#Depth first search using List

[vividseoultales]

Next Applicant ( Winter x Male Reader )

tags : fluff smut

"Next applicant, please come in" you said, glancing up from your desk as the door to the office swung open. You were surprised to see her, the girl from your past, standing there with a tentative smile.

Her name was Winter, and she looked nothing like the shy, bookish girl you had once known. Gone were the oversized sweaters and messy buns; in their place was a sharp, tailored blazer and hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders.

The moment your eyes met, time seemed to slow down. Memories of stolen glances in crowded hallways and awkward conversations at the school library rushed through your mind, leaving you momentarily speechless. "Hi," she said, her voice unchanged by the years, "I'm here for the interview."

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. "Winter," you managed to say, your voice sounding foreign in your ears. "It's been a long time." She nodded, her smile widening slightly. "Too long," she replied. You felt a strange mix of excitement and dread, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected encounter.

As she took a seat across from you, you couldn't help but notice the confidence that radiated from her. Her posture was straight, her eyes clear and focused. The girl who used to blend into the background was now someone who commanded attention without saying a word.

"I-I-I'm sorry," you stuttered, trying to recover from the shock. "Let's start again, shall we?" You cleared your throat and shuffled through the papers on your desk, searching for her application. "Winter, let's get started."

Winter sat with poise, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You quickly scanned her resume, noticing her impressive list of qualifications and work experiences. "So, tell me about yourself," you began, attempting to sound professional.

She spoke with an eloquence that surprised you, detailing her academic achievements and work history with ease. As she talked, you found yourself drawn in by her words, the sound of her voice, and the way she carried herself. It was clear that she had grown into a woman of substance, someone who knew what she wanted and how to get it.

With each question you asked, she responded thoughtfully and articulately, showcasing a depth of knowledge and experience that impressed you. You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by her poise, so unlike the girl who had once shared your awkwardness. Yet, beneath her professional veneer, you caught glimpses of the person you had long ago crushed on.

As the interview was about to end, you blurted out, "You're hired," before you could even think to ask the standard final questions. You felt your face heat up as you realized what you'd just said. Clearly still flustered, you stumbled over your words, trying to recover. "I-I mean, I'll have to discuss it with the team, but I can't imagine they'd have any reservations."

Winter's smile grew slightly, and she nodded in understanding. "I appreciate that, thank you," she said graciously, rising from her seat. "It's been nice seeing you again." With a brief wave, she left the room, leaving you to wonder if you had just made the most significant hiring mistake of your career.

The door clicked shut behind her, and you slumped back in your chair, feeling both elated and overwhelmed. The first love of your life had shown up again, in the most unexpected way, and she was now going to be working alongside you. Memories of the times you would steal glances at her too shy and nervous to ever approach resurface.

You quickly gathered yourself, knowing that you needed to inform your team about the decision you'd made on a whim. As you walked into the conference room, the team looked at you expectantly, waiting for an update on the interviews. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism, and announced that you had found the perfect candidate for the position.

"It's Winter," you said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. "Her background in marketing and management is excellent, and she's a great fit for our team dynamics." Your colleagues nodded, scribbling notes and discussing the decision among themselves.

The team had questions about her qualifications, which you fumbled through, but they were mostly satisfied. As the meeting concluded, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had just signed up for a tumultuous work life.

The first few days with Winter in the office were a blur of professionalism and awkwardness. You found yourself stealing glances at her, just as you had done in high school. She was a whirlwind of efficiency and creativity, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. The way she moved through the office, with a grace that seemed almost effortless, was captivating.

During team meetings, you sat across the table from her, feeling both thrilled and intimidated by her sharp intellect and poised demeanor. You noticed how she interacted with everyone with ease, her laughter ringing out occasionally, and how the team quickly grew to respect her. It was clear that she was going to be an asset to the company, and your attraction to her grew stronger with every passing moment.

Yet, deep down, you knew it was wrong to harbor these feelings for your employee. You were her supervisor, and there were boundaries to maintain. Plus, you had no idea if she even remembered you from those high school days, let alone felt anything for you now. You told yourself that you had to keep it professional, to not let your personal feelings interfere with her career trajectory or the dynamics of the workplace.

But on that particular night, when the office was emptier than usual and the fluorescent lights buzzed with a quiet intensity, you found yourself unable to resist. You had been working late together on a critical marketing project, both of you hunched over laptops and stacks of reports, trying to devise the perfect strategy. The clock had ticked past dinner time, and your stomach had started to protest.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed away from your desk and approached her cubicle. "Winter," you called out, trying to keep your voice steady. "Do you want to order dinner together? My treat." You hoped the offer didn't sound too forward, that she wouldn't read into it beyond two colleagues grabbing a bite to eat.

She looked up from her computer screen, the glow illuminating her face. "That sounds great," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I was just about to order something anyway." You felt a small victory, a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she didn't see you as just her boss.

When the food arrived, you both made your way to the break area, the smell of Chinese takeout filling the small space. The office was almost deserted, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioning. You set the containers down on the table and sat opposite her, awkwardly avoiding eye contact as the both of you began to unpack the food.

Winter broke the silence. "Thank you for this," she said, her voice warm. "It's nice to have some company." She glanced up and caught you staring. Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, trying to think of something to say. "So, how's the transition been?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation to safer waters.

"It's been good," she replied, her eyes lighting up as she talked about her career path. "I've learned so much and met amazing people along the way." She paused, looking at you intently. "What about you? Did you always know you'd end up in this line of work?"

You took a bite of your lo mein, buying time to think. "Honestly, no," you admitted. "But I've grown to love it. It's challenging, but there's something about seeing a project come together that makes it all worth it."

Winter nodded, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "I know what you mean," she said. "I never thought I'd end up here either, but sometimes life has a way of leading you to the right place." She paused, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before returning to her food.

As the evening progressed, the conversation flowed more naturally, and you found yourself sharing stories from your college days and early career mishaps. There was something about the way she listened, really listened, that made you feel like you could tell her anything. Her laugh was infectious, and the way she leaned in slightly when you talked made your heart race.

But you had to remind yourself that this was still your employee, and you had to maintain a professional distance. So, you steered the conversation back to work, discussing the project and the upcoming deadlines. Winter's insights and suggestions were invaluable, and you were reminded once again why you had been so impressed by her during the interview.

As the night grew later, you both found yourselves finishing up the last of the paperwork. You glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that it was already nearing midnight. "Wow," you said, rubbing your eyes. "We've been at it for hours."

Winter looked up from her laptop and laughed, a little wearily. "Time flies when you're busy," she said, closing her computer with a satisfied click. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back slightly. You felt your heart flutter at the sight.

"So, are you catching a cab home?" you asked, trying to sound casual. "It's pretty late."

Winter nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, I was planning on it."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. "Well, I'm heading out too," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "If it's okay with you, I can give you a ride home."

Winter's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you wondered if you had crossed a line. But then she smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to light up the room. "That would be great, thank you," she said, gathering her things. "I'd appreciate that."

The drive to her apartment was filled with the awkward pauses and forced small talk. You tried to keep the conversation focused on the present, asking her about her life in the city, but you couldn't help but steer it back to high school every few minutes. "Remember Mr. Thompson's English class?" you asked, hoping to spark a shared memory.

Winter's smile grew a little softer at the mention of the past. "I do," she said. "You were always sleep and he would hit you on the head for it."

You chuckled nervously, the tension in the car thickening. "I was never really smart like you, though," you admitted. "I used to sit there, watching you, thinking how amazing it was that you could understand all that literature stuff."

The words hung in the air, and you realized with a jolt that you had practically confessed to having feelings for her all those years ago. Panic set in, your heart racing. You waited for her reaction, expecting her to laugh it off or change the subject, but instead, she grew quiet, looking out the window.

The silence stretched out, taut as a wire, until she finally spoke. "I knew," she said softly. "I knew you had a crush on me, but I never knew what to do about it." Her voice was so low you had to strain to hear it over the sound of the engine.

You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks. "How?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. "How did you know?"

Winter turned to you, her gaze thoughtful. "It was the way you'd always look at me," she said. "Those quick glances when you thought I wasn't watching. And the way you'd stumble over your words whenever you talked to me. It was sweet, really." She paused, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But it wasn't until Rachel, remember her? She told me that she heard you talking to Mike about me in the hallway one day. That's when I realized it might be more than just me being paranoid."

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. Rachel had been the school gossip, and now the secret you had held so tightly was out in the open. "I didn't know she knew," you murmured, feeling the weight of the past settle heavily on your shoulders. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable back then."

Winter turned to face you fully, her eyes searching yours. "Don't be," she said, her voice gentle. "It was a long time ago. Besides, I had my own crushes too." She paused for a moment, and you could see the wheels turning in her head. "But tell me, why didn't you ever say anything?"

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep your hands from shaking. "I was too scared," you confessed. "You were so out of my league, and I didn't know how to approach you. Plus, I figured you had better things to do than hang out with someone like me."

Winter's smile grew sad. "Everyone felt that way in high school," she said. "But that's all in the past." Her words hung in the air, filled with a sense of finality that made your stomach drop.

You pulled up to her apartment building, the car idling at the curb. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to you. "Thank you for the ride, and for the dinner," she said, her voice sincere. "It's nice to catch up."

"Yeah," you agreed, your voice a little too high-pitched. "It's been a long time." You watched as she reached for the door handle, and your heart started to race. You didn't want the night to end, not with this unresolved tension between you. "Winter," you began, "I know this is weird, but would you maybe want to grab a drink sometime?"

Her eyes searched yours for a moment before she nodded. "Sure," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "It doesn't have to be anything formal. Just two friends catching up, right?"

You felt a rush of relief. "Exactly," you said, trying to keep your voice even. "Just friends."

Winter stepped out of the car, and you walked her to the entrance of her apartment building. The cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the office, and you wished you could linger outside with her a little longer. But you knew you had to tread carefully. "How about this Friday?" you suggested. "After work?"

Her smile grew a little warmer. "That sounds perfect," she said, and with a wave, she disappeared into the building, leaving you feeling both hopeful and anxious.

Friday arrived with a mix of anticipation and dread. You had spent the week trying to keep things professional, but every interaction with Winter had felt charged with an underlying current of something more. You had chosen a casual bar a few blocks from the office, hoping the relaxed atmosphere would make the conversation flow easier.

When she walked into the dimly lit space, you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat. She was dressed in a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her hair was swept back in a way that emphasized the sharpness of her cheekbones. She saw you and made her way over, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

You stood up to greet her, your palms sweaty despite the cool air conditioning. "You look amazing," you said, your voice betraying the nerves you felt.

Winter blushed slightly, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Thanks," she said, taking a seat across from you. "So, what's good here?"

You rattled off a few drink recommendations, trying to sound more suave than you felt. As the waiter took her order and left to fetch the drinks, you took a moment to study her. She had changed so much, yet there was something undeniably familiar about her. It was like looking at a photograph of your past that had come to life.

The conversation flowed more easily now that you were out of the office, the alcohol helping to loosen your inhibitions. You talked about movies, music, and the people you had lost touch with since high school. With every laugh and shared memory, the tension between you eased, and you found yourself falling for her all over again.

As the night grew darker outside the bar's windows, you both leaned in closer, your knees brushing against each other under the table. You felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling you hadn't experienced since those long-ago days of secret crushes and unrequited love.

Winter spoke animatedly about her travels post-college, her eyes lighting up as she recounted tales of exotic places and the people she had met. You listened intently, feeling the years melt away, as if you had been friends all along. Her stories were filled with humor and insight, and you found yourself hanging onto every word.

The drinks had loosened your tongue and eased the knots in your stomach, allowing you to finally relax in her presence. But as the hours passed, the alcohol began to take its toll. You realized with a start that you had had one too many and that driving home was out of the question. The weight of your decision to leave your car behind was a sudden sobering thought.

"Winter," you slurred slightly, "I don't think I should drive tonight."

She looked at you with a knowing smile, the same smile she had given you countless times in high school when you had stumbled over your words. "It's okay," she said, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Why don't we both just grab an Uber?"

You nodded gratefully, relieved that she wasn't judging you for your mistake. You pulled out your phone and requested the ride, trying not to let your hand shake too much. While you waited, you talked about the weather, the office, and anything else that came to mind to fill the space between you.

When the Uber finally arrived, you opened the door for her, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap of reality. Before she could get in, you paused. "Winter," you said, the question you had been building up to all night finally escaping your lips. "Do you… do you want to come back to my apartment?" You held your breath, the words hanging in the air like a dare.

Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought she might say no. But then she nodded, a hint of excitement flashing across her face. "Okay," she said, closing the door to her uber.

You quickly told the driver that you'd pay for the ride, even if she didn't get in. As the Uber pulled away, the two of you were left standing on the sidewalk, the sound of its tires fading into the night. The realization of what you had just done washed over you, and you felt a mix of exhilaration and fear.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

You nodded, trying to hide your excitement. "Of course not," you replied, your voice a little too eager. "It's the least I can do."

Your Uber pulls up, and you both climbed in, the leather seats cool against your skin. You gave the driver your address, and the car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring into streaks outside the windows. You couldn't believe it was happening. You and Winter, alone together after all these years.

The ride to your apartment was quick, the silence between you filled with the hum of the car's engine and the occasional laugh at the driver's terrible attempts at small talk. When you arrived at your building, the gleaming glass and steel façade seemed to shimmer under the street lamps. Winter looked around with a raised eyebrow.

"Wow, fancy digs," she said, her voice teasing. "You trying to impress me or something?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at her playful jab. "Maybe just a little," you admitted as you led her to the elevator. The ride up to your apartment was filled with more awkward silence, the kind that was thick with unspoken words and hopeful glances. The elevator dinged, and you stepped out into the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps.

As you unlocked the door and ushered her inside, you felt a mix of pride and anxiety. Your place wasn't a penthouse, but it was a nice, clean space that you had worked hard to make your own. You hoped she'd like it. She stepped in, looking around with an approving nod. "Nice," she said, her eyes scanning the bookshelves and the modern art on the walls.

You offered her a seat on the couch, trying to play it cool while you grabbed another round of drinks from the kitchen. The silence in the room was palpable, and you found yourself fumbling with the bottles and glasses. When you returned, she had kicked off her shoes and was curled up on the cushions, her legs tucked underneath her. You handed her a glass of wine, your hand shaking slightly.

Winter took a sip, her eyes never leaving yours. "Thanks," she murmured, setting the glass down on the coffee table. The air between you crackled with tension, and you knew you couldn't ignore the feelings that had been building for much longer.

You sat down next to her, the couch dipping slightly under your weight. The scent of her perfume filled your senses, and you found yourself leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. "Winter," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "Can I tell you something?"

Her eyes searched yours, and she nodded, setting her glass aside. "What is it?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the warmth of her presence mingling in your chest. "I never stopped liking you," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Even after high school, even when we went our separate ways, I always had a thing for you."

Winter's expression was a mix of surprise and amusement. "Really?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "It seemed like it."

You felt your cheeks redden. "What do you mean?" you stumbled out.

Winter's smile grew a little knowing. "The way you'd watch me during meetings," she said, her voice low and intimate. "It was just like the way you used to stare at me in class, like you were trying to burn a hole through the back of my head."

You felt your cheeks flush with heat, but instead of pulling away, you leaned in closer, your heart racing. "I just couldn't help it," you murmured. "You're so… captivating."

Winter's eyes searched yours, and she leaned in just as close. "And what do you want to do about it?" she whispered, her breath warm against your face.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. "I want…" You trailed off, unable to articulate the tumult of emotions you felt. You had dreamt of this moment for so long, but now that it was here, you were at a loss for what to say.

Winter's gaze never wavered. "I know this is weird," she said, her voice softer now. "And I know we shouldn't. But…" She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort.

And before you could say anything, she leaned in, closing the gap between you. Her lips met yours, and the world around you seemed to dissolve into a haze of heat and desire. The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if she was afraid you would pull away. But when you didn't, she deepened it, her arms sliding around your neck.

You felt her body shift, and before you knew it, she was straddling you on the couch, her legs on either side of your hips. Your hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew more urgent. The fabric of her dress was smooth under your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder what she felt like underneath.

Her hands roamed over your shoulders and chest, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the heat of her through the fabric, and the way she moved against you was driving you wild. You slid your hands up her back, feeling the softness of her skin, and she moaned into your mouth, her body responding to your touch.

Breaking the kiss, she leaned back, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But all she saw was want, raw and unfiltered. "Winter," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I've wanted this for so long."

Her smile was soft, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Then show me," she said, her voice a challenge. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against yours before she stood up, taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting shadows across the bed and the floor. You felt a mix of excitement and nerves as you followed her, the reality of what was happening sinking in. She turned to face you, her eyes searching yours for any last-minute doubts. You didn't find any in yourself, only the burning need to be closer to her.

As you reached the bed, she turned to face you fully, her hands reaching up to gently cup your face. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to resonate in the quiet room.

You couldn't help the words that spilled out, fueled by the wine and the years of longing. "If you'd have me," you said, trying to sound more casual than you felt, "I'd marry you right now."

Winter's eyes widened, a spark of surprise flitting across her features before she burst into laughter. "Oh, really?" she teased, her voice light and airy. "And what would we do for a wedding, hmm?"

You couldn't help but grin, feeling the weight of the moment lighten. "We can plan it later," you said, stepping closer. "But right now, all I want is you."

Winter's laughter died down, and she looked into your eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity. But all she found was a fierce, unbridled attraction that mirrored her own. Without another word, she leaned in, and your lips met again, the kiss deepening as you both felt the gravity of the situation. You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against yours.

Gently, you guided her backward, and she allowed herself to be pushed down onto the bed, her legs still wrapped around your waist. The mattress gave way beneath you, enveloping you in a cloud of comfort and desire. Your hands roamed her body, feeling the curves and contours that you had only ever dreamed of touching. She moaned into your mouth as you kissed her neck, your teeth grazing her skin.

With trembling hands, you began to undo the buttons of her dress, one by one. Each reveal was like a gift, each inch of exposed skin a treasure that you hadn't dared to hope for. Her breath hitched as you slid the dress off her shoulders, revealing a black lace bra that matched the panties you had caught a glimpse of earlier. You felt your heart thump in your chest as you took in the sight of her, beautiful and vulnerable before you.

Winter's own hands were busy, working on your shirt. She tugged it over your head, her fingernails scraping lightly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your chest was bare now, and she leaned in, her soft breath ghosting over your skin as she placed a series of delicate kisses along your collarbone.

You couldn't take it anymore. You had to have her. You leaned down and kissed her again, your hands moving to her back to unclasp her bra. She gasped into your mouth as it fell away, her breasts spilling into your waiting hands. You cupped them gently, feeling their softness, and she arched into your touch, her hands gripping your biceps tightly.

Winter's skin was hot to the touch, and you could feel the tension in her body as you traced your thumbs over her nipples. They hardened instantly, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed. You felt a jolt of desire shoot through you, making you even harder than you already were. You kissed down her neck, across her collarbone, and finally took one of her nipples into your mouth.

The sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced. The way she tasted, the way she felt—it was all so much better than you had ever imagined. Her hips began to move in a slow, rhythmic dance against yours, and you knew she was just as lost in the moment as you were. You felt her hands move to the waistband of your pants, her fingers fumbling with the button and zipper.

You shifted your weight, allowing her to pull your pants down, revealing the boxers that struggled to contain your growing arousal. She looked down, her eyes widening slightly before she looked back up at you with a wicked smile. "Someone's happy to see me," she murmured, her voice thick with desire.

You couldn't help but chuckle, feeling your cheeks heat up. "It's been a long time," you admitted, your voice a gruff whisper.

Winter's eyes danced with amusement as she reached down to trace the outline of your erection. "Mm, I can tell," she said, her voice a low purr. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, her hand continuing to tease you through the fabric.

You groaned, the pressure building in your lower body as she touched you. You reached down to cup her cheek, guiding her face back to yours for another deep, hungry kiss. Her tongue danced with yours, the taste of wine and mint mingling as your bodies moved in a silent dance of need.

Breaking away, you managed to shed the last of your clothes, leaving you both bare before each other. You took in the sight of her, her pale skin glowing in the soft lamplight, and felt your heart stutter in your chest. She was so much more than you had ever allowed yourself to imagine.

Winter reached out, her hand brushing over your chest before trailing down to wrap around your length. You hissed through gritted teeth as she began to stroke you, her touch feather-light but firm. You could feel yourself growing even harder, the ache in your groin becoming almost unbearable.

You leaned down, your mouth finding her breast again. She gasped, her hand tightening around you as you sucked and teased the sensitive peak. Her hips rocked against you, and you knew she was as eager as you were to take this further. With a growl of pure need, you pushed her back onto the bed, your body covering hers.

The feeling of her skin against yours was electric, and you couldn't help but groan as you felt her warmth envelop you. Your hand slid between her legs, finding her wet and ready. You stroked her gently, feeling her quiver beneath your touch. Her legs parted wider, giving you better access, and she whispered your name like a prayer.

As you were about to enter her, she lightly stopped you, her hand pressing against your chest. "Wait," she said, her voice breathy. "Do you have…?"

You knew what she was asking. "A condom?" You searched her eyes, the realization of your oversight washing over you. "I'm sorry, Winter, I don't have one. I didn't expect…" You trailed off, feeling the weight of your words.

Winter's breath hitched, and she bit her lower lip, contemplating. Her eyes searched yours, the desire in them unmistakable. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Just… just promise me you'll pull out, okay?"

You nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "I promise," you assured her, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. She leaned back into the pillows, her legs now wrapped around you, and you felt her hand guide you to her entrance. You paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of her heat against your skin. Then, with a deep breath, you pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, the years of built-up tension and desire culminating in this single moment. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she adjusted to your size. You watched her face, reading every line and curve as she felt you fill her completely.

Winter's breath caught in her throat. "It's…" she began, her voice trailing off. "It's a lot different when you're not wearing one."

