#i was there for the live its always so entertaining and hes so sweet

[honeyhobbs]

Elliot knight signed my print and he was so nice as usual 😭 even got him to talk about sinbad a little lol. And the tubby drawing!!!! Ugh it's the best tubby he looks so cute in the hat

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You've been working here for ages, in this once rusty old bar which is now adorned by lively colors and music, turned into the best nightclub in the city, serving the best drinks and entertainments with the most beautiful dancers.

All in all, you have witnessed the worst and the best of this place. 

And you have come to know the people who own the place. 

In fact, you know them like the back of your hand, even better than themselves one might say. 

You're bright and perceptive, and working as a bartender in a place like this where it is jam-packed with important people all the time has its own perks. 

With a little bit of booze and honeyed words you bring out everyone’s hidden side and in no time, they’re spilling their deepest darkest secrets to who seems like just a sweet, harmless bartender. 

“Here you go.” you say to Simon, placing his usual Kentucky Bourbon on the counter, “Thanks, dove.” he says and brings the glass to his lips. 

“You know... I say don’t fuck around with the Russians!” you remark while drying the cups and placing them on the shelves. 

They asked your opinion on the matter since you’re their most trusted ally outside the group. As a matter of fact, they consider you part of the group by now. 

He chuckles before saying “That’s what I told Price.” 

“So why is he doing this?” you ask regarding cutting a deal with the Russians and Simon shrugs. 

You’ve had a weird feeling about it since they mentioned it to you. 

“Well, if any of you care about my opinion, don’t do it. It just doesn’t feel right to me.” you say with a shrug and look over to find him deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and gorgeous brown eyes focused on somewhere far away. 

Gods, he’s so handsome! You've been fond of him for some time now, and by the looks and little touches he gives you, you’d say the feeling is somewhat mutual. 

Out of all of them, he’s always been the closest to you.  

And he’s been your biggest protector all throughout this wild ride you’ve been on together. 

He always keeps an eye on you in case any of the customers gets too close and makes you uncomfortable; God forbid if any of them gets touchy, they’d be digging their own grave by doing that. 

You come back from your daydreams after hearing him clear his throat. 

You notice you’ve been staring far too long, choosing to ignore the faint smirk on his lips. 

“Sorry... just thinking about the deal.” you lie and dip your head, busying yourself with cleaning the cups and hoping he won’t notice your burning cheeks. 

“Well, I'm off to meet John now. I'll make sure to give him your opinion too.” he says while standing from his chair, “Thanks for the drink.” he offers a small smile with a nod. 

“You’re welcome, Si... and I'm sure he won’t listen to me. His mind is set on the idea and that’s that. Not that I would ever question his decisions. I have too much respect for the man to do that. He must know something that we don’t.” you mention while grabbing his glass and placing it in the sink. 

“I can assure you that he values your opinion just as much as you do his. He'll think about it. Don't worry.” he says while gathering his stuff and placing your tip on the counter, a hefty envelope, so generous as always. 

“Simon! I can’t accept this! This is... too much! You do this every time!” you exclaim with a frown, nudging the envelope in his direction. 

“Take it. I insist. You can renovate your apartment. Last time I was there, it was a bloody mess!” he teases with a playful smirk.

“HEY!” you say in mock annoyance while throwing the rag in your hand at him.

“My apartment is fine as it is, thank you very much!” you retort, failing to hide the smile forming on your lips. 

You take the envelope hesitantly after so much persuasion on his part and wave him goodbye, feeling butterflies dance in your belly as thoughts of him linger in your mind.

You dip your head and go on with what you were doing, lost in your own world and not noticing the dark shadow lurking in the distance and standing in a corner, carefully observing the place, and most importantly... you. 

[hottestvirgin]

DILF!HEESEUNG

warnings. dilf!heeseung, sub!reader, smut, fluff, cute moments, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, unprotected sex, slight degrading, dirty talk, creampie, very dirty, yuuuhh

becoming heeseung’s daughter’s official babysitter was the best decision you’ve made in a while. not only were you getting paid $65 an hour to watch a guy’s child and to live there, but you were babysitting a well behaved little girl.

this came with its perks, and that was seeing her attractive father everyday. you met heeseung through a friend who worked for his family’s company. when she heard word of him needing a babysitter for his two year old, she immediately called you. after a small interview and background check, you became his babysitter.

that was one year ago. so now you were watching over a little three year old everyday, keeping her fed and entertaining while heeseung worked overtime for the company he’s soon to obtain. being closer to him, he’s more vocal about his struggles with being a father with his career.

