.

You tried to deflect the conversation, as if ignoring his scrutiny was enough to dispel the discomfort settling in your chest. But patience wasn't exactly one of your virtues.

You took in a good amount of air, feeling the weight of his expectation build in your chest. You knew you couldn't evade the question much longer, but you didn't want to give him too many details either. After all, how would you explain everything that had happened without revealing parts of yourself that you preferred to keep hidden?

—Well... you see...—You paused fleetingly, choosing your words cautiously.— One of those guys you gutted tonight practically expected me to fuck with him. I refused and ran away, that's all.

The way you said it was deliberately brief, as if by reducing it to a couple of sentences you could downplay its importance. But you couldn't fool yourself. Least of all him.

Of course, you left out some details.

Like the fact that you had been playing with that demon for weeks, taking advantage of his inflated ego and his utter stupidity to extract as much money as possible from him. Fake smiles, sugar-coated words, veiled promises... everything in order to cajole him. In the end, the idiot thought he owned you, that he could take you whenever he wanted.

How pathetic.

Running away was the only option... well, running away after emptying his pocket one last time.

But fuck with him... that was never going to happen. Not with that disgusting piece of amorphous flesh, with his rotting breath and his raspy voice drooling orders as if you were his.

No, that privilege was exclusive to someone else.

Shit.

You shuddered at the mere thought.

Alastor, this fucking demon did manage to provoke something completely different in you. And that was dangerous.

You realized you sounded evasive, and by the way Alastor tilted his head slightly, you knew he'd noticed it too. His smile, that smile that always seemed on the verge of mockery, widened just barely, as if he was enjoying your discomfort.

— That's it, huh? — he repeated, his voice soft but with a tone that made you feel as if he was unraveling your every word. — Curious. Because, my dear, you don't sound very convinced of your own story.

— I don't know what you're talking about — you lied, averting your gaze to the window. The night was quiet, but your mind was not. — It was exactly as I told you. That's all there is to say.

— Do not worry, my little darling... —Alastor's voice slid like a shiver across your skin, vibrant, permeated with that static that seemed to seep into every corner of the air.—I will know exactly what keys to play for that answer... I will know....

Your body was still trembling, from their recent encounter. The intensity in your eyes, that bright red glint that devoured the gloom, the way your smile stretched with an almost playful malevolence....

The room spun slightly, or perhaps it was you who let yourself be swept away, caught in the hypnotic sway of her presence.

One more time.

Another round.

Your skin burned where his hands had already traced their path, and his mere nearness electrified every nerve. His laughter seeped into your ear, vibrating, accompanied by an insistent hum that entangled your thoughts in a sea of static and desire.

Of course, you weren't going to sleep through the night.

Not when he had every intention of making sure of it.

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