You grinned, feeling a thrill at the idea that this could be a new experience for her. "Is it your first time without?" you teased gently, the tip of your nose brushing against hers.

Winter's smile grew wider, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't let it go to your head," she warned playfully, but the way her nails dug into your back as you began to move told a different story. You took her words to heart, though, focusing on her reactions, her breaths, and the way she moved with you. Each moan, each sigh, was a map to her pleasure, and you navigated it with a fierce determination to make this moment unforgettable.

Her legs tightened around you as you picked up the pace, and you could feel her body start to quiver. The tension grew with each stroke, and you knew she was close. You leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss as you felt her climax approaching. Her nails raked down your back, and she bucked her hips up to meet you, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

With a muffled cry, Winter shuddered beneath you, her body spasming as she reached her peak. The feeling of her inner walls clenching around you was almost too much to handle, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from coming. You pulled back slightly, watching her face contort in pleasure, feeling a sense of triumph and awe at the power you had over her.

As she came down from her high, her eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of pure satisfaction. "Wow," she breathed, her voice still shaky. "That was…"

But before she could finish her sentence, you were already moving again, your hips thrusting into her with a gentle yet firm rhythm. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped, her body still overly sensitive from the intense orgasm. "Wait," she started to protest, but the words died on her lips as she felt your length sliding in and out of her, teasing every nerve ending that was already on fire.

Her hands gripped the bed sheets tighter, her knuckles turning white as she tried to get a handle on the sensations. You leaned down, capturing her gaze as you whispered, "Let's see if I can make you say more than just 'wow.'"

With that, you began to thrust harder, her eyes rolling back into her head as she took in the intensity of the moment. Winter's legs wrapped around your waist, her ankles locking together to keep you as close as possible. Despite her initial protest, she was clearly enjoying herself, her breath coming in shallow pants that matched the rhythm of your movements.

Her grip on the bedsheets tightened, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on. You could feel her body responding to every thrust, her inner walls contracting around you as she grew closer to another climax. You reached down, your thumb finding her clit, and began to circle it gently, feeling her hips jerk in response.

Winter's eyes rolled back again, and a soft moan escaped her lips. You watched as she reached the precipice, her body taut with anticipation. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she shattered, her body convulsing in pleasure. You didn't miss a beat, your movements unrelenting as you pushed her through the wave of ecstasy.

Her legs tightened around your waist, urging you closer, her hips grinding against yours. The sensation was overwhelming, and you knew you were close too. The thought of being inside her without a barrier, of feeling her warmth and wetness completely, was more than you could handle. "Winter," you managed to gasp, "Sorry"

And with that, you thrust deep, feeling yourself release with a groan that echoed through the room. She stared up at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pleasure as you filled her completely. Her walls tightened around you, and you watched in amazement as she rode out the waves of your climax, her own orgasm mixing with yours.

You collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of your promise to pull out and the reality of what you had just done. "Winter," you murmured against her neck, your voice filled with regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Winter's smile was soft, a gentle curve of her lips that didn't quite meet her eyes. "You haven't even asked me out," she said, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "And here you are, stealing my first raw experience and my first creampie."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension in your chest ease at her light-hearted response. "Well," you said, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and looking down at her, "We were gonna plan our wedding after this."

Winter rolled her eyes playfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, right," she said, her voice still thick with passion. "But for real, you better get me the plan b pill tomorrow."

You couldn't help but chuckle, the gravity of the situation not lost on you. "No gambling tonight, then?" You teased, raising an eyebrow.

Winter's laughter was light and airy, a sound that filled the room and your heart. "Definitely not," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned in and kissed you softly, the taste of wine and mint still lingering on her lips.

You felt your body respond to her, despite the exhaustion that threatened to pull you under. You were still deep inside her, and the feeling of her walls contracting around you was like nothing you had ever felt before. As she kissed you, you could feel yourself growing hard again, the desire for her not yet sated.

Winter's eyes searched yours, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she felt you swell within her. She pulled away slightly, her eyes locked on yours as she whispered, "Looks like you're not quite done with me yet."

You couldn't help but grin at her audacity, your hips already starting to move again. "I told you," you murmured, "I've wanted you for so long." You began to thrust into her once more, the feeling of her tight warmth around you driving away any lingering doubts or fears.

Winter's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and arousal flitting across her features. "You're insatiable," she murmured, her voice a mix of amusement and awe.

You grinned, feeling the power of your desire for her. "Since I'm buying you the plan b pill tomorrow," you began, your voice a low growl, "I'm going to make sure that your pussy knows exactly whose cock it belongs to."

Winter's eyes widened slightly, the color in her cheeks deepening as your words sank in. She didn't protest, instead her hips rose to meet your next thrust, inviting you deeper. You took that as a challenge, your movements growing more forceful, more possessive. Each stroke was a declaration, a claim on her body that she seemed to welcome.

[ro-is-struggling]

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)

[lazywitchling]

Hi! Can you recommend solo journaling rpgs?

Ooh, yeah! I don't play them often, but I've played a few that I've enjoyed and gone back to a couple of times. If you want more in depth and someone who REALLY knows what they're talking about, @theresattrpgforthat has anything you could ever want.

Some that I have played and enjoyed:

For medium-to-heavy on the journaling:

Over The Mountain by Marchcrow (@hillbillyoracle here on tumblr). [FREE] You live in the mountains! You have neighbors! Some are human and some are spirits! It's just one double-sided page of tables that you roll on for locations, neighbors, items, events, etc. There's stuff like dungeons, seasons, a friendship mechanic, all with enough structure to give some writing prompts, but freeform enough for you to make it what you want. Being a single page, it's really easy to fold in half and tuck into your journal. Have a pen with you and a way to roll dice, and you've got your whole game right there.

(Actually while I'm here, anything by Marchcrow. Check out their itch.io page! Over the Mountain is not the only thing they have done, and you'll probably find something that fits your vibe. There's one where you use a tarot deck to grow a garden. There's a rage room. See what you find!)

The Lighthouse at the Edge of the Universe by lostwaysclub. [$10.00, but pay-it-forward Community Copies are frequently available for those who can't afford it). What it says on the tin, pretty much: You're a lighthouse keeper at the lighthouse at the edge of the universe. You keep the light on, observe the ships that pass by through the stars, maintain the lighthouse, collect things that wash up on the island. It's a little melancholy and peaceful. This one is played with a deck of cards and... I forget whether it's a die or a coin? But it's very simple gameplay, easy to pick up and play quickly, or for longer entries if you wish. I have found myself playing this one at night when I can't sleep, or if I'm feeling just a little bleh. It's nice to go retreat to the lighthouse for a bit.

A Little Less Journaling, A Little More Action:

It's In the Vents! by biggayuniverse. [Pay What You Want] It's Alien. You're on a spaceship, there's an alien, you gotta get off, but there's a cat that you have to go retrieve first. This one is played with a deck of playing cards laid out in a grid, and a token representing you. You move through the grid, flipping over cards and reacting to the prompts while you search for the cat, then (hopefully) get back to the escape pod. You can journal this one if you want to, or just play it like you'd play a quick game of solitaire.

(If you enjoy It's In The Vents! then look up other games using the Carta system. That's the playing-card-grid system, and there are plenty of other games on itch.io that use it)

Dungeon Hero by Lone Spelunker. [Pay What You Want] Sometimes you just want to roll some dice. Dungeon Hero has three different adventures that you can play through, all with the same basic idea of gameplay. There's a long list of rooms. You start at the beginning, roll to see how many steps you advance, and then deal with what's in that room. It might be a battle! Could be some treasure! Maybe a puzzle that you'll need to use your skills about! Roll some more dice to hopefully beat that encounter or see how much treasure you acquire, then roll again to advance. It's really good for when you want to play something by yourself, but you don't necessarily want to put too much effort into making up a story about it (though you certainly could). I also love this one because you print it on a single page and then fold it into a little pocket-sized zine, so I frequently have one of the adventures tucked into my dice bag.

[theethighpriestess]

Chapter 1 - The First Bite

A/N: First off, I wanna thank @nahimjustfeelingit-writes for coming up with this dope ass idea & @anaiyaflys143 for suggesting I write it. I hope I do you both justice. I think I want this to have multiple parts, but I need life to cooperate. Hope y'all enjoy!

*All character images created by me ☺️*

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Eden Taylor (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, Adult Language, Supernatural Elements, Typical Vampire Shit, Vampire Kink, Explicit Sex (Not yet, but it's coming)

Summary: Eden’s broke. Her rent’s late, her car sounds like it’s choking, and her dreams of making it as a singer in New Orleans are getting harder to hold onto. So when she sees a sketchy little ad offering big cash to be a “discreet donor,” she answers it. She tells herself it’s just money. Just blood. Just once. But the contract’s signed, the room is breathing, and Eden? She might’ve just stepped into something deeper than debt.

Word Count: 5.5K

New Orleans, 2005

Eden stared blankly at the digits on the weathered ATM.

$14.26.

All the money she had left from her work-study check that wouldn’t replenish for another week. Between rent, paying for studio time, and outfits for her upcoming shows, Eden had left herself broke and destitute yet again.

“Who told you to take the term ‘starving artist’ so literally?” she muttered to herself, tucking the receipt into the pocket of her tattered jean jacket.

She hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. Just a gas station honey bun, half a bottle of warm Sprite, and whatever sleep could trick her body into thinking it was full. Her rust-colored Honda ran on a quarter tank and prayer, the engine coughing every time she turned the key. The inside smelled like jasmine body spray, fried hair, and quiet panic.

Fishing her Motorola Razr from the depths of her tote, she scrolled to the contact labeled “Pops.” She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering, before finally pressing CALL.

Three rings. A click.

“Yo,” came the gravelly voice on the other end. Always detached. Always mid-something more important.

“Hey,” Eden said, trying not to sound too pitiful. “You got like…twenty dollars I could borrow?”

A long pause. She could practically hear him blinking.

“Sorry, kiddo, I’m all tapped out.”

She knew it was a lie. He always said that. She could hear a game show buzzing faintly in the background, followed by the sound of beer cracking open. But she didn’t press it.

“It’s cool, Pops.” She cleared her throat, pushing down the lump forming there. “I’ll make something shake. I saw an ad for a babysitting gig in the Garden District, so I’ll try that.”

“Good,” he said, voice already drifting. “See? You ain’t gotta always be runnin’ after those stage lights. Just find somethin’ steady.”

She didn’t respond. Just hung up and slid the phone back into her purse like it was a loaded gun.

Back at her tiny studio apartment in Mid-City, Eden sat cross-legged on her futon, her open planner in her lap. A flyer for an open mic night at Tipitina’s was pinned above her bed with a pink glitter pushpin. She had two weeks to come up with a new track and scrape together the $80 she owed her producer for the beat she was using.

She opened her laptop, praying it would connect to the neighbor’s spotty Wi-Fi. While it loaded, she scribbled in the margins of her notebook:

“I ain’t tryna sing for scraps, I want velvet on my mic stand Moët in my vocal booth, not noodles from the nightstand…”

Cute. Maybe.

She clicked over to Craigslist. Typing “cash gigs” in the search bar had become second nature.

Dog walking. House cleaning. Foot modeling?

But then, something new. Something far from anything she’d seen listed before.

“DONOR OPPORTUNITY – NIGHT WORK. DISCREET. HIGH COMPENSATION. 21+ ONLY. Must be comfortable with blood. Text 504-9VAMPYR.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. 

“Blood?”

She clicked anyway.

The ad was vague but intriguing. It promised “stress-free, safe work” for “exclusive clientele.” It also mentioned “consent-based feeding arrangements,” which sounded... weirdly medical. Or criminal.

She almost exited the tab—but her mouse hovered over the last line:

“Neck: $300/hr. Wrist: $400/hr. Inner thigh: $550/hr. Discretion required.”

She burst out laughing, sharp and alone in her little apartment. “Yeah, okay. That’s definitely a scam. Probably run by some dude named Clarence with a fake fang kink.”

But something about it stuck. Along with her passion for music, she also had a passion for all things occult: vampires, black magic, and everything in between. She was the bayou bruja stereotype personified, save the fact that she didn’t actually know any spells.

Eden wasn’t sure what it was about this ad that had her so curious. Maybe it was the dollar signs flashing in her mind. Perhaps it was the way her stomach twisted with nerves and low-grade hunger. Or maybe it was the fact that being bitten on the thigh for rent money somehow felt less soul-crushing than waitressing at a chain diner where the manager hit on her.

She grabbed her phone and typed quickly.

Eden T. | Type O- | Available Nights

Then she added, like a joke she hoped the universe would get:

“I sing too, in case that’s relevant.”

She snickered to herself until the number responded, almost immediately.

504-9VAMPYR:

“Voice matters more than you know. You’re expected tonight. Come dressed in black. No perfume. Bring ID.”

Attached was a pin drop to an address in the Warehouse District. The kind of place that always looked abandoned from the outside but was crawling with secrets beneath the surface.

Eden stared at the screen. Then at her closet.

She had a mesh crop top, a fake leather skirt, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Close enough to black. She pulled them out with a sigh and laid them across her unmade bed. Her hands lingered on the hem of the skirt, suddenly wondering if she should shave. Then she laughed out loud, dry and humorless.

“Girl, if he’s a vampire, you think he cares about some stubble?” she mused, glancing down at her untamed bikini line.

She peeled off her hoodie and leggings and tugged on the outfit with practiced ease. The crop top rode up a little too high, showing off the silver belly ring she got impulsively after a poetry night and three Hennessy shots. She tightened the straps on her Docs and pulled her curls into a high puff, fluffing it just enough to look intentional.

Eyeliner came next. Heavy, winged, and slightly uneven, like it had been applied in a moving car or in the middle of a breakdown. She smudged a bit of charcoal shadow beneath her lower lashes for good measure, giving her eyes that soft, smoky bruised look, like she hadn’t slept in days but might still stab you if you stared too long.

A dusting of translucent powder dimmed the natural shine of her skin, but she let her freckles peek through. She dabbed a hint of burgundy gloss on her lips and pressed highlighter onto the high points of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Just enough to glow under bad lighting.

She looked like something out of a Southern ghost story. Part beauty queen, part grieving widow. Like the kind of girl you'd see barefoot on a sagging porch in the heat of July, black veil over her eyes, sipping sweet tea that might just kill you.

She stepped back from the mirror and tilted her chin to the left.

She didn’t look like someone about to audition for a vampire sugar daddy.

She looked like someone who had nothing left to lose.

But that was the thing about having nothing. It made you bold. Eden didn’t feel fear. Not yet. What she felt was unavailable. Numb, on the edge of something primal. Like her instincts were holding their breath, waiting to see if she was about to step into a miracle… or a casket.

She grabbed the rose water mist from her nightstand, hesitated, then spritzed a light veil of it over her curls instead of her neck. Just a whisper of hydration and a ghost of a scent that faded almost instantly. The text had said no perfume, and she wasn’t trying to test boundaries with creatures who drank life juice for breakfast.

She grabbed her keys, slipped her phone into her bra, and stared down at her chipped black nail polish before muttering, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Then she locked the door behind her.

The drive to the Warehouse District felt longer than it was. The rust-colored Honda coughed once at a red light and stuttered like it was nervous, too. Eden slapped the dash like she was coaxing a stubborn mule.

“Not tonight, baby, c’mon…”

She turned up the radio, some old Destiny’s Child track with a beat strong enough to drown her thoughts. She sang along half-heartedly, mouthing the lyrics more than meaning them, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she was trying to tap the fear out of her bloodstream.

Her mind didn’t cooperate.

What if it’s a cult? What if they drain you and leave you in a ditch behind a daiquiri shop? What if it’s real?

She wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

She pulled up to the address just after midnight. The building loomed like it had been waiting for her. It was tall, industrial, and built from bones and bad decisions. The kind of place that still smelled faintly of sweat, rust, and prohibition. Like someone had converted a cotton mill into a nightclub and then forgotten to put up a sign.

All the windows were blacked out. No buzz of neon. No music. No movement. Just that single red light above the steel door, blinking slow and steady like a pulse. Or a warning.

Eden sat there for a second longer than she meant to, the engine idling as her hand hovered near the key. Her stomach flipped, hard and sudden. It was that same twist she felt before going on stage, before she opened her mouth and let the world judge her voice, her dream, her want.

That anticipatory ache. That leap of faith you had to take before a mic, a man, or a monster.

Then she got out.

The air hit her like a wet rag, thick with humidity, heavy with something else. Something older than the pavement beneath her boots. The breeze curled around her ankles and crept up her spine, stirring the hem of her skirt and making the back of her neck prickle.

There was a scent in the air, faint but unmistakable. Jasmine. Smoke. No, ash. Burnt incense. Like the end of a ritual.

She stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath her boots, the only sound in the stillness. No music. No voices. Just her breath and that red light, blinking above her like a slow countdown.

When she reached the door, it opened before she could knock.

Not with a creak. Not with a dramatic hiss. Just a smooth, effortless glide, like whoever or whatever was on the other side had been expecting her the whole time.

Eden paused in the threshold, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning bell. She glanced once over her shoulder, back at her Honda parked under the flickering streetlamp, its paint dull and flaking like old blood.

She could leave. She could run.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, tucked her gloss-smudged lips into a tight line, and stepped into the dark.

A man stood just inside. Pale. No older than thirty, if you could even put an age on someone like that. His black dress shirt was perfectly pressed, tucked into tailored pants that caught the low light like water. Silver chains shimmered across his collarbone, subtle and cold. White gloves on both hands, like he was either about to serve a five-course meal or prep a body for burial.

His eyes swept over her. Not sexual, not even curious. More like he was measuring her for something. A scan. Efficient, impersonal. She might as well have been a barcode.

“You’re Eden,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I am,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

“Follow me.”

So she did.

The hallway was long and narrow, padded in deep red velvet that brushed against her shoulders every few steps. The walls breathed warmth, but the air stayed cool, scented faintly with clove, old paper, and something floral that had long since dried out. Dim amber sconces flickered along the path, casting warped shadows that stretched and curled with her movements. It didn’t feel like walking into a building. It felt like being swallowed.

Each step took her further from reality. Her dad’s voice in the car, still ringing with disappointment. The zeroes in her bank account. The half-finished demo she couldn’t afford to master. All of it fell away, like static detaching from a radio dial. She wasn’t sure if she was floating or sinking.

The man said nothing, just led her deeper.

Eventually, they reached a door. It looked ancient, carved with symbols she didn’t recognize. Something that felt older than language, older than the city itself. They pulsed faintly under the glow of the hallway lights, as if alive beneath the grain of the wood.

The man knocked once. A dull, heavy sound.

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door open. He didn’t go in. Just stepped aside and motioned for her to enter.

Eden hesitated. Only for a second. Long enough to feel her heart rise in her throat, thick and loud. Then she stepped over the threshold.

And the world changed.

The air inside was cooler, denser, but it didn’t chill her. It settled around her skin like silk. Everything glowed in shades of wine and shadow. Low lights glinting off crystal, velvet drapes billowing near tall windows sealed shut. Music played somewhere far away, too soft to follow but rich enough to taste.

It wasn’t a room. It was a scene. A set. A spell.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn toward the figure seated at the far end.

And that was when she saw him.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn to the figure at the far end of the room.

He sat like he owned more than just the building. Like he owned the hour, the tension, even the breath in her lungs. Leaning back in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely on the armrest, he looked every bit the gentleman devil.

He wore a deep burgundy suit that soaked up the light like velvet. It was tailored so sharply it could’ve drawn blood. Gold embroidery traced the lapels in delicate patterns, only catching the light when he moved. Serpents, maybe, or ivy, curling like secrets. A thick gold Cuban link chain sat heavy against his chest, and a matching pinky ring caught the lamplight when he lifted his hand to his jaw.

His skin was smooth, the kind of smooth that didn’t come from skincare, but from time. A warm brown, almost bronze, like whiskey left out in the sun. He looked like he could be in his late twenties, but Eden could feel the weight behind the stillness. The kind of quiet you feel in old houses or graveyards.

Then there were his eyes.

They held a faint glow, not glaring or artificial, but soft and strange, like candlelight burning behind thick purple glass. The color wasn’t the unsettling part; it was the depth. If she stared too long, she’d probably see everything he’d done and everything he wanted from her now.

And when he smiled—

It wasn’t wide. Just a small curl of his mouth, more on the left side, like he was letting her in on a secret she didn’t deserve to hear yet. That’s when she saw it. A gold open-faced grill on one of his fangs, subtle and gleaming. Not flashy or loud, just intentional. The kind of accessory that told you he’d been rich for longer than you’d been alive and had nothing left to prove.

Eden’s breath caught before she could stop it. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or fascination. Probably both.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t need to.

His voice rolled out, low and velvet-smooth, the kind that made people lean in without realizing.

“Eden,” he said, her name sitting on his tongue like something rare and expensive.

She nodded once. “That’s me.”

His gaze flicked downward, taking in her boots, her skirt, the smudge of eyeliner she hadn’t meant to look perfect. He wasn’t judging her. He was gathering details, building a file in his mind.

“Pretty name,” he said. “Pretty girl.”

Her jaw tightened at the compliment. She’d heard it too many times before from broke boys and drunk strangers. But from him, it didn’t feel cheap. It felt like a warning.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

Stack tilted his head just enough to shift the mood. Not much. Just enough to make her uneasy.

“I’m Elias Moore,” he said. “But folks around here call me Stack.”

“Stack,” she repeated.

He gave her that same half-smile.

“I like a girl who listens.”

Then he rose from his chair.

Not quickly. Not slow either. Just smoothly, like he didn’t have to try. He was taller than she expected, and his frame filled the room like music you couldn’t turn down. He moved with purpose, not just confidence, but certainty, like the floor had always been waiting for his footsteps.

When he stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel the stillness coming off him, she realized he didn’t wear cologne. The flyer had warned against perfume, and he clearly followed the same rule. But still, there was a scent. Faint and warm, like sandalwood, old leather, maybe even dried jasmine crushed into parchment.