“i don’t, y’know, wanna be distant from her,” he pauses to meet your eyes, flashing a genuine smile while rubbing your shoulder, “that’s why i appreciate you so much.”

your heart thrums at his words. they always do. and you couldn’t help the overwhelming feelings for heeseung. this tension between you two have been blossoming for a few months now. he just finds it so endearing how sweet and caring you are to both him and his daughter. he even considered raising your pay.

“$100!?” you gasped, a little too loudly. you quickly glance over at his sleeping daughter, hoping you didn’t wake her. when she didn’t move an inch, you look back at heeseung.

“is it too low?” the man asked, “i can double it.” he was desperate. so desperate to show you his appreciation. so desperate to ensure that you would never, ever leave.

“my current pay is enough, sir. don’t worry.” you smiled at him and he swore you were the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever landed on.

he pursed his lips, “you’re always so formal. you can call me heeseung,” he chuckled, “loosen up a bit.”

the softness of his voice lightened your mood that day, causing his name to be able to slip past your plush lips with ease now.

“heeseung, you got her the wrong applesauce,” you told him with a small laugh, watching him drop the last grocery bag on the kitchen counter. “she likes strawberry instead of cinnamon, remember?”

your words sent a weird feeling in heeseung’s stomach. you remembered everything about his daughter and he couldn’t even remember her favorite applesauce flavor. seeing you take on the role he failed to take made him proud and embarrassed.

“shit. you’re right. i’ll go get it then.” he’s stopped by the firm grip on his wrist, turning on his heels and meeting your comforting gaze.

“don’t worry about it. she’ll eat it.” you told him. and later that night he overheard you telling his daughter that the cinnamon applesauce was a special gift from him and how he loved her very much. she had eaten every single bite.

the first time he saw you cry was probably the scariest moment in his life. what had happened? did his daughter do something to you? did she hurt your feelings? were you gonna leave him?

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” heeseung was quick to comfort you in parallel with how you’re always quick to comfort him. he rubbed your back and you sniffled, wiping the tears that streamed down your face.

“she called me mommy,” you told him, “i just.. don’t know how to react to that.”

oh.

when you told him that you didn’t know why you bursted out crying, he hesitated for a bit. he knew that this would happen because of how young she is. but he didn’t know it would make you ball out crying.

“if she thinks of you as a mommy then that means you’re doing a good job.” heeseung told you, his fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing your hand. there was something about his aura that night that made you feel safe and warm.

and what really made your heart swell was when he told you that you would be the perfect mother. this feeling was different. it made you.. aroused. in a way. but it was wrong, right? you can’t feel this way towards him.

as the long spring days passed, the tension grew. starting from giving each other as much personal space as possible to being very affectionate and open with each other which seemed like overnight.

“i just put her to bed.” you announce, standing in heeseung’s doorway with your arms crossed. he looks up from his laptop, inviting you to sit on his bed. “i’m getting used to it. but it just feels so weird sometimes. i’ve never seen myself as a mother.”

heeseung’s facial expression softens when you speak, reaching to graze his fingers over your arm. “but you would. i’ve been watching you and you’re better at parenting than me.” he laughs his words off but your stomach churns in arousal when he admits that he does, in fact, watch you.

“you’re an amazing dad.” you reassure. “you think so?” heeseung tsks, closing his laptop to give you his attention. nodding, you continue, “you’re sweet, loving, funny, generous..” you pause when he interrupts with a sudden laugh.

“yeah? tell me more.” the man sits up against his headboard, loving the compliments.

“hardworking, dependable.. i could go on. you’re everything i’d want in a man.” you didn’t expect to fully admit your appreciation for the man but you didn’t expect to admit that. seeing his reaction to your words made your heart flutter.

heeseung didn’t know why but the tension between you two grew intensely. he stares into your eyes lovingly, in a daze. like he was getting high just from hearing your pretty voice.

“so you want me to be your man?” heeseung repeats, and your face quickly heats in embarrassment at what you just said. fuck. what if he finds you weird? would he fire you?

“i-i mean.. i’d like a man like you.”