He raised a gloved hand.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. “But if you take one more step, you’re choosing not to.”

She looked at his hand. Elegant. Dead. Gold ring catching the light.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She didn’t take his hand.

But she didn’t move away either.

His hand hovered in the space between them for another second before he let it fall.

Stack nodded toward a low velvet chair across from his own. “Sit if you want. Or stand. Some people feel safer that way.”

Eden moved without thinking, sliding into the seat like her knees might give out otherwise. Her palms were sweating, but she kept them in her lap. He didn’t look like the type who’d offer napkins.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of decisions. Stack poured two fingers of something amber into a crystal glass from a decanter by his elbow, then slid it across the table toward her. He didn’t pour himself one.

Eden stared at it. “Is it safe?”

Stack grinned, just a flash of gold and teeth. “Safer than most things you’ve done to chase a dream, I’d bet.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared down at the drink and finally lifted it, more out of pride than thirst. It burned, but not bad. Smooth like molasses with a bite at the end, like it knew you had secrets and didn’t mind.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s talk about the job.”

Eden sat straighter. “Alright.”

“You know the basics,” Stack said. “You let someone feed. You get paid. How far you want to go is up to you.”

He tapped a long finger against the table, slow, like a metronome counting down something important.

“Neck’s three hundred an hour. Wrist’s fourhundred, thigh’s five-fifty. Shoulder anywhere else, we can negotiate. You can sign on as a regular, or keep it casual. We also offer exclusive arrangements. More private. More lucrative. More dangerous.”

Eden pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, pretending she wasn’t halfway to hyperventilating. Her mouth felt like cotton and her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. But her voice held steady.

“What’s the risk?”

Stack shrugged. “Some vampires don’t know when to stop. Some donors fall in love. Some folks just aren’t built for it. We vet both sides, but accidents happen. That’s why we sign oaths. Confidentiality. Consent. Boundaries.”

She stared at him for a moment. “And you? What do you do here? Besides sit in velvet and look... like that.”

He smiled again, but slower this time, like he appreciated the jab. “I run this place. I built it. I make sure the hungry don’t get sloppy, and the desperate don’t disappear. That’s my job.”

“And if I disappear anyway?”

Stack’s smile faded, not into anger, but into something quieter. He looked at her in that same scanning way from before. Like he was looking past the makeup, past the attitude, down into the parts of her she didn’t let people touch.

“You got people who’d come looking for you?”

Eden thought of her dad. His voice on the phone, always clipped when she brought up music or asked for help. She thought of her name on the caller ID and the way he probably paused before letting it go to voicemail.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

Stack didn’t look surprised. “Then you’re the kind of girl this place was made for.”

The room settled into stillness again, thick as gumbo. The only sound was the soft buzz of something electrical and the faint thump of music far beneath them. Eden’s thoughts were running in circles, dragging every old warning and new curiosity with them.

She thought about her bank account. About the way her car shuddered when she turned the key. About the silk dress she wanted to wear for her next show that still sat in the consignment window with a tag she couldn’t afford.

She thought about her voice. That gift she was chasing like it owed her something. Every sacrifice. Every studio hour. Every burnt-out candle and scribbled lyric.

And then she thought about this room. This man. This offer that felt like it came from a door she didn’t know she’d already opened.

“What happens if I say yes?” she asked.

Stack’s eyes didn’t blink. “Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re fed, rested, paid. Protected. You give me your time and a little of your blood. I give you everything else.”

“And if I want more?” she asked, softer now. “Not just money. I want freedom. A little power of my own.”

For the first time, something shifted in his face. Not surprise, but interest. Real interest.

“You’d be surprised what blood can buy,” he said. “Especially when it’s yours.”

Eden exhaled slow. She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wanted to. That scared her more than anything.

She looked down at her chipped nail polish, at the ring she kept on her pinky for good luck, then back up at him.

“I’ll try it,” she said. “Once.”

Stack nodded like he already knew. He stood again and reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment. The kind that smelled like it belonged in a museum. He laid it on the table with a small, weighted pen.

“Name, date, initials here and here. Once you sign, the room changes.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Stack’s purple eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”

She stared at the parchment. Her heart thumped a little faster now, but she didn’t hesitate.

She signed.

And the room breathed.

Not literally, but that’s how it felt. The wallpaper shifted, shadows deepened. Something behind her spine tingled, as if the walls were watching now.

Stack watched her, too. “You hungry?”

Eden blinked. “A little.”

He extended a hand. This time, she took it.

His hand was cool. Not cold like death, just cooler than it should’ve been. Like he hadn’t been touched by sun or sweat in years. Eden followed him through a second doorway that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She could’ve sworn that wall was solid when she walked in. Now it opened like a secret.

The new room was quieter. Darker, too, but not in a threatening way. It felt... sacred. The lighting came from candles tucked into glass sconces, their flames barely flickering. The walls were painted a deep garnet that made the space feel like it had been dipped in wine. Heavy curtains hung in the corners like they were hiding more than windows.

At the center of the room sat a low velvet couch and a wide leather chair shaped like a throne, but not gaudy. Worn in. Like someone had loved it for a long time. The air smelled faintly of clove and something richer, something warm. It wrapped around her like a robe.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Stack said, his voice lower now, closer to a whisper.

Eden moved to the couch. Her legs didn’t feel like her own anymore. The velvet was soft under her fingers, like the kind of fabric rich people bought without checking the price tag. She leaned back and took a breath.

Stack remained standing. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd her. Just watched.

“I’m going to ask again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, slower this time. Less show. More meaning.

“Good. Then we’ll make it clean.”

He walked over to a cabinet near the back of the room and pulled out a shallow silver bowl, etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. Then he lit a bundle of dried herbs and let the smoke curl into the corners. It didn’t choke the air, just warmed it, changed it. Eden felt something loosen in her chest. The fear didn’t vanish, but it dulled.

“This is how we start,” he said. “No one touches without consent. You say stop, I stop. You say no, we’re done. Say the word mercy if anything feels wrong.”

She nodded. “Mercy.”

“Good girl.”

The words should’ve felt patronizing. But they didn’t. They felt like a key turning in a door.

He set the bowl on a low table beside the couch, then took off his gloves. His hands were ringed in gold and the veins under his skin looked faintly violet, like there was something strange running through him.

“Where?”

Eden’s throat went dry.

She remembered the ad. Neck. Thigh. Wrist. Options like a damn menu. It sounded transactional until it was real. Until you had to say it out loud to someone who would actually do it.

She tilted her head, just slightly, exposing her throat.

“Neck,” she said. “Just there.”

Stack moved slowly, no rush in him. He came to sit beside her, close but careful, like she was a page in a holy book he wasn’t sure he had permission to read. He didn’t touch her at first. Just looked.

His eyes had that same violet glow, soft and low like candlelight. There was no hunger in them, not the way she’d imagined. No animal in the shadows. Just need, steady and patient.

He brushed her curls back with a single finger. His touch was deliberate. Reverent.

“You’ll feel pressure,” he said. “Then warmth.”

She nodded, even though her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear her own breath.

He leaned in.

His mouth was cool against her skin, not open at first. Just resting there. Then she felt it. A brief, sharp ache, like a pinprick from a needle that knew where to go. Not pain exactly. More like being opened.

Then came the warmth. A slow pull that tugged at her chest and her belly and somewhere deeper. It was dizzying. She gripped the couch cushion beside her and let her eyes fall shut.

She thought it would feel like something being taken from her. But it didn’t. It felt like something shared. Something circular. Like her blood was telling a story and he was just listening, slow and careful, taking only what he needed.

When he pulled back, he let out a slow breath against her skin.

“That’s enough.”

Eden blinked her eyes open. Her limbs felt light, her mind foggy but soft, like she’d just come out of a warm bath.

He pressed a cool cloth to her neck, then leaned back to give her space.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She had to think about it. Then she smiled.

“Like I just got kissed by something dangerous.”

Stack chuckled, low and pleased. “That’s because you did.”

He stood and reached for a small black envelope on the side table. Inside was a stack of crisp bills. Cash. The real kind. Eden took it with fingers that still tingled.

“This is yours,” he said. “For tonight.”

She didn’t count it. She didn’t need to.

Stack looked down at her, head slightly tilted. “You ever want more, you know where to find me.”

Eden stood, a little shakier than she expected. She gathered her purse, her keys, her thoughts. Her neck still throbbed gently, but not in a bad way.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

“You’re welcome,” he said. ��And Eden?”

She turned.

His eyes were glowing again, soft but unreadable.

“You were made for this.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked out into the night, heart pounding, mouth dry, and mind racing. The street outside was the same as when she’d arrived. But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The rust-colored Honda didn’t shudder this time. It purred like it was just as stunned as she was.

Eden drove with the windows down, letting the thick New Orleans night wrap around her like a wet velvet shawl. The air was rich with honeysuckle, oil, and the ghost of a second line that had long since moved on. Her neck still buzzed, not with pain, but with presence. A lingering echo of fangs and breath and a moment that felt like it cracked something open inside her.

She rolled past the neon flicker of corner stores and daiquiri shops, the cracked sidewalks of uptown giving way to potholes and porch lights. Her thoughts moved as slowly as her car did. Heavy, syrupy things that stuck to the edges of her brain and refused to form full sentences.

She’d sold her blood. Just handed it over like a receipt. Signed her name on a scroll older than any contract she’d ever seen. Sat inches from a man with glowing eyes and a golden fang and said yes.

And yet… she didn’t feel wrong.

Her heartbeat was steady now, settled. Her limbs were loose and lazy, like her body knew something she didn’t. Like it had crossed a threshold and didn’t see a reason to go back.

At a red light, she glanced at the cash in her passenger seat. Real money. More than she’d made in a month of folding sweaters at the campus bookstore. Her fingers twitched with the urge to count it, to be sure, but something in her resisted. That wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was how she felt. And for once, it wasn’t desperate.

It was dangerous.

She parked outside her apartment just after two a.m., the same flickering streetlamp buzzing above her like always. Normally, she would’ve slumped inside, peeled off her shoes, microwaved something sad, and stared at her ceiling until sleep came to find her. But tonight she sat still in the car, engine off, listening to the sound of cicadas and the low rumble of the city that never really slept.

She touched her neck. There was no bandage. Just skin. Tender, yes, but smooth.

Like he’d never been there.

But he had. And her body remembered.

When she finally made it inside, Eden didn’t bother undressing. She collapsed onto her bed face-up, curls fanned across the pillow, clothes still sticking to her from the sweat of the night. She meant to scroll her phone, maybe check her email. Instead, sleep came hard and fast.

And with it, the dream.

She was back in the velvet room, but everything was softer. Louder. Redder. The walls pulsed like they had a heartbeat. Candles melted into puddles on the floor, filling the air with the smell of blood-orange and clove.

Stack stood across from her, suit jacket off now. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt rolled to the elbows. The gold on his wrist glinted in the candlelight, and his grill caught her eye when he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not cold.

This smile was hot and low and deliberate.

He crossed the room without a word, steps soundless, until his hands were on her waist. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was magnetic. Her body leaned in before her mind caught up.

“Still not scared?” he murmured.

His voice brushed her skin like silk and sin.

“No,” she said, or maybe just thought it. In dreams, it didn’t matter.

He pressed his forehead to hers, just long enough for her to feel the thrum of something ancient behind his skin. Then his lips traced the spot on her neck he’d bitten. Not kissing. Not quite.

Tasting.

She gasped.

And woke up breathless.

Her bedroom was dark and quiet. The fan whirred above her, and outside someone’s dog barked once, then stopped. Her skin was slick with sweat, but she didn’t feel hot.

She felt hollow. Wired. A little drunk on something that hadn’t happened.

She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, and reached for her phone.

The screen lit her face in blue, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were too sharp. Her lips too calm. She looked like someone with secrets. The kind of girl you warned people about.

Eden opened her messages and scrolled to the last number in her phone.

504-9VAMPYR.

She stared at it for a long minute, thumb hovering. Then she typed three words.

When’s the next?

She hit send. No emoji. No punctuation. Just intent.

The message delivered with a quiet chime.

And Eden leaned back in her bed, the dream still clinging to her skin like smoke.

She didn’t know what came next.

But she knew she wanted more.

Her phone buzzed again.

Tomorrow. Midnight. Same place. Wear red.

Tag List: @whoaitslucyylu @omgffs @healanette @secret89sblog @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @blackpantherismyish @kumkaniudaku @youreadthatright @post-woke @chaneajoyyy @kissmyafropuff @empressdede @melodyofmbaku @blktinkerbell @turbulentvoids @writerbee-ffs @jasssdee1 @cerya @hearteyes-for-killmonger @theegoldenchild @theogbadbitch @honggihwa @dashhoney25 @jackierose902109 @hotcommodityyy @browngirldominion @j0ysyndr0m3

[httpsserene]

hi!! congrats on 3k!! could i request the car wash kink rating with breeding kink for Fernando, Charles, Daniel, Lewis And Franco?

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i am stupid. and, no, i am not cosplaying as charles leclerc rn. i mixed up my requests during the 3k celly and somehow thought i had already written this prompt for charles when i, very clearly, did not! so sorry about that, love, and i have added charles’ blurb below the cut (i promise it’s actually there this time!) happy 3k🤍 thank you for requesting < 3

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x dr.3 | fa. 14 | cl. 16 | fc. 43 | lh. 44 cw under the cut.

heavy discussion of pregnancy, children, and domestic life. charles blurb added on april 7th.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

simply put, daniel is going to tell you to take it and let him knock you up. he’s watches his cum threaten to spill and tuts disapprovingly, using his fingers to push any leakage back inside of your cunt. what he really has a kink for is making a family with you. he wants to massage your sore feet and speak to your rounded belly. he wants you to yell at him for getting you pregnant while you’re laboring. he wants to handle the diaper changes, midnight cries, and teething tantrums while you sleep, heal, and relax. he wants to make you brunch-in-bed with your gaggle of mini-me’s for mother’s day. his breeding kink is the manifestation of his longing to start a family with you.

charles tends to lose himself when his hindbrain is triggered. his attention tunnels when your nails sharply pierce his shoulder, instantly halting his thrusts when your other hand weakly pushes against his abdomen, whimpering about how he’s too deep. he hums lowly, pulling his hips backward until he’s threatening to slip out of your cunt (he can feel you tightening around him, your muscles squeezing tightly to draw him back inside the heated, dripping, plush depths). charles adjusts his angle to avoid the head of his cock bullying its way into areas it shouldn’t be. one of his hands collects both of yours, his grip soft but unyielding around your wrists as he presses them into the bed above your head. charles sees the lustful glaze over his eyes reflected in your arousal-blown pupils and he resumes the harsh and deep grind of his hips. his free hand moves to cover your navel, searching for tangible proof of him reaching the deepests part of you before he spills. he’ll continue like this until it takes.

lewis does not want to get you pregnant. at all. he understands that can be hard to believe when he’s fucking into you, delirious with pleasure, as he mindlessly rambles about “needing you to be a good girl and give him a baby.” but, fear not, lewis is well known at the local pharmacy for his frantic plan-b trips. it’s not like he’s fucking you raw either; lewis is an avid fan of protected sex. if anything, the two of you could be the face of several birth-control and condom brands. when male birth control becomes approved, lewis will be the first man in line to get his prescription. then, he might entertain the idea of fucking you raw.

fernando omitted the truth when asked what his biggest fear is on grill the grid. it’s you showing him a positive pregnancy test or ultrasound pictures. he’s not going to judge if you have a kink for being bred, and he could even play into it for you. but, kids? and, one that has half of his genetics? no, fernando will pass on that, he prefers being the handsome, terrifying, yet funny uncle. he truly has kink for being childless—and the two of you don’t have to stress over raising and forming a well-rounded human being. 

franco pretends that he doesn’t have a papi kink; you know he does, and you never let him live it down. but, he could never pretend to have a breeding kink. he’s young, wild, and free—he doesn’t want to think about kids or pregnancy in way during sex. it might be the only thing that can make him soft as soon as the thought pops into his head. sex is fun, and a breeding kink would ruin the fun. your first (and only, please) pregnancy scare scared away any chance of him developing a kink. it terrified him so much, he started tracking your cycle on his phone to be aware of the days you’re fertile and when you’re ovulating. the notification brightens his phone screen and he refuses to put his cock anywhere near your lower half—even with protection—during those days, unless he’s desperate for it.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[artfromsaturn]

Collection of Free Art Tutorials

I don't usually make text post on this blog, but a nice artist I know was asking for tutorials a while back and I forgot to send some to them while in school. So here's a post on it since it's easiest to grab and go this way. :)

This list focuses on the basics. I'm focusing on the foundations of art, so medium is generally irrelevant and you can use physical or digital with these. You'll have to google more specific tutorials on things like character design and such.

One of the biggest pieces of advice I can give to you is strangely, introduce things to yourself one at a time. In art class, we took whole topics week by week. For high school, we did a few exercises then spent a week drawing/painting and doing your piece(s). For basic art 1 & 2 in college, we did 1-2 exercises and then did 1-2 drawings, followed by HW (which we turned in next week) and sketchbook practice (which she'd check at midpoints). For basic art lessons with a tutor, we did practice then our own art. You can see the pattern here - the point is don't be distressed if you don't get everything at once, or the lesson in 2 weeks, or the lesson in 3 years - we practice and do a lot over time, and you'll pick up on things you need to improve naturally and through help with others. Take time to be proud of your art in mini steps too, even if it's not the best! You tried and attempting to climb an obstacle over and over again before finally leapfrogging it is still progress to it.

Overall tutorials:

DrawABox.com is a site that's dedicated to art exercises and practicing when you can. They talk about the basics of art as well as how practice is important. It can get tough at times and it's ok to stop and do a balance of say those practices and doodles if you choose to try and do all of it's stuff - but you don't have to either. It's just a nice basic education done by some art nerds who like going hard.

Ethering Brothers - these guys are famous for their 40billion tutorials. If you need help on a specific idea, search their gallery and you'll likely find something.

Thundercluck's Art Fundamentals - She did a good huge ass tutorials on how things work, and it's the least overwhelming of the 3 I got in this section, so I suggest it as one of the first to look at for digital stuff.

Art Instructions Blog - Another good & simpler website that goes great into fundamentals. They focus more on traditional art but if you're digital, you can replicate most of the techniques - art fundamentals and subjects cover all mediums. Very important

Drawsh - Particularly notes on Construction: construction is the basics of building an illusion of a 3D image on a page. Figuring out how to build shape gives depth to your work, and learning how to see in 3D lets you be able to draw an item then move it around in your head (sometimes, when you're good enough, don't be afraid to pull out a reference or use live subjects). Construction is how to figure out the foundation of your drawing, and good planning = better picture! This link starts at the back, hit newer post to go forward.

There's a lot on anatomy and other nitty gritty details for when you want to practice those as well.

Griz and Norm's Assorted tips - Long time artist talk about various tips and tricks they use in art and how to avoid certain pitfalls. It's eclectic but great to look through.

James Gurney's Blog - He's got a lot of thoughts, a lot of tips, and a lot of adventures he catalogues. It's the least organized out of these but fortunately he has plenty of tags and most post have something neat going on. He's fantastic!🥰

BEFORE ALL OTHER BASICS….

How to Make Your Art Look Nice: Mindset

There's a lot of artist with different perspectives on how to approach art and your mindset while doing it, but the general consensus is that it's a process and sometimes you have to remind yourself to enjoy art!

Line

How to draw straight lines without a ruler. …but for the love of all that's good do NOT feel bad about using one! This talks about how to hold your pencil and how to do some good freehand stuff, some good practice.

5 grips for holding a Pencil for Drawing - This goes for pencil, pen, tablet, etc.. Get comfortable and figure out what's right for you and your pictures. I'd like to note that paintbrush holding will overlap, but some will differ.

A few line drawing exercises that help with line confidence.

Types of line drawings & what they are.

Contour Line & exercises with Mrs. Cook - Contour lines are one of the first art exercises I do in all the drawing classes I've taken. The good news is that they're surprisingly fun & look neat, even the blind contours!

Good deep thoughts on lines and how to use them.

Line Weight Tutorial

Lineart Weight Tips!

How to show variation in your line art: part 1 & part 2.

Some teacher's Drawing 1 & 2 lessons put online.

Light, Shadow, & Value

An introduction to tonal values.

Why values are important. The main reasons are that they give depth to a piece, and values literally shape our world.

Tonal Values: Everything you need to know

How does light work & the basics on Light

Light & Shadow in Art - much more in depth of the above! Highly recommended if you have time to spare.

Understanding grayscale/monochrome art. Great for shading & planning.

A guide to Cross Hatching (and hatching in general) - As a side note, crosshatching is one of the early things taught as it marries Line + Value into a nice neat package and helps add form with just a pen.

Crosshatching for Comics

Learn more about coloring by working in grayscale

How to Make Your Art Look Nice - Contrast!

Using lighting to make your art look nice.

Some light & shadow classifications.

Edges - notes on how they work in shading.

Color

A side note - color theory doesn't differ much, but color MIXING will change between mediums. If you're doing traditional colored pencil, you're overlapping 2 or more pigments on top of each other. If you're doing traditional paint, you're mixing & creating a solution/emulsion (depends on the pigment and binding) of pigments with the particles reflecting light in different ways. In digital, overlapping colors & blending colors depend on how the program you use calculates it if you're not just putting 2 color side by side. This just means you have to adjust your mixing when you switch between them. :)

Slawek Fedorczuk's Light & Color Tips - also shows how to guide through a scene.

The Color Tutorial Part 1 & 2 by Sashas - A personal favorite.

Color Studies 1-6 by Sheri Doty Amazingly nice breakdown on how color works in simple terms.

Sarah Culture's Tips on Color

The value of underpainting

A few notes on reflective light.

Experimental color techniques with Alai Ganuza: first post, second, & third.

Color zones of the face charts

Composition

Good Tips on Composition

Here's an example of how you can search the Etherington Brothers' stuff and get like 10 tutorials and tips on one subject. Composition & Cover Design, Shadow Composition, Two Line Composition - plus more.

How to make your art look nice: Thumbnailing!

And don't be afraid to make silly thumbnails or sketches.

Composition Examples - charts like these are great when you can't think of something yourself. There's no shame in using them.

Flow and Rhythm

Formulas for landscape composition.

Perspective

Perspective Drawing Tutorial by Julie Duell

Linear & Atmospheric Perspective Guide

One Point Perspective City Tut by Swingerzetta

Niso Explains Perspective - these are great for drawing figures in perspective!

Putting characters into scenes and drawing backgrounds

Backgrounds that make your character stand out!

Using background detail to guide the eye.

Odds and Ends

I shit you not, probably 1/3rd of my color, value, & structure knowledge comes from pixel art since I've done so much of it and it is all about challenging yourself to do the most you can with limitations. Check out lospec's tutorial database for fun and see how it compares to art techniques you're doing - even if you never try a medium, it's always interesting to see how it works. :D

How to Make Your Art Look Nice: Reference Images & Style, Pushing Proportions, and developing style.

Foervraengd talks about how he expanded his comfort zone with concept art & landscape drawing.

Luna Art talks about what they're thinking when doing concept art.

Repeating visual motifs in character design looks cool.

Eric's Thoughts on Drawing Backgrounds and Props.

Show vs. Tell: Why Visual is Not Optional in comics.

The Lost Vocabulary of Visual Story Telling Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, & Day 4.

Traditional Animation's 2 Digital Library books, The Know-How of Cartooning by Ken Hultgren & Advanced Animation by Preston Blair are two books from the golden age of animation they have up on their site for free viewing!

Animation resources dot org has a lot of cool stuff. Here's Nat Falk's How to Make Animated Cartoons (part 1). Their pages on Instruction & Theory are a good start.

Books

Good news: the internet archive has a TON of resources. Make sure to check around and toggle filters, it's a bit weird with organization. For example, a book can be under art or drawing - techniques, depending on who catalogues it.

Andrew Loomis is someone artist tend to die-hard reccomend. His work is collected here & here on the internet archive (one is Andrew Loomis, the other is Loomis, Andrew - thanks). I own Figure Drawing for All It's Worth and I recommend checking all of his stuff out, especially if you're having trouble with bodies and hands.

The Animator's Survival Guide by Richard Williams is mandatory in animation classes for good reason - it's fantastic!

Perspective for Comic Book Artist by David Chelsea is great for any type of artist. So is Extreme Perspective & Perspective in Action.

Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, Reinventing Comics, & Making Comics. The first one is on the internet archive, the second two are likely avaliable at your library or at a bookstore as they're pretty popular.

Speaking of comics, Drawing Comics the Marvel Way has been a favorite of comic artist for years no matter what comic book companies and artist you like, it's a good introduction.

Anything by or endorsed by James Gurney, Color and Light: A Guide for the Realistic Painter is one of my favorites (this is his official page but you can get them elsewhere for cheaper too).

Art resource blogs with good tagging systems: @artist-refs , @help-me-draw , @helpfulharrie , @art-res , @drawingden , & @how-to-art

Lastly, I suggest if you find something you like online for free, SAVE IT! Whether it is through the Wayback Machine, screenshotting a whole webpage, reblogging/retweeting something, or putting it on pinterest, digital media is fickle and tends to go up in smoke when you least expect it. I have a partially organized Pinterest board that helped me find most of the stuff I wanted to keep. Figure out what works for you and save what you can.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friend’s Brother (part 3)

Player 001 x Reader [Smut]📖

Masterlilst <- comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2

Jun Ho left you and In Ho alone, shutting the door behind him. Your slightly tipsy body laying haphazardly on In Ho’s bed.

“(Y/n)” In Ho said.

“What?” You reply. Your eyes landing upon his stoic expression, you started laughing. “What daddy?”

“You’re drunk” he sighed, gently moving you over to get in beside you.

“No, I’m not.” You laugh harder.

“(Y/n), shhh” he shushed you chuckling lightly.

“I am not drunk” you declare quietly as you straddle his lap. “No, sir. I am stone cold sober”

“(Y/n)” He deadpanned. His breath catching in his throat like it did earlier.

“What is it daddy?” You ask innocently. His hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it above your head. Your tits bounced in front of his widened eyes. He now no longer had to imagine what your body looked like. You were at his fingertips. Accessible.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered, flipping you onto your back. You pulled his shirt up over his head. His lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss. You let his tongue inside your mouth, letting it search around before you engaged in a battle for dominance, finally pushing your way into his mouth. Touching his teeth as if you were counting them. His hand travelled up your thigh lovingly. Almost as if making sure you were real. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into you.

A man that seemed so untouchable, so unapproachable, that seemed so… anything but what he was right now. A man whose lingering eyes, and stoic expressions, who was cold and disheartening at times, was now so open and loving. You let your hand travel down his abdomen, tracing the light abs he had before bringing your hand to cup his face. He pulled his pants and boxers down, throwing them on the floor as you did the same with your skirt.

Everything now seemed so easy, loving him seemed so easy, finally breaking through his rough exterior. He allowed him to relish the moment of you, letting the feelings he had for you escape from him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck,

“Can i?” He asked laying his cock at your entrance.

“Please, I need you” you answered back in quiet whimpers. Fighting the moan that threatened to cry out of you as he slide in.

In Ho's hands caressed your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he buried his cock inside you at a slow pace. The air was thick with arousal and a slow burning desire, your hearts beating in unison like drums in a primal rhythm. His fingers drifted to roam your body, tracing the curves of your neck, and you felt your soul stir with desire.

As you gazed into each other's eyes, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a sea of passion. In Ho's lips brushed against yours, gentle at first, then deepening into a kiss that left you breathless. Your tongues tangled together once again as your bodies moved against each other. The rough man you once knew was gone. Now, all there stood was a gentle soul, who felt the same way you did. Who fucked you like he loved you. And maybe he did.

The room spun around you as you moved in perfect harmony, your love-making a symphony of sighs and moans. In Ho's hands roamed your body, igniting fires wherever he touched. You arched against him, craving more of his caress as he explored every curve and contour.

With each passing moment, your love grew more intense, more all-consuming. You were lost in the depths of our own private world where nothing else mattered but the love you shared. Your hearts beat faster still until they became one pulsing entity driving us toward ecstasy.

In this whirlpool of passion where time stood still In Ho whispered words of devotion against your ear his voice barely audible over the pounding drums within you yet loud enough for you alone to hear those magical three words spoken so tenderly so purely from one soul reaching another:

“I love you” he continued to move against you. His cock sliding in and out you, gradually picking up pace as he chased your orgasm. He just wanted to feel you, he just wanted to consume you. He just wanted so much. To devour, to indulge, to die and to live in. To exist and run out of time in. He was losing himself inside of you. A feeling that didn’t scare him. After all, what was wrong with being lost in the life of a goddess.

“I love you” you reply back as you gripped him.

“Will you cum for me, my darling?” He asked in gasping breathes, keeping his orgasm at bay. His desire to please himself no longer present. Now, all that was in his mind was you. You, you, you.

“Yes” you say. You felt a knot developing after hearing him ask about you. For the first time, you seemed like the only girl in the world. The only girl for him. He knew it too. He sped up his thrusts, you moaned quietly into his shoulder as he did the same. “In Ho, I’m going to cum” you whisper shortly before your body tensed, you rpussy contracted around him.

“Cum for me” he coaxed. You lost your grip, exploding on his cock as he exploded inside you. Your orgasms simultaneous, he continued to move inside of you, riding out the waves of your orgasm as they crashed down. He pulled out of you, enveloping you in a passionate kiss. His lips gentle against yours. He moved his lips against your slowly, turning his head to deepen the kiss. The moment a gift wrapped in passion and intimacy. He left your lips before getting up to grab clothing items and a towel. He wiped you up gently, pulling your thong up your thighs. He handed you a shirt, which you put on as he pulled on his boxers. Getting back into bed beside you.

“I love you” he repeated looking deeply into your eyes.

“I love you” you whispered back, returning his gaze with the same intensity.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr

[naffeclipse]

A Gesture Returned

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I had so much fun writing this request by the sweet @rinzydings who wanted a Y/N reuniting with Eclipse, and bearing a very important gift (and confession)! Their Y/N is so sweet and I loved combining their character with Eclipse's. There is so much sweetness and fluff! Which is must deserved after all they've both been through. I hope you enjoy! <3

———

The gray base is stark against the icy expanse of the north pole. A structure long since frozen into its foundation and left almost lost in the piercing wind and swirling snowflakes, you glance backward at it once before leaving it behind. 

It’s been a year since you first met the orca siren. You saw him in between that time in the mild temperatures of spring, where the negative degrees weren’t as bitter with its touch and the sun rose and fell in time with a full, proper day. Now you have returned once again in autumn, in the aftermath of a summer full of endless sunlight. 

Of course, you kept busy. Other destinations called out to you, and you felt yourself rushed to find the last of the places on your must-see list to ensure you would not go without. Pictures platter the inside of your computer of beautiful landscapes beside tropical seas and sprawling cliffs.

Slowly, your gloved hand falls into your inner pocket. Touching over the thickness of your coat, you remind yourself that your gift is still there. It’s waiting for the recipient. 

Michael and Vanessa know your intentions. After a whole year of adjusting to your relationship with Eclipse, they are easing into the thought of you growing close with a siren that was once out of the realm of nightmares for them. They no longer fear for you like they once did. Your dear Eclipse and your sweet friends share far more in common than they once believed.

Your decision sits heavy on your heart—not with dread or anxiety—but with eagerness. A want to fling it out into the world and cause it to rear into realization runs through you. You dearly hope you may relieve yourself of this tension very soon.  

Eclipse is out there, somewhere. He must have caught sight of the helicopter approaching. 

You’ve learned much about Eclipse’s life and culture that you’ve gathered in your short bursts of seeing him. Courting gifts and becoming mates are important. You understand now what exactly it means to belong to him, and for him to belong to you.

For so long, he has waited in the icy waters alone. His family was dragged up in nets and gutted with spears by a horrible, wicked man named William Afton. He grew up with no kindness, warmth, or guidance. You couldn’t fault him for the tragedy that befell him, but you did grow fearful after he stole you away the first time and changed you against your will. 

Now you’ve had time to understand him. You watched him let you go, and you returned to find him waiting with open arms. 

Your gloved fingers roam over the irregular and smooth shapes of the gift you come bearing. He gave you so much. There’s something you want to give him in return. 

Vanessa and Michael might not understand everything between you and Eclipse, but they support you. 

You choose Eclipse.

Leaving the base behind, you waddle—ever the bird in Eclipse’s eye—across the frozen layers of ice that make up the great Arctic. You do not wander for long before the sea spreads dark and blue beside you. The sharp contrast of pale snow and choppy, deep waters overwhelms your sharp eye for images to capture.

You have many pictures of the ocean. Each one uses the light and angle to capture a swell of waves, the same as you experience a great rise of emotion, searching for your mate.

Emerging from the depths with a striking arch of his lithe and powerful body, Eclipse lifts his head above the sea. His stunning dorsal fin strikes high into the air, burning red and orange before melting into the lovely pattern of black and white upon his body. Even at this distance, you see his mouth full of teeth spreading into a grin.

A soft sound carries over the waves. A song of welcome. You close your eyes briefly to truly catch the sound of Eclipse’s voice over the Arctic wind and splashing waves.

You hold up your hand and wave, at last breaking into a trot as best as you can. Avoiding a dreadful plunge on the slick ground, you trek to the edge of the water. Eclipse dives down. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Eclipse!” You call as you drop to your knees beside the water. “Eclipse, I’m here!”

You lean over the slushy tide, mixing with shards of ice and blue-gray water, only to be greeted by a crescent mark face of black and white. Eclipse thrusts himself beside you, pushing onto the ice with an impressive flick of his tail. His impressive size easily dwarfs you. Minding the droplets flinging off of his sheeny body, he drapes himself along the ground before you in a dramatic presentation. 

“Birdie,” Eclipse rumbles deeply. A flare of deep joy overtakes his red and yellow eyes. His grin remains wide, and it is painful to wait for his hands to dry enough before he takes you by the arms and engulfs you in his presence. “You came back.”

“I said I would,” you answer softly. 

“You did.” He turns his face down, and with delicate effort, pushes your goggles carefully up your face. The bitter sting of the frigid air rushes your skin. To combat the dangerous cold, Eclipse captures you in a full-face nuzzle.

You softly sigh under the tender but deep fussing of his flat nose against you. He moves over you, going from cheek to cheek and even tucking himself under your chin for a moment, uncaring that your wool scarf gets in the way. His tongue slips out from between his lips to lick at your jawline. You resist a ticklish twitch, and instead, anchor him for a moment against you. Closing your eyes, you return the gesture and lay yourself entirely against his face. 

For one precious moment, Eclipse warms you.

Then he kisses you on the nose. You laugh once in quiet surprise. 

“Let me see you,” he whispers.

You hold still, your eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun shining over Eclipse as if he were waxed and polished. His body never ceases to amaze you.

Gently, he takes your hood and pushes it back. The cold quickly swirls over your head. As you learned before your first trip to the icy land, the head loses the most heat from the human body, and that is why it’s important to keep it covered.

Eclipse tenderly lifts his hand and runs his clawed fingers through your short hair. When you first met, he admired your dark strands with the blond streak you dyed into it, straight down the middle. He admired you in the way one would admire an exotic bird.

“Handsome,” he murmurs. “I missed your strange fur.”

“Hair,” you correct with a smile.

“Hair,” he echoes, before kissing the crown of your head. He reaffixes your hood over you before settling his arms over your legs and holding your gaze. “Tell me about your travels, birdie.”

You need not wait for another invitation. It’s not often you get the opportunity to ramble about your photography, but Eclipse always lends a listening ear. You’ve learned how genuine he is, as curious as you are, and just as insatiable for new, beautiful things. 

First, you tell him about Ocracoke Island. It is not the most exotic land you’ve traveled to, but it is nonetheless abundant with stunning seashells and a lively beach filled with yellow sands and green waters. Then you traveled to Shell Beach in the Australian winter. Awe Striking scenery fueled your photograph as the pale beach glistened to tiny, white shells beside an ever-endless blue sea. Then you traveled to Jeffreys Bay. The water is most gorgeous there, a pale blue-gray with rich seafoam flooding over an entire shoreline worth of shells. 

He doesn’t ask, but it’s clear that you favor tropical and seaside environments during the last six months of your travels. Eclipse has many questions when you talk of such places, such as the creatures there or what you enjoy most about visiting such environments. He draws his claws softly over your gloved hands as you continue to speak. 

Truly, he gives his full attention. Though his eyes may wander over your small fingertips or short stature, he is no less aware of what you spill from your lips.

As you finish telling him of carefully walking along Jeffreys Bay, you gently free your hand from his grasp. His eyes flare for a moment. His claws flex, watching hungrily as you reach into the inside of your coat and withdraw the most precious gift you are about to give.

“I have something for you,” you start softly, your fist curled over the offering, “It would mean so much to me if you accepted it.”

Eclipse tilts his head down, eyes crinkled in curiosity. The shine of his burning red frills catches on the sunlight. You swallow down your heart. Carefully unfurling your fingers, you present Eclipse with a courting gesture.

Laid upon your hand is a cord of strung seashells. Tiny, spiraling, and flat shells clink softly together to form a gradient of deep red, burnt orange, periwinkle, soft baby blue, and pure frost. Six months you spent finding the precise colors. The ones of Eclipse, and the ones that were on your tail when he had changed you into a siren. Those cool, soft colors never quite left your head.

Neither has Eclipse left your heart.

The gravity of the gesture is not lost on you as you study Eclipse’s wide eyes and gaped mouth. He reaches out as if handling thin ice, and strokes the shells with his clawed fingertips. The seashells are tiny but solid. A musical clink echoes at Eclipse’s brush of his hand, and he lifts his eyes.

“I accept,” he answers in a low, powerful voice.

Your entire being flutters, warm and reassured.

“May I?” you ask softly, lifting the cord and carefully taking the ends. “It’s meant to be worn… if you want to wear it.”

“Birdie, I desire nothing more than to display your gift on my body.” His declaration sends a sweeping heat into your cheeks. 

“Your hand,” you say, your eyes filling with misty tears.

He obeys, offering his arm. You level him out to expose his wrist. Slipping the bracelet of seashells around the sinew-packed bones, you deftly tie it and ensure the cord will not unravel anytime soon. 

“You gave me many gifts during our courtship,” you say deliberately. You lean back to admire it upon his wrist. “I wanted to return the gesture in kind.”

His hand clenched as if to contain emotion within his fist. He holds his hand and twists it this way and that, watching the seashells swing slightly against his shiny skin.

“This means much to me, birdie,” Eclipse lowers his gaze at last to you. His chest puffs up with pride. The glow in his gaze is as soft as candlelight. “I will treasure it.”

“I’m glad…” you say, holding back something behind your tongue that stings and causes your entire body to squirm.

In the moment your eyes dart away from him, heavy with words you can’t yet dislodge, a claw curls carefully under your chin. A spark fires in your chest. Gently but firmly, Eclipse lifts your head to look deep into your eyes. His constant grin thins into concern.

“What is troubling you?”

Your throat bobs softly. His eyes dart once to your gift before returning to you, and for a moment, a shine of fear returns to his gaze. The same as when you told him you had to leave the very first time.

You answer quickly but softly, “I’ve never stopped thinking of you, and I've never stopped caring for you, Eclipse.”

His expression softens like the sky in the morning after a wicked blizzard. His claw carefully draws along your bottom lip.

“My little siren,” he rumbles, but there’s a hint of melancholy in the endearment. “How precious you are.”

“I've come to a decision.” A fluttering erupts within you, and you slowly reach out to hold tight to his arm. “Eclipse, I want to stay with you.

You watch in both awe and whirling emotion as Eclipse is struck dumb. His jaw drops. His eyes flare wide open. His touch upon you slackens as if he were about to slip back into the water in his stupor, but instead, he looks at you as if seeing you again for the first time.

A fist squeezes your heart, and you forget to breathe. Is it too late? Does he still want to have you?

“I’m… I’m…” The apology fumbles on your tongue as you try to turn away, but Eclipse grabs you tighter, stopping you in your tracks.

Then you feel the tremors in his hand. Ripples of emotion take over his strong and sleek body, falling down his shoulders and into the very flukes of his tail. His eyes burn deeply.

“You will stay with me?” he asks, caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. “Truly, birdie?”

“Yes,” your voice almost cracks. “I love you. I want to be with you as a siren.”

Saying the words frees something within you. The pulse pounding in your ears calms. Eclipse’s hand upon your chin softens into a tender touch. He leans very close. In a gentle brush of his sea-salt-tinged lips, he kisses you deeply. His fervor almost pushes you back, but his arms wrap around and hold you perfectly in place.

He breaks the kiss softly. 

“I love you, my mate.” He tilts your head softly as he nuzzles your cheek. “When you are ready, I will take you into the water.

Your heart sways within you. It is difficult to not recall how frigid and consuming the Arctic is, and the panic you felt underneath the water. But this is different.

He loves you truly. He let you go, and you step back willingly into his arms. 

“I will make it quick, birdie,” he whispers, “I am yours eternally.”

You smile before caressing his face, touching the corner of his mouth, and feeling the slipperiness of his black and white skin. 

“And I’m yours,” you smile.

With gentle reverence, Eclipse helps you undress. You urge him to hurry once the cold begins to attack your skin. Mentally, you must brace yourself once more for the cold of the water. Eclipse cradles you close against his body as you shiver violently in the sub-zero temperatures.

He bows over you, and with a conjuring of a song from deep within his chest, magic fills the air with the force of thunderous waves. It fills you as he presses his lips to your mouth, and together, you slip under the surface. 

Your courting gift of seashells sways around his wrist in the water.

The power of his magic takes you gently out of a world of footsteps and leg strides and into a body fit for cutting through storms and sailing through seas. The colors upon your fluke tips are the same as you remember. This time, you allow him to remove the last of your clothing. Completely bare, transformed, and magically thriving, you are reborn.

He embraces you. The length of his tail easily surpasses your own, and you are held safe as he kisses you within the frozen brine.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINETEEN: INTERTWINED, SEWN TOGETHER

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ And the universe said, "I love you." You stare at them. "Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities." pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none wc: 4.6k

It’s nighttime in Gotham, a city of shadows and contrasts that you've come to know well. The skyline is a jagged silhouette against the dark canvas of the night sky, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of lights from skyscrapers and streetlamps below.

You swing gracefully through the city, the rhythm of your movements second nature after months of navigating these streets. The cool breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and distant echoes of Gotham's perpetual hustle.

Arriving at a familiar rooftop, you land softly and take a moment to survey your surroundings. Oftentimes this is where, Damian and Jon often met you, a secluded spot where you can discuss plans, share moments of quiet, or simply enjoy each other's company away from the chaos of your nightly duties.

Tonight, however, the rooftop is empty when you arrive. The absence of their familiar presence gives you a moment to reflect on everything that has brought you to this point—the life you’ve led, the friendships you cherish, and the burgeoning feelings that have taken root in your heart.

You find yourself replaying conversations and moments in your mind, Jon's warmth and Damian's complexities intertwined with your own thoughts and uncertainties. The city seems to hold its breath around you, as if waiting for your next move.

You don’t get to, because you feel a sudden and violent gust of wind, and then there’s someone right behind you.

“[Name],” Jon breathes, pajamas and all. You turn around slowly, senses buzzing at his presence.

He takes two half-hearted steps towards you, before using his speed to get right in front of you in the split of a second. He reaches out a hand, almost instinctively, as if to steady you or perhaps himself. His gaze searches yours, his expression a mix of relief and something more complicated, something you can't quite decipher in the dim rooftop light.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” he says, reverently. His eyes trace your face, taking in every feature. “There’s no one else with that heartbeat.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t just completely do you over.