“mm.. so you like me.” heeseung concludes, and you cover your face in embarrassment. “well, i like you too,” he tells you, “and you’re everything i’d want in a woman.”

there’s a hint of teasing in his words but you knew they were genuine when you found heeseung in between your legs, splitting you open on his cock right then and there. filling your cunt deliciously, it’s so good. and heeseung has never been this turned on in his life, rutting into you desperately.

you can feel him deep in your stomach. and his slender fingers graze over your abdomen, his desires sending more adrenaline through his veins. he pushes your thighs against your chest, folding you in half and thrusting stupidly into you. “i’ll fuck a baby in you, i promise.” he grunts, squeezing your thighs.

you’re all fuzzy and drunk on his cock, only being able to moan and whimper pathetically as he pulls his hips down harder and harder, each time pushing your body into the mattress which produces loud squeaks and would guarantee wake his daughter up. but he doesn’t stop.

“you’d be such a pretty mama, baby.” heeseung cooes, and it sends shivers down your spine. he’s serious because he’s fucking you into the mattress with all his strength, caging and trapping you between his arms.

“d..don’t stop.” you beg, breathless. he’s not planning on it, and it only thrives him to angle his hips to where his swollen tip abuses that soft spot inside of you. this sends you to another realm, your grunts turning into silent moans.

heeseung can see it now. how you’d be walking around his house with a swollen belly. how pretty you’d look with all the weight gain, swollen tits, so fragile and gorgeous. just for him. he could already see you with his baby in your arms. fuck. it turns him on so much. everything about you does.

“oh my god. s’ good.” you moan, gripping onto the back of your own thighs. “yeah? i’m right here, baby, feel that?” he grazes over your stomach again, pushing down to feel the print of his cock in your flesh, “gonna fill this pussy full of my babies.. gonna make you my wife so you’ll never leave me like she did.”

fuck. he was pushing you over the edge and your fingers were slipping. you were so close to losing your mind. clenching around him, he groans while putting more aggression to his thrusts to ensure that he’s balls deep inside you. fuckfuckfuck. he was so close, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you. every drag of his cock sent a shiver down your spine.

he nuzzles his sweaty face into your neck, taking in your sweet, motherly scent. you were driving him fucking crazy. and he didn’t stop his thrusts for a minute. he wraps an arm around the back of your neck, pulling you into his chest while his other hand pushes your thigh further against your chest.

“ah fuuuk.. m’ gonna cum.” heeseung hips stutter, voice shivery as he whimpers and fills your womb full with his thick load, riding out his orgasm while you cum hard around him, creaming his shaft. he’s still rocking against you to make sure he fucks every drop of his cum as deep as he can in you. when he pulls out, fat globs of his cum seep out of your aching hole.

you have no regrets, no source of shame, nothing. this was the man you wanted to be the father of your first child. this was the man who’s baby you wanted to carry. so a few weeks later, you show him a positive pregnancy test.

[inkspiredwriting]

Love, Hate, and the Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves had always been known for his sharp mind and sharper tongue. Y/N, his girlfriend, was no different. Their relationship was a fiery mix of love and playful antagonism, a dynamic that often left the rest of the Hargreeves family in stitches. Today was no exception.

The siblings had gathered in the living room of the Umbrella Academy, the air filled with the scent of popcorn and the sound of laughter. Klaus had found an old box of family videos and insisted on a movie night, much to everyone’s amusement.

Y/N and Five sat on the couch, bickering over which movie to watch.

“I’m telling you, Five, ‘The Princess Bride’ is a classic!” Y/N argued, holding the DVD case up for emphasis.

“And I’m telling you, Y/N, if I have to hear ‘As you wish’ one more time, I might throw myself into a time vortex,” Five retorted, rolling his eyes.

Diego snickered from his spot on the floor. “Ah, the sweet sound of true love.”

“Viktor,” Y/N pleaded, turning to him for support. “Back me up here. ‘The Princess Bride’ is timeless, right?”

Viktor smiled, enjoying the show. “It is, but watching you two argue is better entertainment.”

Luther, munching on a handful of popcorn, chimed in. “You know, Five, for a guy who’s been through the apocalypse, you’re surprisingly bad at picking battles.”

Five shot him a glare. “And for a guy who’s part gorilla, you’re surprisingly bad at shutting up.”

Klaus, sprawled out on the other couch, giggled. “Oh, leave them alone, Luther. This is their foreplay.”

Y/N and Five both turned a shade of red, but neither was willing to back down.

“Fine,” Five said, crossing his arms. “We’ll watch ‘The Princess Bride’. But if I start quoting it sarcastically, you have only yourself to blame.”

Y/N grinned triumphantly. “Deal. And for the record, if you don’t cry when Inigo Montoya gets his revenge, you’re heartless.”