He places his hands on your arms tightly, pulling you to him. As if you’ll disappear if he isn’t holding onto you. “What happened? Where were you?”

You try to speak, but no words come out. “You were just gone. I couldn’t hear you at all,” he whispers. He spots the Web-Watch. “What is this? Did whoever took you put it on you? Is it hurting you?”

His hand wanders over to it, and you suddenly remember how you first got stuck here in the first place. You snatch your wrist out of his range, because his strength is no joke. He looks at you confused. “It’s mine,” you choke out.

Jon's eyes narrow slightly, searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery that surrounds you. He grabs your hands in his, gently bringing them up his face. “[Name], [Name][Name][Name],” he mutters. His lips move against your fingers, breath warm. “We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” Jon's grip on you loosens slightly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. "We missed you," he admits quietly. "Damian's been impossible, you know. He wouldn't rest until..."

You sigh deeply. “I honestly… didn’t think you’d care all that much,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the city's distant sounds.

“Why wouldn’t we care?” he near growls, looking at you fiercely. “With how we feel–” he cuts himself, breathing deeply. Jon's expression softens, his gaze holding yours with a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet rooftop air. His hands remain on yours, a gentle warmth that anchors you in the moment. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, hands moving to run down your sides. It feels nice.

“No.” Your hands lay gently on his, not moving them. “I need to tell you something. You and Damian.”

Jon's hands pause their gentle exploration, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that reflects both concern and a hint of apprehension. The rooftop seems to hold its breath around you, the city's distant sounds providing a muted backdrop to this moment of intimacy and vulnerability.

“Can you take us to the Den? To talk?”

"The Den," he repeats softly, as if testing the idea. "Yeah, we can go there. Whatever you need." His voice carries a reassurance, tinged with an unspoken question. "Are you sure you're okay to talk about this now?" Oh, Jon. Ever the sweetheart.

You nod, taking a moment to steady yourself. "You deserve to know.”

He scoops you up in his arms tentatively. His eyes linger on your form wrapped in his arms, almost longingly. He sighs when he feels your arms wrapped around his neck. He flies you across the city, urgent but at the same time leisurely. Trying to savor whatever time with you.

As you arrive, Jon gently sets you down, his concern apparent and his touch gentle. The Den's interior is familiar and comforting, the place a testament to your resilience. It looks just like you left it, like it was frozen in time. The sight of it makes your heart squeeze.

His hands gently cup your face, turning you to him. “I’m gonna go get Dami,” he says, not making any move to let you go.

Your gaze is filled with infinite amounts of fondness for the boy. “I’ll be here,” you promise. You bring your hands to his face and angle him so you lay a sweet and cherished kiss on his cheek. “I promise.”

His eyes fall to your lips for a few aching seconds before he nods.  Jon lingers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek before he reluctantly pulls away.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance as he turns to leave the Den.

You watch Jon go, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness settle in your chest. Alone in the quiet of the Den, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. . The soft light from the fairy lights cast gentle shadows around you, creating a cocoon of solitude.

Minutes stretch into a timeless space, each second filled with the weight of anticipation. You find yourself replaying moments with Jon—his earnest concern, the warmth in his touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to hover between you both. Damian's complex presence also flickers through your thoughts, his sharp wit and guarded vulnerability leave an undeniable mark on your heart.

Finally, the soft sound of footsteps heralds Jon's return. He enters with Damian in tow, the atmosphere shifting subtly with their presence. Damian's expression is a mix of relief and something harder to define—perhaps a blend of concern and guarded hope. He approaches with a measured stride, his posture betraying a readiness to hear whatever you have to say.

Jon moves to stand beside you, a reassuring presence at your side. His hand finds yours, offering silent support and encouragement. Damian's gaze flickers between you and Jon, his demeanor a mix of curiosity and a hint of apprehension. 

"Where have you been?" Damian demands, his voice edged with a mixture of relief and frustration.

Jon looks at him sternly, and, surprisingly (is it really, though?), Damian’s demeanor stutters. The silent signal calms his initial intensity. His gaze softens fractionally as he looks back at you. Damian contemplates for a moment, before sighing and approaching you. He takes you in with a mix of guarded concern and curiosity, his usual stoic demeanor softened slightly by the relief of seeing you safe. 

“Beloved,” he mutters without constraint. His use of the endearment catches you off guard, a rare display of vulnerability from someone so often guarded. It almost makes you want to cry. He takes your face in his hands, the same way Jon did.

You feel his fingers trace your lips, a gesture that speaks volumes in its tenderness. Damian's gaze searches yours, his usually sharp eyes softened by an emotion you rarely see openly displayed. "Where have you been?"

"I thought... we thought..." he continues, voice faltering for a moment, as if grappling with the weight of his own emotions. "Are you hurt?" he asks quietly, his concern palpable in every word.

You shake your head slowly, overcome by the intensity of the moment and the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. "I'm okay," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the Den.

Damian exhales sharply, a mixture of relief and lingering tension leaving his frame. He pulls you into a tight embrace, surprising you with the strength and earnestness of his hold. His arms wrap around you protectively, as if to shield you from any harm that might dare to approach.

"I wasn't sure if you would return," Damian admits quietly, his tone tinged with a mix of vulnerability and something deeper, something you're beginning to recognize as a bond that goes beyond mere partnership or friendship.

Jon's presence beside you feels like a grounding force, and as Damian's arms wrap around you, you realize just how much you missed this—missed them. You close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of their concern and the strength of their embrace. It's a moment that transcends words, a silent affirmation of the bond you share with them.

When Damian finally releases you, his gaze still holds that unspoken question, the need to understand where you've been and why you were gone. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart.

Silence stretches between you, filled with words not said and emotions too raw to name. Finally, Damian breaks the silence, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet plea. "Don't disappear again."

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent promise passing between you. "I won't," you assure him, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart. Jon and Damian's eyes remain locked on you, their concern and anticipation on display in the quiet of the Den.

"Where do I even start?" you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me, things I’ve kept hidden because…well, because I thought it was for the best." Jon's hand tightens around yours in silent support, while Damian's expression remains intense and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m not from here,” you state, hesitant be damned. You’ve spent far too long hesitating. “I’m from Earth-143258 in an alternate universe.”

Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions shifting from confusion to curiosity. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, while Damian's intense focus on you doesn't waver.

“A universe where you, where the Justice League and Gotham and Metropolis don’t exist…” you look at them, “...outside of a series of comics.”

Damian's brow furrows, and Jon's eyes widen with a mix of intrigue and concern. The weight of your revelation hangs heavy in the air, the enormity of it settling in their minds.

"A different universe," Damian echoes, his voice filled with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. "And in this universe, we're...fictional?"

You nod, feeling the intensity of their gazes. "Yes. In my world, you’re all characters in comic books, movies, TV shows... You’re heroes in stories, legends. But here, you're real."

“A man named Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of Earth-928, made an autonomous multiverse jump using a device like this.” You lift up your wrist to show them the Web-Watch. “Using it, he amassed an elite force of others like him from different universes. Including me.”

“Karen, would you mind?” you ask. Suddenly, a hologram forms, showing the intricate base of operations that is the Spider-HQ. “Our purpose is to protect the multiverse from anomalies and threats that could destroy entire realities. Sometimes people end up in the wrong universe, and we send them back to their home universe as well.” The hologram casts a gentle glow on their faces. “We call it the Spider-Society.”

The hologram shifts, changing into a bright tree. An intricate veil of webs expands around you, filling the space. “This is all of us. All of our lives woven together in a web.” You take a moment to admire the image. “The web of the multiverse.”

Jon and Damian stare at the hologram, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. The tree of webs illuminates the Den, casting intricate shadows that seem to weave the narrative you’re sharing. Jon's grip on your hand remains firm, a silent anchor as you delve deeper into your explanation.

“All of our stories are pretty much the same. We get bit by a radioactive spider that gives us powers, and we use those powers to help people.”

Damian listens intently, his usual skepticism softened by the gravity of your words. He glances at Jon, silently exchanging a look that conveys both their shared disbelief and the realization that your story, no matter how fantastical, is being delivered with sincerity.

“Was there an… anomaly in our universe then?” ask Damian, looking at you.

“No,” you sigh. “I was never supposed to be here.”

Your legs carry you closer to the hologram, Jon following in an effort to not lose his grip on you. “I found a particle accelerator. Most of the time that means nothing good. Turns out, an alternate version of me,” you emphasize, “[Name] [L.Name], had gotten stuck in my universe and was just trying to get home. But seeing me,” you pause, taking a breath.

“All they saw was someone trying to get in their way. They activated the particle accelerator and threw me in it.” You turn to look at them. “That’s how I ended up here.”

Damian and Jon exchange a glance, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and determination.

“So, you’ve been… lost all this time?” Jon asks softly, his voice carrying the weight of the revelation.

“The whole reason I wanted to create the badassium was so I could use it to power another watch,” you say, looking down at it. “Since other me destroyed it.”

“A while ago, they visited me. In this universe.” You look at Jon. “On New Years.” You watch as recognition flickers in his eyes. “You can imagine how well I reacted.”

“That’s why you were crying,” he says softly in realization. “Suddenly seeing the reason you were… stuck.”

“I told them to find Miguel O’hara. And he did, a week ago.”

Jon's hand brushes your cheek gently, his touch a comforting presence amidst the weight of your words. Damian stands nearby, his expression unreadable as he processes the implications of your story.

“So, this entire time,” he begins, voice hinting with disbelief, “while we have been over ourselves with worry that you were somewhere hurt–”

“Damian,” cuts in Jon sternly.

Damian ignores him. “You were enjoying yourself, finally home and away from this cursed place you got stuck in? Somewhere we couldn’t even begin to look for you? Is that it?”

Your heart sinks at Damian's words, his anger and frustration cutting deeply. You can see the mix of emotions in his eyes—relief, betrayal, confusion—all battling for dominance.

“No,” you whisper desperately. “No, it wasn’t like that. In fact, the whole time I was home I couldn’t focus on being happy because I was focused on you,” you state. “On how I left things and how I wished I could explain everything to you but who could I when there’s such a disconnect between us–” you choke, cutting yourself off.

“Didn’t you think we cared? That we deserved to know?”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them hitting harder than you expected. “I… I didn’t know what to think,” you admit quietly, meeting Damian’s gaze with a mix of regret and vulnerability. “In my world, you’re… different. Fictional. I never expected…” Your voice trails off, unable to find the right words to express the complexity of your emotions.

“I would’ve never even considered the possibility of your existence before now,” you whisper. “I really should’ve known better.”

You stare at them. “Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” Damian asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you were finally home, why come back?”

You take a deep breath, the weight of Damian's question hanging in the air. Your gaze shifts between Jon and Damian, their eyes reflecting the depth of their concern and the complexity of their feelings.

“How could I?” you ask them. “After everything, how could you expect me not to feel the way I feel?”

"When I first got here," you continue, "I felt lost, out of place. But then I met you both, and everything changed. You became my friends, my partners, my family. The thought of leaving you behind... pretending everything that happened never happened. It was unbearable."

“You're real,” you say softly. “Everything about you, and everything I feel about you is real.”

Silence descends upon the Den, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Damian's gaze remains fixed on you, his usual guarded demeanor momentarily faltering under the weight of your sincerity. You feel Jon’s grip on you tighten, a constant presence of support and understanding at your side.

You breathe in. “I’m telling you this now, because you deserve to know. And if you’ll have me..”

Looking at them now is like looking at destiny. “I’d like to stay in your lives.”

Damian's expression softens imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of contemplation and something deeper that you can't quite decipher. Jon squeezes your hand gently, a silent reassurance that speaks volumes amidst the unspoken tension in the room. They look at each other for a heart stopping moment.

"Beloved," Damian murmurs softly, his voice holding a rare vulnerability. "You've been missed."

Jon nods in agreement, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that mirrors your own. "We want you here," he says quietly, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

You nod, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you step closer to them. Jon's arms wrap around you first, pulling you into a warm embrace that feels like coming home. Damian joins, his embrace steady and reassuring, his presence a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of their embrace resonate deep within you. "Thank you," you say, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for choosing me.”

Jon presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and Damian's hand finds yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "We always will," Jon vows, his voice steady.

“Well,” starts Jon, grabbing your shoulder to turn you to face him. “If it’s no trouble, I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Your chuckle breaks the tension, and you nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. Jon's eyes light up with a mix of relief and affection as he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

It’s different from Damian’s kiss. His lips move in tandem against yours, intertwined, sewn together. His hands rest on your waist, squeezing lightly.

Jon's kiss is a symphony of warmth and tenderness, a stark contrast to the urgency and passion that often defines Damian's touch. You can feel the depth of his emotions in every gentle movement of his lips, the way he holds you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. The kiss is a promise, a reassurance, and a declaration all at once.

Damian watches the exchange with a soft, almost imperceptible smile. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin, tilting your face towards him. "Beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "My turn."

His kiss is different from Jon's—more intense, a reflection of his complex emotions and the guarded vulnerability he's allowed himself to show. It's a kiss that speaks of his longing, his relief.  When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

Later that night, you sit between Jon and Damian, cuddled up on a worn-out couch in the Den, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm light around the room. Small talk fills the space.

“Wait, so, Wonder Woman doesn’t exist, but Thor, God of thunder, does?” asks Jon. You’re not paying all that much attention to him since the feeling of his fingers caressing your side is quite distracting.

“I guess the universe picked and chose,” you hum.

“So there’s no Justice League?”

“There's the Avengers,” you say. “Just as cool as the Justice League. And they’re my friends,” you grin triumphantly.

Damian listens quietly, eyes lidded and content. “Were you a fan of these comics you mentions earlier?”

Your grin turns a little shy. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Jon's fingers trace idle patterns on your arm, a comforting gesture that grounds you in the present moment. "Does that mean you know all our secrets?" he teases lightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I don’t need pre-knowledge to figure out all I need to know about you.” Your hand flattens against his chest, rubbing along it.

Jon sighs at your touch, eyes fluttering. “Smooth,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, the warmth of Jon’s lips against yours sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moves to cup your cheek tenderly, his touch gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that speaks of promises and shared moments.

Across from you, Damian watches with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the intimacy between you and Jon. He clears his throat, drawing your attention. “As much as I appreciate witnessing this... display of affection,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of dry humor, “perhaps now is not the time.”

Jon presses a few more kisses to your lips before breaking away. “You’re just jealous,” Jon teases, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin.

Damian rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward in a rare display of amusement. “Hardly. You two are insatiable.”

“Insatiable is right,” you mutter, staring at Damian’s lips.

Damian raises an eyebrow at your comment, a hint of amusement coloring his expression. "I beg your pardon?"

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I mean, you're not exactly innocent in all of this," you tease, leaning closer to him. "The way you kissed me back then..."

You turn back to look at Jon. “Did you know he picked me up and pinned me against the wall?”

Jon’s eyes widen in mock surprise, his playful demeanor matching yours. “Did he now?” he asks, leaning closer with exaggerated curiosity. “You have to tell me all about it.”

Damian's cheeks color slightly, but he meets your teasing with a smirk. "I don't recall you complaining," he retorts, his voice laced with amusement.

You move, placing yourself on Damian’s lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. Damian's hands settle comfortably around your waist as you settle on his lap, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of amusement and something deeper, a warmth that lingers beneath his usual stoic demeanor. Jon watches the exchange with a playful grin, leaning back against the couch as he enjoys your dynamic.

Damian’s expression softens slightly, his sharp features betraying a hint of the turmoil beneath. “I… I apologize for my earlier insensitivity,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a rare humility. “It’s… difficult to process.”

You lean forward, your hands playing with Damian's hair as you look into his eyes. "Don’t apologize," you say softly. "I get it."

Damian's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a vulnerability that speaks volumes. "Thank you," he murmurs quietly, his voice holding a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon watches the exchange with a soft smile, his hand finding yours once more as he leans in closer. "We're here for you," he says gently, his voice a steady reassurance amidst the lingering tension.

You smile warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian's forehead. "We're in this together," you assure him, your voice filled with sincerity. Jon leans in from his spot beside you, pressing a kiss to Damian's cheek with a fond grin.

Oh, you remember something. “You know what I found out?” A small grin spreads across your face. “I went to have a talk with alternate me.” Your finger gently traces patterns on Damian’s chest. “Found out something really interesting.”

“And what would that be?” Damian mutters, subdued by your touch. Jon’s hand comes up to rest on your back.

“Most of us Spider’s usually have the same people in our lives,” you begin, voice dropping. “A Gwen Stacy, an MJ, maybe a Felicia Hardy,” you lift your head to look at Damian. “AKA, the Spider’s very own cat burglar, Black Cat.” Damian raises a brow at that.

“However, they didn’t have any of those people. You know what they did have, though?” you ask, pausing for dramatic effect.

“They had you two,” you say softly, gaze shifting between them. “Damian Wayne and Jon Kent. Not Superboy or Robin, just completely normal people.” Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation.

“I love you,” you say, smiling softly. “I love you in every universe.”

Jon stares at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and affection. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a silent affirmation of his feelings.  Damian looks up at you like you're a thing to be worshiped, face one of awe. “We love you too,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon sighs contentedly, leaning back into the couch with a smile. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that," he admits, his voice smitten.

You laugh softly, the warmth of their affection enveloping you in a cocoon of happiness. "Get used to it," you tease gently, resting your head against Damian's shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Damian's hand finds yours, his touch grounding and reassuring. "We wouldn't want you to," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper that echoes through the room.

Jon nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving yours. "You're stuck with us," he says with a playful grin, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

The three of you settle into a comfortable silence, the Den filled with the quiet intimacy of shared moments and spoken promises. As the night stretches on, you find yourself surrounded by the warmth of their presence, knowing that in this moment, and in the countless moments to come, you've found who you truly belong with.

Wrapped in their embrace, you let all your worries wash away, the echoes of their voices and the steady rhythm of their hearts lulling you into a state of peace. In the quiet darkness of the Den, amidst the city's distant hum, you find solace in the knowledge that you are home—at last, and always—with Jon and Damian by your side.

notes: see you guys sunday for the epilogue :)

[gossippool]

what do you recommend for people who are very new to deadpool comics and looking to get into them?

hiii thank u for asking!! this is kind of a complicated question because there's no right answer really. especially with deadpool, there's no actual best starting point because besides the basic origin story that he was experimented on, everything else about him is fair game (he just lies all the time and has false memories about his past) and so all the comics are different, although some are connected. but here's a list of a few comics depending on what you want to explore (i have not read every deadpool comic ever so this is not the best list but i will get there):

for shorter and more lighthearted reads:

deadpool (2022)—SO so cute wade has a crush on this non-binary assassin and it's actually adorable how much he likes them lol. in terms of shorter deadpool comics i think this one is quite a standout [update: the ongoing deadpool (2024) is brilliant as well and is a direct more in-depth continuation of this]

deadpool infinity comic (2021)—a short partnership with sue storm. funny and the art style is so cute too

deadpool (2018) #6—the issues in this run are all kinda standalone stories (although they all connect at the end). they're all a fun time but this issue in particular is hilarious. comics usually don't make me actually laugh but this one did

for a more meta read that explores exactly what makes wade unique from other superheroes:

deadpool kills the marvel universe (2011)—in my opinion THE most iconic deadpool run, i'm sure everyone's heard of it lmao. a little darker but hey cameos from every marvel character ever. this was the first deadpool comic i ever read and it was a good time

for a familiar face from deadpool and wolverine (for other specific familiar faces you could just search "deadpool vs [character]" and that comic would probably exist):

honestly just search "deadpool and wolverine" and you'll probably get the whole list but here are some i've read that are lovely:

deadpool & wolverine: wwiii (2024)

deadpool vs. wolverine: slash 'em up infinity comic (2024)

weapon x-traction (2024)

for long in-depth characterisation that explores a lot of deadpool lore:

deadpool (2012)—if you've been following me you might know this is my favourite deadpool comic ever. it's pretty depressing and much grittier than the movie deadpool you might be used to, also REALLY long so it can be daunting but it's very worth it imo. it starts to get really good by the good, the bad, and the ugly issue and there's just SO much in it. for me wade in this run is inseparable from wade as a character to me (this comic is also followed up with deadpool (2015) and despicable deadpool (2017). these aren't necessary to read because 2012 kind of wraps up on its own, but it's definitely bittersweet to get to the end)

deadpool (1997)—another hulk of a comic run. i have not read this yet but i've heard very good things about it, and many people say that joe kelly is the defining deadpool writer so you could give it a go! older comics may be a little harder to read though, from experience

for comics featuring ellie (wade's daughter) that you may want to read in order if you want to fully appreciate her and wade's relationship:

deadpool (2012, 2014, 2015)

deadpool (2018, issues #8, #12, #15)

deadpool (2024)

a lot of comics will sometimes redirect you to other comics that explore a sideplot, and the main comic will just pick up where those left off so you could miss some storyline. despite this it's not necessary to read those other comics, but if you want to avoid multiple instances of this when you first go in, then i would suggest starting with the shorter runs!!

i hope this was helpful lmao sorry this got really long but i think the starting point really is different for everyone depending on what they like

[wishpid]

Reunited

Pairing: Leehan x reader

Length: 695 words Genre: Request, fluff

Synopsis: Due to his busy schedule, you haven't been able to see or talk much with your boyfriend. But now that he's finished with comeback promotions, Leehan and you are content to stay in the one another's space for the next 24 hours

Warnings: use of leehan's birth name, reader is lowkey obsessed w/ leehan's scent (my bad 😬), mention of reader standing on tip-toes, description of a soft make out, smelling each other

Note: i tried copying leehan's texting style but y'all be the judges of how i did. hopefully it sounds somewhat like him based off his weverse. also hoping the texts between reader & leehan make sense 🙇‍♂️; someone let me know if they don't & i'll edit this so it does More: Click here to check out my orchard to find more of my works!

── ⋆⋅ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ⋅⋆ ──

You burrowed your nose further into the pillow in your grasp. The casing only carrying the faintest hint of your boyfriend's scent. You pouted, whipping your phone out from the depths of the blankets.

'The pillow doesn't smell like you anymore ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ ‎'

'You won't need it much longer. I'll see you soon 🖤'

You sat up quickly as you read and reread Leehan's reply. Fingers hastily typing on your phone's virtual keyboard, not caring about properly spelling (thank god for autocorrect).

'REALLY?!

When?

I'll make your favorite'

'🧐

Jellies!'

'Kim Donghyun. *picture* '

You scooted yourself to your bedside, slipping off from it and into your house slippers. Making your way to the wardrobe, you pulled out a pair of bermuda shorts and one of the shirts Leehan left behind. Bringing the piece of clothing to your nose, you sighed happily. It was hard to get used to how much you missed Leehan during the boys’ comeback schedules. You began getting ready to go to the store while thinking of a proper dinner for the two of you. Deciding on mini pizzas, you then searched your kitchen; making a mental list of items to get alongside your boyfriend's gummies. Patting your pockets, you double-checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and headphones. You placed one earbud into your ear as you entered the elevator, humming as you played the music. The grocery trip was uneventful, your focus on quickly returning to your apartment. You knew from experience that the both of you would want to cuddle after reuniting which meant you needed to finish the other small chores on your list before then. Thankfully, it was only 11 am when you arrived home; you wouldn't have to rush in your cleaning. You got to work: putting away the groceries along with the clean dishes, then wiping the counters before dusting and sweeping.

"I'm home" you heard Leehan call out from where you were tidying up the bedroom. You rushed to the corridor, throwing your arms around the tall male. His own wrapped around you, the two of you enjoying the physical touch.

"I missed you" you whispered as you slightly pulled back to look at your boyfriend. Reaching for him with your tiptoes, you leaned up to kiss Leehan.

"I missed you" he replied back as he tightened his hold on you. Gesturing with your head, you motioned towards the coach with a questioning eyebrow. Leehan nodded, separating enough to grab your hand before moving to the couch. Maneuvering yourselves around, you and Leehan attached back to one another.

"Your hair's still soft," you said as you caressed his blonde hair. "I'm glad." Leehan hummed, eyes closed as your fingers went over his face. Taking advantage of your position, you plastered kisses onto his lips. Leehan reached around, holding your nape to keep you in place. He gently nipped at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You felt ticklish as Leehan's digits sometimes grazed your side. His tongue licked up into your mouth, exploring the cavity in soft earnest. There was nothing that compared to kissing Leehan. Each time felt like the first and left you lightheaded. But kisses like these were your favorite type when it came to Leehan. You enjoyed being able to just feel the love between the both of you. Languidly sucking and licking at each other's mouth, unable to get enough but not desperate for more. Running out of air, the two of you finally separated from another. You leaned your forehead onto his, breathing heavily into each other's space.

"Is this my shirt?" Leehan asked, his voice teasing despite him still catching his breath. You hid your blush by tucking yourself into Leehan's shoulder.

"I told I missed you," you mumbled with a pout. You inhaled Leehan's cologne before adding "and your scent". He laughed as he pulled you tight against him. Leehan placed a kiss onto your temple, getting a sniff of your scent for himself. The two of you got comfortable, relaxing your holds on each other.

"I missed you just as much."

[cryptidghostgirl]

Alastor x Reader Master List

My Alastor list is getting crazy long so I am giving it it's own post just so my big Hazbin Hotel Master List doesn't get too confusing.

Other Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

List of Things I Won't Write

Series are marked in purple

Requests are marked in pink

Suggestive are marked in orange

NSFW are marked in red

Make You Wish Master List -> Y/n has known Alastor since she first ended up in Hell. When he disappeared? She thought her life was over. Seven years have passed since then and slowly but surely, the 1950s housewife turned murderer has made a life for herself, full of good decisions and some bad ones. What will happen when Alastor turns back up again, sending the world as she has made it into chaos once again?

What Can I Do For You (Alastor x Reader) → What if the deal Alastor made that is controlling his power was with Y/n?

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

→ Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) -> Reader wakes up in Alastor's room at the Hotel after the events of Understand.

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader) → Y/n’s anger in finding that after seven years, their husband has returned to Pentagram City and decided not to tell them.

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader) → It is too late for him to change things now. It doesn't matter what else has happened, that he's gotten to know her, seen her light. Some broken things can never be fixed. 'You came' 'you called' but make it sad.

��� Unrequited Pt. 2 -> Reader steps in when Alastor is attacking Husk.

→ Unrequited Pt. 3 -> Alastor refuses to let Y/n be present for the battle against Heaven and will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if she hates him for it.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have a deal with Lilith where until a soul is redeemed at Charlie’s hotel, Y/n is under her control. Alastor will do whatever it takes to get his wife back, but that doesn’t mean he won't get a little sad a lonely along the way.

Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Valentine's day special :) The story of how Alastor and Y/n realized they had feelings for one another.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader) → Hurt//comfort. A random demon insults the reader and Alastor comes to comfort her, later dealing with the demon in a typically Alastor way of handling such a crime.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader) → Fake dating trope. Y/n and Alastor met when they tried to kill one another, how could they not end up at least a little bit in love?

-> Cover Up pt. 2

→ Cover Up pt. 3

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader) → Y/n just wants to watch the world burn. Being married was a boon at first but later, rather inconvenient. When she died, she did everything she could to avoid her husband and continue her work but fate had other plans.

→ Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

→ Till Death do us Part pt. 3

Prepare for Battle (Platonic!Alastor x Platonic!Cat Demon!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have been engaged in a prank battle for decades. What happens when just a few days after Alastor reappears in the Pride ring, Y/n joins him at the Hazbin Hotel?

Rhapsody Master List → Gn!Reader. Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it. They each go their separate ways because of this but what happens when years later their paths intersect once again. Loosely inspired by Raine and Eda in The Owl House.

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader) → Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Pretty Bunny (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor catches Angel and Y/n getting ready for a night out and stops Y/n from going. Hurt/comfort.

I Myself am Strange and Unusual (Alastor x Living!Addams family!Reader x Lucifer) → Y/n is bored and summons some demons. 

The Love (Alastor x Reader) → Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Frostbite (Alastor x Reader) → History repeats itself in odd and uninvited ways. Life cycles on even in death.

→ Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader) → It wasn't love. Alastor didn't feel love, not anymore. He'd lost that part of himself the day he died so it couldn't be love, could it?

→ Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2

Mishap of Magic (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor’s magic backfires and Y/n is there to help. Who would have guessed that a situation such as this would give him the last push he needed to tell her how he felt? 

Destruction//Creation (Vox x Alastor's Ex!Reader x Alastor) → Alastor refuses to let the past die and Y/n would rather pretend it never existed.

The Thing (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Alastor meets his shadow.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n is sent to the Hazbin Hotel as a spy.

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Y/n see’s Alastor talking to Rosie and thinks she is what he wants in a woman. Little does she know, he was meeting with Rosie to ask for advice on how to talk to Y/n.

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader) → Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Spicy Sienna and Berry Naughty (Alastor x Chubby!Gn!Reader!) → Alastor likes the fact that Y/n has begun matching their lipstick to their nail polish -- loves it, in fact. What he doesn’t like is that other people have started noticing. (this one is a bit… weird so I am marking it as suggestive.)

Burn (Human!Alastor x Human!Gn!Reader) → What happens when Alastor spots his ideal target, Mimzy’s newest hired talent? What happens when they evade his capture? What happens when, slowly, he begins to realize -- Alastor doesn’t want to kill them? At least, not anymore.

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader) → Alastor reencounters an old friend.

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 7 - Bound Beneath a Sirens Song Summary: With a storm looming on the horizon, the air crackles with an undeniable energy—every moment, every touch is charged like lightning waiting to strike. When Arthur invites you to take a swim, how could you possibly refuse? After all, it’s just a swim... what harm could come from that? wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Longer chapter, got a little carried away. But reader finally gets to kissy on her fishy :3 (also like 80% of this takes place underwater, so pls don’t read too much into the logic of it)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

I was searching for trouble and I knew it

The pull toward him was undeniable, like the tide dragging me into deeper waters, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it. There were a thousand reasons why I should pack up my things and head home, but none of them were strong enough to make me leave. Every day, his voice echoed in the back of my mind, a secret siren song ringing in my ears, impossible to ignore.

I told myself this was an adventure—something new, something extraordinary. When in my life would I ever experience something like this again? But deep down, I knew it was more than that. He wasn’t just some fascinating creature to be studied, he was a person. A complicated, intriguing, wonderful person who had been through hell and somehow still found the strength to trust. Over the past week, I had watched him transform before my eyes, shedding his fear and anger like an old skin. Seeing that change unfold lit something warm and dangerous in my chest.

I knew I was going down with this ship, but I refused to raise the white flag in surrender. 

Not when he had come so far. Not when I had seen the way his shoulders relaxed when he listened to Mary-Beth ramble about her favorite books, or how he watched Tilly’s hands with quiet fascination as she scribbled down notes and hypotheses, pausing only to tap her pen against her lip in thought. He was still wary of the men, his trust slower to form, but he was trying. And that effort—it meant everything.

Tilly pestered him with inquisitive, practical questions, always seeking to unravel the mysteries of his existence. She wanted to know what he remembered about his mother, about his people, about the depths of the ocean he had never been free to explore. She wanted to see his lights up close, to hear the cadence of his native tongue, to piece together the puzzle of his biology with a scientific curiosity. At first, Arthur was hesitant, his answers clipped, wary. But I was always there with them, and at times, it felt like he looked to me for permission. A gentle smile, a small nod, and his face would soften just slightly, his bioluminescence flickering to life.

It was as if I was telling him, Go ahead. You’re safe to be yourself here.

Mary-Beth, on the other hand, was smitten with his personality. She had a habit of chatting his ear off, switching from one topic to another with the ease of someone who never ran out of things to say. She talked about her love for writing, about her life back at college, and the not-so-secret crush she had on a certain fisherman at the facility. And Arthur—he listened. Really listened. He hung onto every word, his curiosity evident in the way he tilted his head, the way he asked his own questions. It was clear that as much as we were fascinated by him, he was just as eager to understand us.

And for the first time in his life, he was free to learn without the shadow of pain and fear looming over him.

It was the end of the week. The summer sun was sinking low in the sky, bathing the outdoor section of Arthur’s tank in molten gold. The facility had closed to the public not too long ago, and the girls would need to head home soon. The warm eastern wind carried the briny scent of the ocean, filling my lungs with something grounding, something familiar.

I, for one, did not plan on leaving with them.

There was a part of me that longed to dive into the unknown. To explore someone who, in ways I couldn’t yet explain, felt just a little bit like me. Every day, the pull had grown stronger, the ache sharper. I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or something more—but tonight, I could no longer ignore it.

Mary-Beth was carefully braiding a section of Arthur’s sandy blond hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she wove small strands together. Arthur sat comfortably with his elbows resting on the platform, arms crossed as his long tail floated lazily in the water, the gentle sway of it almost hypnotic. Tilly, stretching her legs with a sigh, checked the time before nudging Mary-Beth.

“We better get moving. My mom doesn’t like when I’m late for dinner.”

Mary-Beth groaned dramatically, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. “Oh, come on, Tilly. It’s Friday! We’re young adults—we should be spending our weekends staying out late, having fun! Can’t we stay with Arthur a little longer?”

“Ouch, guess I’m just chopped liver,” I muttered with a laugh, shaking my head. Though, in truth, I didn’t really mind that they preferred Arthur’s company. Because it meant I got to spend time with him too.

Arthur chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest as he gave them a reassuring smile. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere,” he said, amusement dancing in his glowing blue eyes. “We can pick up where we left off when you girls come back. Go home, get some rest—study up on those science books so you can teach this old fool some new tricks.” He added a playful wink, making Mary-Beth giggle as she gathered her things.

I stood as they did, walking them to the door, dragging my feet ever so slightly. The anticipation in my chest was a restless thing.

And then, finally—the door shut behind them with a heavy thud. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing softer until they disappeared completely.

And just like that, it was just us.

Arthur and I.

This was what I had been waiting for all week—just a moment alone with him, without the others, without distraction. But now that it was here, now that the opportunity had fallen right into my lap, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with myself.

I wanted to talk to him, to ask him questions, to know him in ways no one else had. But I had already spent every day listening to his stories, absorbing the pieces of himself he was willing to share with the others. And yet, there were still so many things I desired to know. More personal, more intimate details about his life that I had no business prying into.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I barely registered the way Arthur tilted his head at me, eyes searching mine.

“You alright, darlin’?”

The smooth timbre of his voice pulled me back to the present, washing over me like the tide pulling in.

I blinked, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I was just thinking.” I hesitated for half a second before adding, “Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

His eyes lit up, and it wasn’t just the setting sun catching in the water.

“Sure,” he said, shifting slightly as he regarded me. “This ain’t gonna get you in trouble, though, right?”

He had a point. There was no reason for me to stay after hours. But surely, I wasn’t breaking any rules. Not really.

I smirked. “Only if I get caught.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, as if we had known each other for years instead of days. I realized just how much I needed to know him. Not as some scientific marvel, not as a myth brought to life.

But as Arthur.

As I moved toward the edge of the ledge, letting my legs dangle in the water, Arthur followed without hesitation. It was as if we were tethered by some invisible thread, an unspoken pull drawing us together. He stopped just before reaching me, lingering in that space between caution and longing, his hesitation palpable. I could see the gears turning in his mind—how close is too close?

I reached out, offering my hand in a silent invitation. And when he took it, I felt the warmth of his palm against mine despite the coolness of the water. He pressed himself against my legs, his chest firm and solid, his heartbeat strong beneath my skin. Wet arms came to rest on my thighs, soaking through my shorts, but I barely noticed. The moment was too charged, too fragile, as his gills fluttered against my legs, I parted them slightly as if breathing him into my embrace.

He was so close now. Close enough that I could study every detail of his face—the faint scar hidden beneath his short beard, the dimple at the base of his nose, the way his lashes curled like delicate brushstrokes. Freckles dusted his cheeks and shoulders like constellations etched into his skin, mapping stories I would never fully know. His second eyelids, faint but visible, reflected the soft light filtering through the water, a feature evolved to protect his irises, and yet, he still looked at me with such openness. His lips were smooth, and when he parted them, I caught the glint of sharp teeth, a stark contrast to the tenderness in his gaze.

Content had settled over his handsome rugged features. 

“Arthur.” His name slipped from my lips, quiet but sincere. And before I could stop myself, the question that had been lodged in my heart finally surfaced. “Are you happy here?”

I felt him tense, his body stilling against mine. He took a slow, measured breath, but there was no avoidance in his gaze, no flicker of hesitation. Only the truth.

“Happy is... a foreign word to me,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of uncertainty. “I like it here, but it’s not exactly what I’d call… home.”

The word sounded strange coming from him, like he was tasting it for the first time, unsure of its meaning. My chest ached.

“It’s a bit lonely when you’re all workin’,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Quiet. But it’s a nice feelin’, like I can just be.” He shrugged, as if that small solace was enough, as if it didn’t matter.

A sigh escaped my throat before I could swallow it. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I wish there—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetheart. You’ve given me more freedom than I’ve ever tasted in my whole miserable life.”

I smiled at that, but it was a poor attempt to mask the tightness in my chest. I wanted to do more for him. I wanted to erase every wound, every scar of his past. Show him true happiness, not just some artificial slice of freedom. 

“Besides,” a slow, knowing grin tugged at his lips, revealing more of those sharp teeth. “If you had never brought me here, I never would’ve met you.”

His hand—webbed, calloused, yet impossibly gentle—lifted to my face, his fingertips tracing the curve of my cheek with aching reverence. Like he was afraid I might dissolve beneath his touch, fade into the air like seafoam.

“And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

The words settled between us, sinking into my bones, heavy and undeniable. I should have said something back. Should have acknowledged what was happening between us.

But I couldn’t. Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pull myself away.

Arthur held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, a storm of emotions swirling between us like the eye of a cyclone—hot and cold currents colliding, the pressure building, pulling us into a dance neither of us dared to break free from. It was unspoken, this tether between us, but I felt it with every pounding heartbeat, with every inch that closed between our bodies.

“Would you swim with me, my girl?”

My breath caught. The words barely registered, not because I hadn’t heard them, but because of the way he said them.

My girl.

It rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, like it was already a truth neither of us had acknowledged yet. My stomach twisted, and a rush of warmth bloomed across my cheeks under the golden light of the setting sun. Arthur watched me, eyes shimmering with mischief, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“S-swim?” I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rich, like I had just recoiled from something ridiculous—like he had asked me to eat a raw sea urchin instead of simply taking a swim. “Yeah. If you can ignore the sharks and stingrays, it’s practically paradise,” he teased, tugging at my hands as if I might just leap in fully clothed without a second thought.

The meaning of his request finally sank in. My pulse kicked up a notch. This wasn’t what I had planned when I stayed behind with him, wasn’t how I thought I’d fill my time. I had imagined more talking, maybe more of those easy laughs he shared with the girls. But this—this was something different. Something thrilling.

I’d be in the water with him. In his natural element.

A voice in the back of my head stirred, whispering a reminder of what Lenny had said about siren courtship. His bioluminescence, the purring, the gift-giving—he’s in mating season.

I shot those thoughts straight to hell.

This wasn’t about that. This was just swimming. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous. What harm could be done?

Right? Right. 

A grin broke across my face, excitement bubbling in my chest as I practically sprang to my feet.

“I’ll go change into my wetsuit.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

I bounded down the corridor, my heartbeat matching the quick, eager rhythm of my steps. Excitement thrummed in my veins, bubbling up inside me until it felt like I might burst. This is happening. I could barely contain myself, giddy at the thought of what was to come. To see Arthur as he was meant to be—in the water, in his element. To watch the way the water broke for him, how effortlessly he moved, commanding the space with just the flick of his powerful tail. The thought sent shivers down my spine, a thrill unlike anything I had ever known.

I was so lost in the fantasy that I didn’t notice the electrical closet door swinging open until I nearly barreled straight into a solid chest.

“Woah!”

Hands gripped my shoulders to steady me, and I blinked up to find John staring down at me, brows raised in surprise. “Hey, uhm—didn’t realize you were still here…you going for a swim or something?” His gaze flickered down to my wetsuit, to the towel in my hands, then toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. His expression shifted, concern knitting his features. “Shit, is Arthur alright? Did something happen?”

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. Just like John to assume the worst. He always played it cool, pretended not to give a shit, but deep down, I knew better. The fool had a heart bigger than his ego—not that he’d ever admit it.

“Arthur’s fine,” I assured him quickly. “I’m just… going for a little swim. That’s all.”

John’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could grill me on why exactly I was voluntarily diving into the water with a half-siren, I cut in.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? You hate working late on Fridays.”

He sighed, exhaustion lacing his tone as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hosea asked me to check on the generators. Since we got that big storm coming this weekend.”

Right. The hurricane. I had been so wrapped up in Arthur, in my own tangled emotions, that I had almost forgotten.

“Oh, right. Hurricane Eliza.” I rocked back on my heels, clutching the towel to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. “I heard she’s gonna be a real beast.” I tried not to sound uninterested, but all I really wanted to do was turn back to Arthur. 

John hummed in agreement, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long, as if he could see straight through my flimsy attempt at nonchalance.

A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest. “Yeah, uh—I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

He turned, heading back down the hallway, but not before shooting me that look. The one that said he wasn’t buying it.

“John! Uh…” I swallowed hard, nerves creeping back up my spine. Why did I feel like I was a child getting away with something? “Please keep this between us. I-I’m just—” I fumbled for the right words. Just what? Just going for a swim? Then why did it feel like I had been caught sneaking off to do something much more nefarious?

John smirked, dragging a finger across his lips like he was sealing them shut. “Your secret’s safe with me. Have fun with your shark boyfriend.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He’s not—”

John was already strolling away, ignoring my rebuttal. “If he tries anything, I’ll gut his ass personally,” he called over his shoulder, his voice echoing down the corridor. 

I laughed, shaking my head. “Think I’ll take my chances, Marston. Seeing as you still can’t swim!”

Without turning around, he raised a middle finger in the air.

Grinning to myself, I clutched my towel a little tighter and turned toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. My heart pounded for an entirely different reason now. This was finally happening.

The moment I stepped onto the platform, my heart clenched with a brief flicker of doubt. Would he still be as eager now that I was actually here? But before that worry could take root, the surface of the water broke, and Arthur emerged with effortless grace, resting his arms on the ledge like he had been waiting for me all night.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice a low rumble beneath the gentle crashing of the waves beyond the facility. “Was startin’ to worry you changed your mind.”

I grinned, shaking my head as I tossed my towel onto a plastic chair. “Like I’d pass up this opportunity,” I mused, reaching for my flippers. “Spoke too soon about getting caught. Ran into John in the hallway.”

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention was already elsewhere. I followed his gaze down to my feet, watching the way his expression softened with curiosity. Slowly, he reached out, his webbed fingers glistening under the golden light as they ghosted over my ankle.

I stilled as he lifted my foot slightly, his thumb brushing over the sharp ridge of ankle bone before gliding downward in a slow, deliberate motion. When the back of his claw traced up the arch of my foot, I couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped me, my toes curling instinctively.

Arthur's eyes flicked up at the sound, his lips twitching with amusement before he focused back on my foot, turning it this way and that as if studying an artifact he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Why do you wear these?” he asked, finally shifting his attention to the flipper I had yet to put on. He tapped the stiff rubber with his claw, brows furrowing.

I chuckled, slipping the other one on. “They’re flippers. I can’t swim like you do. My feet aren’t smooth or streamlined, and I don’t have the muscles like you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly as he mouthed the word to himself. “Flippers,” he repeated, testing the sound on his tongue before looking back at me. “So these make you more like me?”

His question sent a strange warmth through my chest. There was something so earnest in the way he asked, his fingers trailing along the length of the fin as if he were trying to understand what it meant for me to move through his world.