Five smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. My heart’s in perfect working order. Unlike some people’s taste in movies.”

As the opening credits rolled, the siblings settled in, occasionally glancing at Five and Y/N, who were now sitting unusually close, sharing a bowl of popcorn. The movie played on, and true to his word, Five couldn’t resist a few sarcastic comments.

“‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ Classic line,” Five deadpanned. “Really hits you in the feels.”

Y/N nudged him playfully. “Shut up and watch, smartass.”

Halfway through the movie, during the iconic fire swamp scene, Klaus leaned over to Diego, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think they’re actually fighting, or is this some weird foreplay we don’t understand?”

Diego chuckled. “Given how they are, it’s probably both.”

Y/N threw a piece of popcorn at Klaus. “We can hear you, you know!”

Klaus caught it and popped it into his mouth. “Just saying, you two have the sexual tension of a rom-com.”

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smirk. “And you have the brain of a goldfish, but we still keep you around.”

Laughter erupted, and even Y/N couldn’t help but join in. The teasing was relentless, but it was also filled with affection. The Hargreeves were a dysfunctional family, but they were a family nonetheless.

As the movie reached its climax, Five found himself genuinely engrossed. He glanced at Y/N, who was watching with a look of pure joy on her face. Despite their constant bickering, he loved seeing her happy.

The final scene played out, and as the credits rolled, Viktor turned to them, grinning. “So, how was it, Five? Are you a ‘Princess Bride’ fan now?”

Five shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N beamed. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Klaus jumped up, stretching dramatically. “Well, this was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. Preferably with more popcorn and less bickering.”

Diego smirked. “Less bickering? With these two? Not a chance.”

Five stood, pulling Y/N up with him. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave these amateurs to their popcorn.”

Y/N laughed, following him out of the room. “As you wish.”

The siblings burst into laughter again, and Five couldn’t help but smile. Their love/hate relationship might be a source of endless teasing, but it was also what made them, well, them.

As they walked down the hallway, Y/N slipped her hand into Five’s. “Thanks for watching the movie with me, Five.”

He squeezed her hand, his usual sarcasm softened by genuine affection. “Anytime, Y/N. Just don’t expect me to quote it back to you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she teased.

And with that, they continued down the hall, ready for whatever adventures and arguments lay ahead, knowing that as long as they had each other—and the Hargreeves’ relentless teasing—they could handle anything.

[jyoongim]

I was just thinking like..alastor in his nun outfit…Charlie takes us to confession for like an admitting our sins exercise (but it’s actually just in the hotel) to confess our sins, we admit to fantasising about Alastor and we reveal our dirty fantasies and he hears it..maybe decides to act on it to cleanse us of our sins….IDKKK

FORGIVE ME DADDY FOR I HAVE SINNED

(Love your writing btw) 

I LOVE YOU!!!! Thank you for reading my horny writings babe!!!

Title: Sweet Confession

”uuuuhhhh Charlie why do we have to confess our sins? Ain’t that a little personal?” Angel asked as she finished explaining her new ‘bonding’ exercise.

The princess beamed “That’s the whole point! To acknowledge your wrong doings and knowing that you can be vulnerable with the sins you’ve committed”

The group groaned but went on with it.

She had a curtain set up to give privacy and a chair to sit and you just spilled out your darkest secrets to a box?

it wasn’t her worst idea. Being vulnerable was good…so what was the harm?

You fiddled with your fingers as you took a seat.

This reminded you of when your mother would force to to church and seek advice from a priest about your woes. You never really understood the point.

You hadn’t committed the most elaborate sin, but you weren’t a pure sinner either.

“Remember take all the time you need! Crying is good!” You heard Charlie say as she closed the curtain, leaving you to yourself.

”what are you here to confess?” A automatic voice said from the box.

What could you confess? Your sin was boring…

”I-I have been pledged with rather lewd thoughts” you said shyly.

”I know it sounds crazy but I…I think about Alastor in these thoughts”

’Why?’ The voice responded.

You bit your lip “I don’t know. He’s witty, confident, rough around the edges. He’s always around and so helpful. I kind of feel bad now” your shoulders wilted.

”He’s just my kind of guy I guess. Tall, Dark, oh so handsome my gooooodddd” you gushed.

”and how do you think of him in these thoughts of yours?”

You gulped “He’s just so polite and a gentleman that it just does something to me. Under all that, he’s a demon. Its hot and mysterious and I just want him to fuck my brains out…not literally…well the fuck part literally but not til I’m dead”

”I want him. Like carnally. I knooooow I can be a good girl for him. I would let that man do anything to me. I want to give my utter and complete devotion to him as he ruins me. I want him to like its a need to breathe. He lives in my head rent free!” You whined.

”I don’t go a single night without touching myself to his voice. Its like velvet. I imagine how he would growl in my ear as he watch me tease myself. Pouring out praise and degrading words as I whine for his dick…oooohhh his dick I know its big I just know it. I need him inside me. To fill me with his cum. To carve my pussy to his shape and make me lose my mind. I think about being his willingly. I don’t need a deal to give him my soul” you trailed off. You hadn’t realized you were ranting. The very confession had your face flushed, thighs clenching at the thought of your fantasy coming true.

You laughed, shaking our head “I guess that’s a sin? Having lustful thoughts about some one? I didn’t really think anything of it but it felt good to admit that to something. people would think I’m crazy…fantasizing about the Radio Demon knocking the coins out of me hahaha”

You took a deep breathe and emerged from the curtain, feeling a bit better for confessing your darkest desires.

Alastor had a wide Cheshire smile on his face. Listening to the hotel’s residents secrets and woes gave him a sense of entertainment.

 Your confession about the red demon was very interesting.

Alastor’s mind had formed a very detailed picture of your confession.

You, doe-eyed and wanton as you whined for his cock. He would make you beg him to fuck you. To ruin you.

You shaking from overstimulation and covered in his cum flashed in his mind.

He chuckled darkly at the thought, Oh what a pretty pet you will make.

And who would he be if he didn’t make you sweet little fantasy a reality?

[mavrintarou]

[3:19 PM] - Suna Rintarou

Gotta head out - be back later to edit... or not. Enjoy!

Warning: smut . Aside from volleyball, Rintarou was naturally gifted with the camera.

He had captured some of the most exquisite and breathtaking photographs of Y/n, making it look like they were professional shots.

He also possessed a collection of the most embarrassing shots, which he kept strictly to himself. There were also a few special ones that were meant for his eyes only, capturing intimate moments between them.

He was a very active Instagramer – posting quite frequently for his million followers, but he kept his relationship out of public eyes.

When Rintarou created a TikTok account, his followers grew by the day.

He would capture a wide range of videos, from documenting his volleyball training sessions and games to showcasing the delicious lunches Y/n packed for him. He even recorded moments of making his coffee, creating a collection of glimpses into his daily life.

Each time he makes a video, Y/n gets a notification, and she entertains herself with them.

“My baby made me some Korean food today,” he sniffs his bento, groaning. “I told her I’ve been craving some Korean food, and… she loves me so much.” He stuffs his mouth with a Kimbap. “You guys ask if she makes me lunch every day – yes. Does she not work or… is she a stay-at-home partner?” He shoves another Kimbap into his mouth. “She’s definitely an independent woman who earns her own money and won’t allow me to support her like the best boyfriend I am…” he narrows his eyes directly at the camera, “she always watches my videos, so – please tell her that it she needs to let me treat her like a queen.”

Y/n burst out laughing and clicked on the comments.

Suna’s girlfriend, please allow Rintarou to treat you like a queen!

Can we get a glimpse of her?

She is so lucky!

You’re so lucky; your food looks so good!

Y/n narrows her eyes at the first comment.

You’re so hot, Rin; please fuck me!

Y/n clicked on the person’s profile of a young woman.

Curiosity got Y/n going through Rin’s other videos to view the comments. She saw the same account commenting on every one of Rin’s videos, saying something inappropriate.

.

Rin checked his phone as he slipped his shirt on.

He was still waiting for a message from Y/n.

Though it wasn’t unusual, it felt odd that she didn’t text or react to his video.

She always commented or reacted to his video.

Did she not see it?

But it clearly said Read 2:35 PM underneath the message.

Without wasting another moment, he made his way toward their apartment, a sense of urgency guiding his steps. Sitting behind the wheel, waiting at a red light, he drummed his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. The unsettling feeling gnawed at him, the sense that something was amiss between them weighing heavily on his mind.

While they didn’t frequently engage in conflicts, he made a conscious effort to minimize arguments, fully aware that disagreements are a natural part of any relationship. Over the course of their four-year journey together, they encountered only a few instances where tension escalated. However, despite needing some time to cool off, they always found a way to come together and discuss their concerns. They were committed to understanding each other’s perspective and exploring ways to grow and improve for the sake of their relationship.