“Essentially, yes,” I murmured, a small smile playing at my lips. “They’ll help me keep up with you.”

Arthur let out an exaggerated snort, giving me a pointed look. “Darlin’, that’s a bold statement.”

Grinning, I kicked my foot out of the water, sending a spray into the air. He flinched slightly, watching the droplets rain down before glaring at the stiff black rubber with playful disdain.

“That’s just insulting.”

I laughed, adjusting the strap on my other flipper before sliding a pair of goggles over my forehead. Arthur cocked a brow, tilting his head as he eyed them.

“Ain’t even gonna ask,” he huffed, but then his tone shifted, growing more serious. “How long can you hold your breath?”

The change in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. The playful banter faded, replaced by something quieter—something deeper.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the edge of the platform. How long could I hold my breath? I was about to dive into his world, a place where he was strong, fast, in control. The thought sent my pulse skittering, but I forced a steady breath, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Less than a minute,” I admitted, though I knew it was probably closer to thirty seconds.

Arthur took in the information with a slow nod, his ocean-blue gaze flickering downward to the depths of the tank. The water reflected against his skin in shifting ribbons of light, making him look even more otherworldly. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Pulling my goggles over my eyes and nose, I inhaled deeply, letting my lungs expand before slipping off the ledge. The cool water embraced me instantly, a rush of sensation flooding my senses as the world above blurred into nothingness.

And then, through the clearing bubbles, there he was.

Arthur moved—no, glided—with an effortless grace that no human could ever hope to match. The full arc of his powerful tail cut through the water like a blade, propelling him forward with a strength that sent ripples cascading outward. The bioluminescent blues and purples that traced his scales shimmered like stardust, catching the fractured light that filtered down from above. His tail fin, a broad, elegant half-moon, unfurled behind him with each movement, undulating like the slow, hypnotic pulse of a jellyfish. The way it rippled through the currents, fluid and weightless, was mesmerizing—a dance like the ocean itself was draped in silk.

For the first time, I was seeing him as he was meant to be. Free. Powerful. Impossible. A gateway into a world unknown. He belonged to nobody, and no man. 

His sandy blond hair drifted around his face in feathery strands, framing the rugged lines of his features, softening the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones. His gills flexed slightly, expelling a faint trail of bubbles as he moved, blending into the swirling currents. And then there was his smile—devastating, knowing, teasing. It was the kind of smile that made the world tilt, that made my stomach tighten with something warm.

He belonged here, in the water, in the vastness. And yet, as his ocean-blue eyes met mine, glowing faintly beneath the surface, I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, in this moment—he belonged with me, too.

Arthur reached for me, and without hesitation, I took his hand.

Webbed fingers curled around mine, warm even in the cold water, and with the smallest tug, he guided me deeper. The tank transformed before my eyes—the artificial world of rock formations and coral structures now seemed vast and infinite from this new perspective. Schools of fish darted past us in flashes of silver, weaving effortlessly through the currents.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Arthur twisted effortlessly, rolling onto his back so he could watch me, his tail propelling him smoothly as I floated just above him. Watching me with that same toothy, teasing grin. 

I kicked my feet, feeling the resistance of the water as my flippers sliced through it, but it was nothing compared to the sheer power he held in every movement. His tail moved in slow, deliberate strokes, adjusting his speed with fluent precision, allowing me to drift above.

I suddenly wished I had a tail like his—to feel the strength coiling in my muscles, to move through the water with that same primal ease. To command the currents as if they were an extension of myself. But I was clumsy in comparison, merely paddling while he swam with the mastery of something born from the deep. And yet, he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked amused, watching me with a quiet adoration, like I was the marvel here—not him.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly weightless. Suspended in the water, drifting between reality and something almost dreamlike, I had never felt so free. Despite the vastness around us, Arthur was the only thing keeping me tethered.

Then my chest tightened. A sharp, familiar burn spread through my lungs. Shit. Has it been a minute already?

With my free hand, I pointed to the surface, signaling to Arthur that I needed air. But instead of guiding me upward, he pulled us deeper. My stomach dropped. A chill slithered down my spine as his grip on my hand remained firm. What is he doing?

I tugged, trying to free myself, but his hold only tightened. Panic began to set in, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. No… No, no, no! My limbs burned, my body screaming for oxygen. The water suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. It was crushing me, swallowing me whole. 

He shook his head.

A bolt of horror shot through me. No? What the fuck do you mean, NO?!

Was this some kind of sick game? Had I been a fool to trust him? My mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one darker than the last. What if I had just made a terrible mistake? What if everything we shared had been a lie? What if Arthur wasn’t what I thought he was?

Was he going to kill me? Am I going to drown? 

Just as the last ounce of my strength gave way, just as I thought I was about to give in to the burning need to draw breath and fill my lungs with water, Arthur pulled me against his chest. I expected him to kick his tail sending us upward, to break the surface in a powerful burst. He had asked how long I could hold my breath, surely that wasn't to plan my demise in a timely fashion.  

But instead, he did something I never could have anticipated.

His hands came up to cradle my face, his touch gentle even as I writhed against him. His bioluminescent veins pulsed with soft light, a delicate glow between us. His eyes, deep and steady, locked onto mine, silently urging me to trust him. But my mind was blind with panic, lungs burning as they gave out. 

Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine.

A kiss? Now? My mind screamed at me to pull away, to fight, to swim for the surface before it was too late. I felt it crawling under my skin, a desperate need for air or I was going to die!

I gasped but instead of choking, instead of water rushing into my lungs—

I breathed.

A rush of oxygen filled my chest, sharp and startling, like drawing the first breath of life. Arthur's lips parted against mine, his tongue slipping past in a way that was less about hunger and more about necessity. He was giving me his breath, sharing something vital and instinctual, something so intimate it sent a shiver down my spine and ignited each of my nerves in white hot fire.

I inhaled, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I clung to him, taking in the air he offered me in desperate, greedy gulps. My lungs burned, but not from lack of oxygen—it was the lingering ache of panic, the rawness of fear ebbing away, replaced by something deeper. Something calming. 

Relief. Arthur never meant to let me drown. He was never going to harm me. I silently cursed myself for not trusting him. But this was something I never would have expected. 

The rhythm came naturally after a few moments. A slow, controlled exchange. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Arthur matched me, his chest expanding against mine, his gills flaring as he cycled the air between us. Drawing in enough breath for both our lungs. Somewhere in my frantic attempt to survive, my goggles had been pulled off, floating aimlessly somewhere behind me. 

Now, nothing separated us. No barrier, no confusion. Just the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his body as he held me in place. His breath kissing every pore. 

My arms wound around his neck instinctively, fingers tangling in his billowing hair. I could feel the powerful ripple of his muscles as he kept us suspended in the water, his tail moving in slow, effortless sweeps. His veins pulsed softly beneath his skin, casting an ethereal glow between us. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic even. 

I consumed him like a fire that devours, drawing him in deeper. Seizing his lifeforce. Claiming it as my own. Taking. 

The air he breathed into me was unlike anything I had ever tasted. It was liberating, pure—like petrichor. When the earth is warm with rain-soaked soil after a summer storm. Rich and electric and unmistakably him. It filled every aching part of me, chased away the fear, replaced it with something that left me dizzy.

This wasn’t just survival. This was something else entirely.

Arthur wasn’t just giving me air—he was threading himself into the very fabric of my being.

With every inhale, he poured into me like the tide rushing into a hollowed-out cave, filling the spaces I didn’t even realize were empty. A piece of him—vast, ancient, and arcane—flooded through my heart, echoing through its chambers, coursing through my veins in a heady, intoxicating rush. It curled into the hollows of my lungs, wove through the sinew of my muscles, and settled deep into my skin. Clinging to me like the saltwater after it dries.

It wasn’t just breath. It was him.

He invaded me, not with force, but with something far more meaningful—an offering, a communion. A sacrifice. Reaching inside me his presence wrapped around my very cells, touching every inch of me in ways I had never imagined. It was like swallowing starlight, like sinking into the depths of the ocean and becoming part of it, losing myself to something endless and infinite.

I felt the ocean’s pulse, a steady rhythm thrumming through me. It was life, boundless and eternal. And gods above, it was mighty.

With each exhale, he didn’t pull away—he gave as much as I would take. As much as I needed to calm my thundering pulse. Traces of him held me, saturating my body with something more than air. He left himself in the marrow of my bones, in the pulse of my wrists, in the spaces between each heartbeat.

I was no longer just breathing. I was becoming. 

Somewhere in the tangled mess of our situation, I hadn’t noticed Arthur bringing me back to the surface. When we finally broke through, the rush of cool ocean air kissed my cheeks, sending a shudder through me. I felt like I had just stolen something forbidden, something ancient—like I had partaken in a divine secret that was never meant for human hands. As if I had slipped past the gods unnoticed, grasping at eternity, daring to hold onto something beyond biology, beyond comprehension.

And still, despite the overwhelming weight of what had just happened between us, my instincts took over. I gasped for breath, gulping down fresh air, grounding myself in reality—even as I mourned the loss of that impossible intimacy. I pushed myself back onto the platform, slumping onto my back with a heavy huff, my limbs trembling from the lingering adrenaline. I barely registered Arthur rising beside me, his own chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

Poor thing. I really did steal the breath from his lungs. Literally.

The thought sent a dizzy rush through me. Had I gotten too carried away? Had I taken too much? I wasn’t even sure what too much meant in this situation. My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of it, to unravel the impossibility of what we had just shared.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled, still trying to steady my racing heart. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I thought you were trying to drown me!”

I pushed up onto my elbows, my gaze locking onto his face as he hovered in the water between my legs. He looked just as disoriented as I felt, the glow in his veins pulsing slow and steady, like the aftershocks of something neither of us could fully comprehend. He blinked up at me, his gills fluttering slightly as if he was still catching his breath, too.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more careful. “I asked how long you could hold your breath… I—I thought you knew what I was doin’. I never meant to scare ya, sweetheart.”

His eyes held nothing but sincerity, and yet I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” The words came out sharper than I intended, my emotions still tangled up in the lingering panic.

Arthur flinched—not physically, but I saw the way something in him pulled back, just slightly. The guilt in his expression sent a pang of regret through my chest. He truly hadn’t meant to frighten me.

“I thought humans did it all the time,” he admitted, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve seen ‘em press their mouths together, sharin’ breath. Never really understood why, though… Since you’ve got plenty of it up here.” He waved a webbed hand through the air as if the concept itself was baffling to him.

This caught my attention. I stared at him, dumbfounded, my heart giving an odd little stutter. Oh, Arthur. I sat up fully now, moving closer to the edge as his words sank in. He’d seen humans do it before? It took a moment for it to click, for realization to dawn over me like the slow crest of a wave. Oh. He’d seen humans kiss.

“Oh, honey, that’s not—” I hesitated, rubbing my temples with a sigh. How the hell do I even explain this to him? “It’s not the same when humans do it,” I tried again, my voice softer now. “We’re not actually sharing breath. Not like that… not like what we just did.”

Arthur tilted his head, his brows knitting together in confusion. He was trying to understand, I could see that much, but I was probably upending his entire perception of human behavior in real-time.

“Then… why do you do it?”

I let out a slow breath, trying to piece it together in a way that made sense. “It’s called kissing. It’s a way humans express affection. Like a silent conversation… a way to say things without words—like ‘I care about you,’ or ‘I want to be close to you.’” My fingers curled against the damp fabric of my wetsuit. “When two people press their mouths together, they’re sharing a connection, and sometimes…” My voice faltered, realization creeping up on me as the words formed on my tongue. Gods above. It hit me that we had just done practically the same thing. “...sometimes even a little piece of their soul.”

Arthur was completely still. His eyes, dark and fathomless, locked onto mine like the pull of the tide, widening ever so slightly as his pupils expanded. A shiver ran through me, the weight of his gaze so intense it felt like he could see straight into my core.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, he moved closer.

The water rippled gently around his body, his movements slow, deliberate. He mirrored the way we had sat together earlier, but this time, he braced his hands on either side of me, his arms caging me in a way that sent a deep warmth curling in my stomach. The space between us was nonexistent, the air suddenly thick, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Kissing…” Arthur repeated the word, barely more than a murmur, tasting it on his tongue.

I could almost see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was processing everything I’d just said. And I knew, with startling certainty, that he was thinking the same thing I was.

What we shared underwater… was far deeper, far more intimate than any human kiss could ever be.

“Yes, kissing.” My voice came out softer than I intended, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. Fuck, why did I feel so nervous? He was so close I could taste the salt on his breath, feel the warmth radiating from his skin despite the cool water between us. Those deep, knowing eyes never left mine, watching me like he could read every thought flickering through my mind.

“Th-there’s many different ways to kiss,” I went on, my voice betraying my nerves. Why the hell am I even telling him this? “It’s not always on the lips. You can kiss pretty much anywhere on the body.”

His pupils dilated slightly, the dark pools nearly eclipsing the striking blue of his irises. “Anywhere?” His voice had dropped an octave, rougher, like sea water pulling back before a crashing wave.

I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck. “And it’s not always between partners. Parents kiss their children, relatives kiss their loved ones, some people kiss their pets.” My fingers fidgeted, he was so close now I could feel the smoothness of his chest as he drew breath. “You can even blow a kiss.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression shifting from something unreadable to pure confusion. “Why would someone do that?”

A soft giggle bubbled up my throat, his curiosity catching me off guard in the best way. “People do it when they’re beyond each other's reach. A way of sending your affection through the air.”

Feeling emboldened, I reached for his hand—broad, webbed, strong but gentle beneath my touch. His skin was cool and smooth, glistening in the fading light. Slowly, I lifted his arm and guided the back of his hand toward my lips.

“When you blow someone a kiss, you have to bring it to life before letting it go,” I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, without breaking eye contact, I pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the wet space of his palm, exaggerating the smacking sound just enough to tease him.

Arthur went completely still.

I felt the tension coil in his muscles, the way his fingers twitched slightly against my own. When I pulled away, my eyes flickered to his face—and oh. His cheeks were tinted a deeper shade of pink, a faint but undeniable flush creeping along his cheekbones. Was he… blushing?

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin as warmth curled in my chest. I had just made him blush.

Arthur blinked, looking between his hand and my face like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened, like he was trying to feel something beyond the physical sensation lingering on his skin.

“There,” I said proudly, admiring my work as if I had just painted something delicate and unseen across his palm. “Now, you blow it away.”

I gently turned his hand toward the ocean, the sky now fading to a deepening indigo as the sun traded shifts with the moon. The first stars flickered to life above us, their distant glow reflecting in the water, shimmering against Arthur’s iridescent skin. Then, slowly, I blew on his palm, a soft breath carrying the invisible gift away.

Arthur inhaled sharply. His gills flared at the gesture, pulsing with some unspoken emotion.

I released his hand, but instead of pulling away, he brought it to my face. A breath hitched in my throat as the rough pad of his thumb traced over my bottom lip, dragging slowly, reverently. The touch was featherlight, but I felt it everywhere.

His fingers trembled slightly. His eyes burned with something deeper than curiosity now—an insatiable hunger, a deep, aching longing.

I heard him swallow before he spoke, his voice barely rising above the whisper of the roaring waves, rich and weighted, like he was holding himself back. “…and where does the kiss go?”

The words rolled over me, sweeping me into the depth of his need. Arthur’s gaze searched mine, pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled with restrained tension. We were already so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath, hear the tremble in his voice.

“To someone you love.”

It mattered little to me which one of us closed the distance—only that we did. The moment our lips met, the world fell away, as if time itself had paused to bear witness. The moon, ever watchful, seemed to still the tides, holding her breath in quiet admiration, offering her silent blessing.

Arthur kissed me with an aching slowness, as if savoring something precious, something fragile. His lips were warm, firm but yielding, and impossibly gentle. Nothing like before—when he was breathing life into me. No, this was different. This was the slow unraveling of restraint, the surrender to something we had long denied. The intertwining of unspoken desire, of aching need.

The ship was sinking. And I finally raised the white flag.

A shiver ran through me as I brushed my tongue against the fullness of his bottom lip, teasing, testing. He groaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling low in my belly—and parted his lips for me.

The first stroke of his tongue against mine was devastating, deliberate, and utterly alien. Silken and warm, but textured—each ridge on the top of it dragged against my own, sending sharp, electric pulses straight down my spine. It was longer than I expected, sinuous and impossibly agile, exploring me with a slow, unrelenting hunger. I gasped into his mouth as he curled it against the roof of mine, the friction sending a deep, aching thrill through my body.

He tasted of salt, like the sea breeze just before a storm, rich and heady with something darker beneath—the faint scent of musk, the wild pull of him. My fingers reached up around his neck, one hand cradling his jaw. Desperate to keep myself tethered as I drowned in the sensation of him, the way he felt—all sharp edges and smooth restraint, barely contained.

Arthur kissed like he knew what his touch did to me, like he had been waiting to unravel me, to steal the breath from my lungs and make it his own. 

And I let him. I let him take me.

The soft bristle of his beard scraped against my skin, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His fingers skimmed my waist, pressing just enough to anchor me, as if afraid I might slip away. 

All I could taste was him. All I could breathe was him. Arthur, steady and unshakable, yet trembling with want. The only thing that mattered in this moment was us.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to see the glow of his bioluminescence. Its colorful shimmer lit up the space between us, painting the darkness behind my eyelids in swirls of deep indigo, flickering like a living halo. 

The heat of his body pressed against mine, damp and feverish, as he surged forward, rising from the water.

The platform was firm beneath me as he eased me down, his weight settling just enough to trap me beneath him. Then, suddenly, I felt it—before I even heard it. A low, resonant purr, vibrating deep in his chest and pouring into mine, rattling through my ribs like the hum of something ancient, something meant to lure and ensnare.

And like the vibration of his purr I could feel the need exuding off him in waves.

His lips crashed against mine, no longer gentle but desperate, fevered. His tongue, ribbed and serpentine, curled around mine, stroking, caressing, dragging across every sensitive nerve like he wanted to learn me by touch alone. The sensation sent a sharp pulse of need straight to my core. I moaned into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pressing closer, devouring me with each frantic kiss.

His bioluminescence pulsed in time with his heartbeat, casting a rhythm of shifting blues and purples against my skin. His fingers, slick with seawater, traced up my sides, leaving a cool trail that burned in contrast to the heat pooling between us. I wrapped my legs around him as strong hands curled against my waist, squeezing the tender soft flesh. 

Powerful hips rutted against mine, the hard press of something unmistakable beneath his scales sent a shudder through me. Mixed with the slick proof of his arousal, the sensation was maddening. And I had no doubt he could smell my own—if not taste it.

The kiss turned messy, wet, tongues tangling in a frantic battle for dominance neither of us cared to win. My nails scraped against his shoulders, feeling the shifting muscles beneath his damp skin, and his purr deepened—a growl mixed with something more animalistic. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging just enough to make me whimper, then soothed the sting with another slow, dragging stroke of his tongue.

I was drowning in him, in the salt, the heat, the way he tasted like the storm rolling in over the horizon. His hunger was intoxicating, and I met it with my own, chasing every kiss, every desperate movement. 

Breath became an afterthought and the only thing that mattered to me was more.

We lay together like this for what felt like eternity, our breaths mingling in the humid air, bodies still pressed close, reluctant to part. My fingers traced lazy circles over the damp skin of his back, memorizing the ridges and dips of muscle beneath the glow that pulsed gently through his veins. Every flicker of light felt like a whisper, a secret between us.

And then he pulled away. I whimpered softly at the loss, my body instinctively arching toward him, unwilling to break the connection. A shimmering string of saliva still tethered us before he reached up, swiping his thumb over my swollen lips, his touch almost possessive.

His sapphire eyes—drowning in pools of endless black—studied me like I was something holy, something to be worshiped. His pupils had expanded so wide they reflected the moonlight itself, making him look less like a man and more like something wild that had crawled out of the deep to claim me.

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear, voice a low, husky murmur. "Did I do good?"

The words alone were enough to make me tremble, but then he nipped at the shell of my ear, his sharp teeth scraping before soothing the sting with the soft press of his lips.

I could hardly form a thought, let alone a coherent answer. His mouth was relentless, lips dragging over my throat, finding sensitive spots with an infuriating precision, nipping and sucking until I was gasping, grasping at his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My wetsuit suddenly felt suffocating, unbearable. If he didn’t stop, I would shed it and take him right here, consequences be damned. It hardly mattered if our bodies could even fit—all that mattered was the heat, the need, the way he was unraveling me with every touch.

"Good—" I managed, the word rasping from deep in my throat, thick with want. "Doesn’t even begin to describe it. There are no words, Arthur. That was—"

He whispered something against my skin. A soft murmur, thick with devotion.

It made me pause. Whatever he said wasn’t English, and it certainly wasn’t human. The sound was rough, like the shifting of stones against the ocean floor, but it carried a melodic cadence, a fluidity that sent a shiver rolling through me.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my pulse hammering as I searched his face. "What do those words mean?"

Arthur slowly eased himself off me, sliding back into the water with a grace that reminded me he was not just a man. He belonged to the sea, to something vast and untamed, yet here he was, staring at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

I followed him to the edge, pausing as my fingers hovered above the water.

He said the words again, softer this time.

"It has a few meanings," Arthur admitted, his gaze sweeping over my face, studying me with the quiet intensity of a painter capturing his muse. His throat tightened around the words, as if it hurt to speak. "My Ma used to say it to me when I was a kid, before I was taken."

I swallowed thickly as he held my gaze, and then he spoke the translation, each word sinking into my chest like a vow, like a promise meant only for me.

"My hearts will follow you to the end. Into every horizon."

Giving me little time to react, Arthur wrapped his strong arms around my waist and pulled me back into the dark waters. The shock of it stole my breath, the sudden cool embrace of the salt water wrapping around me like silk. The only light was his pulsing glow, shifting hues of deep indigo and soft cerulean, casting shimmering patterns against my skin. Above us, the stars blinked in quiet witness, scattered across the sky like tiny echoes of his bioluminescence that flickered beneath the waves.

I looked down, my breath hitching. The water was so dark now I could barely see the tips of my toes. An endless unknown stretched beneath me, and for the first time, I felt the tendrils of fear creeping in. My pulse pounded against my ribs, instinct screaming at me to retreat, to find solid ground.

But then I remembered his words. What they meant. What they implied. There was no turning back. I was being carried on the wind, letting the current take me where I needed to go. All I had to do was trust him.

Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the way his body moved against mine—fluid, effortless. It was like he could sense my hesitation, my uncertainty, because before I could voice it, he pulled me closer.

"Arthur…"

His warmth was a stark contrast to the cool water, his broad chest expanding with each measured breath. I could feel the steady exhale from his gills as they brushed against my thighs, sending a strange, almost soothing sensation through me. He held me tight, one strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, keeping me anchored to him, to this moment.

"There’s something I want to show you," he murmured, his voice low and steady, the promise of something unknown lingering in his tone.

"But… I—I can’t—" My throat tightened, the weight of the ocean pressing around us, reminding me of my limits. I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t breathe down there.

Arthur didn’t even let me finish the thought.

"Hush, darlin’," he soothed, his lips grazing the shell of my ear before pressing against my temple. His voice was a whispered vow, a quiet command laced with reassurance. "Let me be your breath."

Before I could protest, he sealed his lips over mine, the kiss deep and consuming, and I felt it—his breath flowing into me, warm and intoxicating. A strange sensation, like the ocean itself had bent to his will, filling my lungs with something alive.

And just like that, the fear ebbed away.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

It took a few tries to get used to Arthur breathing into my lungs. At first, it felt unnatural, like my body was rejecting the very thing keeping me alive. My nervous heart devoured each breath like a greedy little sea snake, twisting around my chest, tightening, constricting. But Arthur was patient. He never seemed to mind.

I tried to hold it longer, to prove I could endure, but it was as if he could sense my discomfort before I even knew it myself. He never let it reach the point where panic crept in, never let my lungs burn from the inside out. The moment he sensed my struggle, his strong fingers would find my chin, tilting my face toward his. And then, with a quiet kind of reverence, he would seal his lips over mine and breathe life into me.

And, like before, he was never the first to pull away. Arthur let me take as much air as I needed, as many breaths as it took to steady the wild thunder of my pulse. There was no impatience, no frustration—only trust. A trust unlike anything I had ever known.

I was completely and utterly at his mercy.

The water was darker than I had ever seen it. A thick, endless abyss stretching in every direction, swallowing everything beyond the faint glow of the facility’s underwater lights. They cast eerie, shifting beams, just enough for monitoring water levels, but not enough to truly see what lurked in the depths.

And there was so much lurking.

Every creature we passed seemed to materialize from the void, slipping through the water like ghosts from a world I was only beginning to understand. I knew these animals, had studied them, cared for them. But here, under the shroud of darkness, they felt different. Unfamiliar. As if I were a trespasser in their domain.

A particularly curious stingray drifted above us, its broad body gliding effortlessly through the water. I looked up—and nearly choked on my own scream.

The pale, ghoulish underside of its body loomed above me, its strange, human-like mouth and vacant eyes staring down with an uncanny, haunting expression. My body acted before my mind could catch up—I jerked violently, nearly kicking Arthur square in the chest, my limbs flailing in pure, unfiltered panic.

Once again, he calmed me with his breath. His warmth spread through me, steadying the frantic rhythm of my heart, and I felt it—the quiet shake of his chest, the vibration of something light, and effortless. Laughter. It bubbled up his throat, muted by the water, but I felt it, a tingling hum against my lips before we pulled away.

His fingers found my wrist, strong yet careful, guiding my hand upward. With a slow, deliberate touch, he traced his thumb along my palm, unfurling my fingers one by one.

The stingray hovered just above us, its massive wings rippling like silk through the water. And then, with a slow, ghostly glide, it brushed its velvety skin over the tips of my fingers. Like a whisper, like a greeting.

I had touched stingrays before, plenty of times in the shallow touch-tank, where children giggled and splashed, reaching out to feel the slippery softness of their skin. But never like this. Never in their world, where the touch was theirs to give. It wasn’t me reaching out—it was them, exploring me.

He lifted his hand in front of me, and what he did next sent warmth blooming deep in my belly. With deliberate care, he hooked our index fingers together—a silent sign, one I recognized instantly. Friend.

My chest tightened at the realization. Not only had Arthur remembered that fleeting moment we shared when he was bleeding out on the beach, but he had learned the gesture. He had taken it as his own, stored it away like something precious, something worth keeping.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, curling my finger a little tighter around his.

I made a quiet promise to teach him more later.

Arthur pulled me forward, guiding me through a submerged tunnel. The familiar structure clicked in my mind, recognition settling in my bones. We were entering the back section of the tank—the place away from prying eyes, from tourists pressing their faces against glass. This was his sanctuary. Where he spent his time when he wasn’t with me or the girls.

Curiosity sparked in my chest. What does he want to show me down here?

We swam deeper, the water thick with shadow, but I trusted his grip, the steady pull of his hands as he led me forward. And then, nestled within the rock and kelp, I saw it.

A small cave. A hidden space tucked away in the depths of the tank. I wasn’t sure how I knew—but I did. This was where he slept.

Something about it felt lived in, personal. The flattened kelp was arranged in a circular shape, almost like a nest. It wasn’t just a hiding place. It was his. I could picture him here, curled up in the quiet dark, unguarded, safe. For the first time since I had met him, I wondered what it felt like for him to rest. Unguarded, unshackled, away from cold prying eyes. To just be. 

Arthur pulled me inside, his arm wrapping instinctively around my waist as his bioluminescence flared to life. Light bloomed from his skin, illuminating the space in shifting blues and purples, and what I saw nearly stole the breath from my lungs.

The rock-like walls were etched with various drawings, their rough surfaces covered in markings that varied in detail and size. Some depicted the sea life he shared the tank with—familiar outlines of stingrays, sharks, seals and fish. Others were delicate sketches of underwater plants, their flowing tendrils stretching across the stone like living things.

Curiosity tugged at me, pulling me away from Arthur’s side. I swam closer, reaching out to trace my fingers over the carvings. The grooves were deep, uneven, reminding me of ancient cave drawings. He must have used his claws, carefully etching each image into the stone, leaving behind proof of his existence in this lonely place.

Behind me, Arthur was searching for something, his large hands sifting through layers of kelp. He reached beneath the safety of his makeshift bed, pulling out something dark and solid. But my attention was still on the walls, my heart hammering as I took in every detail of his underwater art.

Then, Arthur waved a hand, pulling me from my trance. I turned to him just as he pointed toward the farthest side of the cave.

And I released my breath.

There, among the sketches of fish and plants—was me.

It was a simple drawing, lacking the fine details of his other works, but it didn’t matter. With the rough material he had to work with, it was still a masterpiece. My heart ached at the sight of it, at the thought of him carving me into the walls of his world.

But it was what he did next that truly unraveled me.

Arthur lifted a webbed palm to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his skin. Then, with a small smile, he released a stream of bubbles toward the drawing—just like I had taught him. An expression of affection, a gesture so sweet it made my chest tighten.

I could have kissed him right then and there. Well, I tried to.

But this gentle giant, ever concerned for my well-being, misunderstood my intent. The moment our lips met, he must have thought I was seeking air. He held me there for a breath longer, and though I wished I could stay pressed against him forever, he was already wrapping a strong arm around my waist, propelling us forward with effortless strength.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before we were darting out of the cave, leaving the warmth of his sanctuary behind.

Arthur still held something tightly in his other palm, and as he guided me through the darkened waters, I realized we were heading somewhere new.

The temperature dropped, the light fading into near blackness.

The deep sea exhibit.

Once we reached a spot he found satisfactory, we floated in utter stillness. The silence of the deep pressed around us, thick and all-encompassing, making me acutely aware of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears. The nerves crept up my spine again, cold and slithering.

It was pitch black.

I couldn’t see my own hands in front of me, couldn’t even make out Arthur’s features except for the faintest shimmer of his dimmed bioluminescence. He was holding back, keeping his glow subdued, and I had no idea why.

Why did he bring me here?

Then, all at once, his light flared to life.

The sudden brilliance stunned me, a galaxy of blues and purples bursting from his skin like a supernova in the dark. But it wasn’t just him, his radiance set off a chain reaction.

And the void around us moved.

At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but then I saw them—hundreds of creatures emerging from the abyss, answering his call.

Arthur was a beacon, and the deep-sea life responded to him like moths to a flame. Lanternfish flickered in and out of sight, their tiny lights winking like stars in the midnight ocean. Jellies pulsed with ghostly luminescence, their delicate tendrils undulating as they drifted past. Squid, cuttlefish, sea angels—so many creatures I couldn’t begin to name—came to life before my eyes, weaving in and out of the glow like spirits caught between worlds.

They surrounded us in a slow, mesmerizing dance, silent sentinels bearing witness to whatever was about to unfold.

And at the center of it all was him.

Arthur’s radiance was breathtaking, his skin an ever-shifting nebula of color and light. But it wasn’t just his appearance that captivated me—it was the way the ocean responded to him, how it bent to his presence, how even the wildest, most elusive creatures drifted close as if he were something sacred.

He was neither fully man nor entirely mythical. He was something else entirely.

Something that felt indescribable. And in that moment, in the hush of the deep, I understood this pull toward him for what it truly was.

Love.

The solid object he had brought with him turned out to be a large oyster shell, its rough surface barely catching the faint, shifting glow of his bioluminescence. Holding it steady in one hand, he traced a pointed claw along its lip, prying it open with slow, practiced ease.

I watched him with quiet reverence as his fingers slipped inside, moving carefully, deliberately, as if retrieving something precious. When he finally pulled his hand free, his fingers curled tightly around whatever lay within—his fist closing around it with such purpose that my breath crawled up my throat.

A pearl. It had to be.

The empty shell drifted downward, spiraling slowly to the bottom of the tank, forgotten. Arthur didn’t watch it sink. His full attention was on me.

His hands found mine, and the moment our fingers met, my pulse thundered. Heat raced through my veins, my entire body suddenly hyper aware of the weight of the moment, of the way the water seemed charged around us. Before I could even find the words to ask what he was doing, his hand rose, his palm pressing gently against the curve of my neck.

Then, he breathed into me. Warmth spread through my lungs, steadying me, grounding me, but this time, it felt different. Because when he pulled away, his lips still so close I could feel the lingering press of his breath—his mouth moved.

Arthur was speaking. The realization sent a shiver rolling through me. And then I heard it.

His voice.

It was nothing like the deep, gravelly tone I knew from above water. Here, in his element, it was something else entirely.

A melody.

A song, resonant and fluid, shifting in pitch like the ebb and flow of the tide. It wasn’t just words—it was music, a chorus of sound that wrapped around me, kissed the deepest parts of me. It filled my chest, soaked into my bones, made my skin hum with the rhythm of it.

It was haunting. And heavenly.

Tears pricked at my eyes. I didn’t even understand the words, but I felt them. Like a current pulling me deeper, like a promise whispered between waves. And in that moment, I knew—he wasn’t just speaking.

He was singing to me.

Arthur opened his palm, revealing the pearl nestled against the warm glow of his skin. Its milky-white surface shimmered beneath the shifting blues and purples, catching the light like a tiny piece of the moon itself.

A gift. For me.

My heart thundered, a deep, resounding pulse that seemed to echo through every fiber of my being. My mind raced, recalling everything I had learned about his kind—about the significance of this. Gift-giving was a siren’s way of accepting courtship, of expressing mutual desire, a bond far deeper than mere affection.

Did sirens mate for life? Could they have more than one? Am I his first?

Why, of all creatures, did Arthur choose me?

The questions crashed over me like waves against the shore, relentless and unyielding. But then I looked at him. And every uncertainty melted away.

His gaze, luminous and breathtaking, held nothing but certainty. The sweetest smile tugged at his lips, his blue eyes alive with glowing radiance. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his expression. Only him—only us.

His lips moved again, shaping the words I now recognized, a melody that sent warmth cascading through me.

My hearts will follow you to the end.

Emotion swelled in my chest, thick and all-consuming. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his, closing the pearl between our palms—sheltering it, protecting it. Safe from the darkness of the tank, from the weight of the unknown, from all the uncertainties that once held me back. It was ours now, cradled between our touch, a silent vow sealed in the space where our hands met.

Arthur had brought light into my life, breath into my lungs, and adventure into my soul.

And as I pressed my lips to his, I knew—I would follow him too.

Into every horizon.

AN: Listen, lets just ignore the fact that aquarium tanks are absolutely NOT built like this. And we’re also gonna pretend that the reader can see underwater bc I forgot to add the goggles. OH WELL. We're getting creative. With the way everything is going, I'm hoping that the reader gets to fuck her fish man (husband) by chapter 9. YOU GO GIRL!

Also enjoy these inspo pics from that last scene. Utterly gorgeous creatures!! (CR to frida.yolotzin on instagram!)

[osterby]

Historical top video game fandoms on AO3, and how they've grown over the life of the archive

I dove into the depths of AO3 and figured out the top video game fandoms each year, and put them all on some graphs.

Here's everything which at one point was among the top five within the video game section.

Here's everything except Genshin Impact, just for better visuals

And here're the historical top five split into two graphs so you can see the larger and smaller fandoms separately (note the difference in scale)

Here's a log scale showing the growth of the top video game fandoms against the growth of the entire archive.

For more graphs, a separate section on Dragon Age, and a full writeup of how I obtained these numbers and what they mean, see the full work on AO3.

Interactable versions of the graphs are on a Google spreadsheet here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62226781/chapters/159187414

____________

Methodology: Short Version (the long version is here)

I used Wayback machine snapshots to estimate the top fandoms tags in the Video Game Fandoms category per year, sifted out tags that aren't actually video game fandoms (for example, Harry Potter is there on the strength of Hogwarts Mystery and a Lego game alone), and then made some judgement calls about when to track a single game's tag vs a franchise's tag vs a mid-level umbrella tag. These descisions were based primarily on consulting with fans of the games/franchises in question and asking what they consider to be separate fandoms, but was also influenced by how tags are wrangled into dependencies on AO3 (which influences what data is acutally available to track in the first place).

Then I verified/updated the Wayback lists by searching AO3 for works within each tag created before Jan 1st of each year, tracked the top five of those tags for each year over the life of the archive, and finally used Google Sheets to turn those numbers into graphs.

[selineram3421]

Hey? I just found your account and absolutely love it!

When you write with Alastor I always get this vibe from him:

And absolutely love for it 😭🥰

Oh my god.

Matched Search History

Prologue

Alastor X Writer Reader

Warnings⚠

⚠ Human AU, serial killer stuff so expect murder or mentions of it, oh and blood/gore, cussing, all caps for screeching/yelling, italics=thoughts, mentions of death, slight introvert reader ⚠

It wasn't your idea but your friend's.

There was a website that matched you with someone that had similar search history.

Currently, both of you were in the cafe with coffee and snacks, sitting at a two person table and having the usual friend hangout until she brought it up.

"Isn't that...a breach of privacy? How is this allowed?", you asked concerned.

"They only get what you give them! Like a questionnaire thing. You put down what you search and they set you up with someone!", she says and shows you the site on her phone.

"This is shady as fuck.", you say.

"Ok, maybe a little bit but you put what you want shared!", she smiles. "I mean you can meet another writer or someone who is super hot!"

Honestly you didn't know what to think of it, but maybe you could give it a shot.

I mean what's the worse that could happen? Haha..

"Ok..", you sighed and gave her the go to for making your account.

"Yay!", she squealed and started up a new profile. "Ok, so name, age, occupation..", she started typing furiously.

Once the basics were set up, she passed the phone to you to fill out the questionnaire.

At Matched Search History we only share what you give us! Any information you put into the system will be coded to find your Search History Partner, any other information you add in will also be added but stored away privately.

Please be aware that if any home address is added in the BIO or in MESSAGES it will be made public.

Yup. Shady shit right here. You thought and kept reading.

What do you search the most?

Answer: _______

You snort and type out murder techniques and first aid.

I'm definitely on the FBI list. You smile.

After taking care of the first one, you put down recipes, art and art history, science, little things like radio technology and other in depth research. You also make sure to put down cats.

"Here.", you hand the phone back.

"Wow that's a lot.", your friend scrolls down your list.

"What did you expect? I do a lot of searching on my laptop for the littlest things.", you shrug.

"Yeah, should have expected that.", she nods and looks through her photo album in her phone.

Leaning on the table, you look as she scrolls for the perfect photo.

"Which one are you gonna pick?", you ask and take a sip of your coffee.

"That cute one where you're hugging a cat.", your friend replies.

"Nah. Put the Halloween one."

She stops scrolling to look you dead in the eye, only to see your smug grin.

"No."

"Aw what? Come on!", you whine. "It'll be funny!"

"No! You're covered in fake blood!", she rejects the idea.

"But think of it! It would be fucking hilarious.", you nudge her arm.

"No and that's final! I'm putting this one!", she says and adds a photo without looking.

.

You honestly forgot about the account you both made until you got a bunch of emails about the website finding your match. You ignored most of them as they didn't go over 70%, that was until you saw the one you got today.

"What?", you asked with a mouth stuffed with noodles, being in the middle of eating lunch.

Picking up your phone, you check the email and feel your eyes widen.

You immediately called your friend.

"DUDE!"

"What?", she asks.

"THERE'S A HOT GUY WHO MATCHED 98% WITH ME!! WHAT DO I DO!?!?"

"Send me his pic! Duh!", she replies.

You take a screenshot of his profile picture and send it over.

"HOLY SHIT! I KNOW WHO THAT IS!!!"

"Who is it?", you ask.

"Don't you listen to his podcasts!?", your friend screeches. "He's the hot voice talking about murder mysteries and other creepy shit! You always listen to him while writing!"

"Huh, so this is him?", you ask. "How do you know? You hate hearing creepy stuff."

"I got bored one day.", she says.

Understandable. You thought. "Ok but back onto the topic. WHAT DO I DO!?"

"Send that love message to meet up!", she replied.

You deadpanned.

I have to go outside? I mean it wouldn't be bad if we went to a cafe or library. Maybe a bookstore... You thought.

"Fine. Since we already know his face he won't be able to run far if anything happens.", you said, making up your decision.

"Geez, don't talk like you're about to die.", your friend groaned.

"What? It's true.", you say. "Statistically, women are more likely to get killed on a date. Which doesn't rule out males but it does happen."

"UGH! Send me pics of what you're going to wear already!", she demanded.

.

You sat on a bench near a bus stop, messaging your friend. It was the best location for you to wait, there were multiple people around and restaurants with cameras.

Not gonna find out my address~ You sang in your head as you messaged your "match" that you had arrived.

You messaged him a brief description of your features and what you were wearing, so that way he wouldn't go around like a headless chicken trying to look for you.

Just in case things went south, you had a back up outfit to change into.

As you waited, a sudden thought came up.

Why was he on the dating site MSH? You wondered. Maybe his friend also pressured him to make a profile or someone else.

Then another thought.

What if it isn't him and someone just used a random photo they found to put up? You frowned at that. I hope that's not the case. That would be very annoying to deal with.

"Now, I hope that I'm not the reason my date is wearing a frown."

Turning your head to see who had decided to approach you, you saw a familiar face and warm reddish copper eyes. He was dressed very nicely, white button up long sleeve, dark red knit sweater vest, black pants, and black looking dress shoes.

"I'm Alastor.", he smiled. "And you are my date for this evening, yes?"

Damn it. You thought, trying to keep a straight face. He looks like a bookish nerd and that is definitely my type.

You stood up from the bench and gave a smile back.

"Nice to meet you.", you greeted and then introduced yourself.

Thank you for bringing this to me. I have read this post but forgot about it until you brought it back.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @big-brother-problems @mistpurpl3 @chewbrry @willowbrookhoot @briethekitsune @alastorthirsty @sir-aadiboii @fuzzyturtlepaws @+?

ML II for Alastor🎙

[twig-tea]

Fragrance of the First Flower s2: What an Excellent Second Season

I've always been a little hesitant to rec Fragrance of the First Flower because season 1 ends ambiguously. I still included it on my GL rec list because it is that good, but I know people aren't in this genre for heartache. We had to wait so, so long for season 2 but it was so worth it! I am thrilled to say that season 2 held up beautifully, picked up the threads from season 1 that it had to, and brought this story around to a romance I can believe in. What follows is as un-spoilery as I could make it, but there are mild spoilers ahead!

The best thing about this show is how realistic and flawed its characters are. These women fight, and the fights hurt. They try their best, but still manage to get it wrong. They care about each other, but they also have trouble believing the most caring thing to do isn't to walk away; and they also have other things in their lives that they care about. The things they love about each other are also the things that drive them to frustration once they are together, and they have real soul-searching moments about whether they do actually want to be with this person, and if so what needs to change to make it work.

Seeing Yi Min and Ting Ting fall in love as high schoolers, meet again as adults multiple times, and then navigate all of their expectations both from their past and their present was a fulfilling and satisfying watch. Both of the characters have satisfying arcs, and there are moments where they genuinely could have parted ways and I would have been okay with it, but the characters continue to choose each other, and to grow in ways that compliment each other. And the pacing of the show gives us lots of time to see their relationship progress, stumble, and solidify. The last episode is very satisfying, and gave me one of my favourite QL tropes.

And the relationships that these characters have with the rest of the cast are equally complex and given emotional depth. The parents, children, blended families, friends, and coworkers in this show are all allowed to be imperfect and interesting too.

It's not a perfect show, but it is genuinely great. If you want a GL with adult women who are allowed to be recognizably and relatably flawed, and who fall in love with each other multiple times over several years, give this one a try! It's a GagaOOLala original so watch it there if you can (I believe season 1 is available for free for now and season 2 available with subscription).