And have hot makeup sex.

Rintarou jams the button to his floor in the elevator impatiently. Of all days, it seemed like the elevator door was being an asshole and taking its merry time to get him up to his floor.

“Y/n!” He shouts once he enters his apartment.

“Yes?” her sweet voice calls from the kitchen.

She doesn’t sound upset or mad, he thought. He quickly toes off his shoes and drops his gym bag in the living room to head to the kitchen. His heart relaxes a bit, finding her in the kitchen preparing dinner.

But he was still a little nervous and wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t upset.

He goes to wrap his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek and resting his chin on her shoulder. “How was your day?”

“Good,” she answered, “you?”

“Tired,” he answered as usual, “but a little… nervous.”

She finished whatever she was doing before washing her hands, the both of them doing a funny dance towards the sink because once Rin clings on to Y/n, it is no use trying to get him off.

“Go wash your hands and sit down; let’s eat.” She hears his sigh before he lets her go, and she watches over her shoulder as he pouts towards the sink to wash his hands and takes a seat in his usual spot.

Y/n leans against the counter, watching him zone out sitting there. Rintarou may be hard to read on the court, but Y/n could read him anytime.

Something weighed heavily on him, and his emotions spilled out much like a toddler’s when they couldn’t express their feelings.

He doesn’t realize Y/n has yet to set the table, “why are you nervous?”

He gazed up at her with a lost expression, his voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t react to my video,” he murmured, seeking an answer with a hint of disappointment in his tone.

Y/n arched an eyebrow at him, suppressing a chuckle. “What?”

“You didn’t react to my video today… did you not watch it?” he inquired with a  tinge of concern. “Did I say too much in the video about you?” The renowned and notorious Middle Blocker for EJP Raijin resembled an anxious child, desperately seeking reassurance if he had done the right thing.

Y/n furrowed her brows, a realization dawning upon her as she acknowledged her lack of response to his video. “Oh, Rin,” she chuckled softly, moving closer and straddling his lap. Tenderly cupping his face, she pressed her lips against his pout, kissing it away. “I did watch it, but I must have gotten carried away reading the comments,” she explained, her tone apologetic. Her eyes narrowed as she mentioned one particular fan. “There was this one fan who was quite vulgar towards you,” she continued, her voice hinting disapproval. “I didn’t like it one bit.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and Y/n couldn’t help but roll her eyes, anticipating his reaction. “Are you… jealous?” he asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

There it is.

“No, I’m not. I don’t need to be jealous when I already have you.”

Rin kisses her throat and nips the skin there. “You’re right; I’m yours, all yours, just as you’re mine, right?”

“Hmm,” Y/n runs her fingers through his hair before gripping a fist full and tilting his head back. “All mine.”

His eyes widen for a split second before they squeeze shut when Y/n trails her tongue along his jaw and down his neck. She was not one to mark him in prominent areas, but tonight, she showed no mercy to his neck.

“Y/n…” Rin groans ten minutes later. His hands grip her hips, desperately guiding her to rock herself over his lap. “’nough…”

She pulls back and admires her work; now she knows how Rin feels. She leans to peck his lips and lifts herself, “all right, let’s eat!”

“What!” His grip on her hips tightens, “no way, you can’t leave me like that.” He looks down at his crotch; the outlining of his thick cock is visible against his joggers.

“But… our food will get cold?”

Rintarou chuckles, “no way, baby, food can wait… not me.”

Y/n squeal when he pushes her onto the table, grabs the end of her yoga pants, and tugs them off in one go. He pulls her panties aside and pulls cock out enough to slowly thrust into her pussy.

“Ah… Rin,” she moans, gripping the edge of the table. “Fuck… yes…”

His thrusts are slow and deep. “You had me worrying for no reason…” he leans over and grips her jaw to kiss her deeply, “I’ll show them – “ he speeds up his thrusts, “I’ll show them I’m yours… only yours….”

All the rubbing and rocking over him stimulated her, and Y/n was close until Rin pulled out of her. “Rin?”

He maneuvers her onto her front side and smacks her ass before getting down on one knee. He pulls her panties off and smothers his face into her core, slurping, sucking, and biting.

“Rin!”

He squeezes her cheeks hard, taking a bite on each side before standing back up, “need to mark you as mine too…” he guides his cock back home and thrusts fast and hard.

Their kitchen echoes with skin slapping skin and the kitchen table squeaking.

“I’m so… I’m so close baby…” Rin groans, and seconds later, hips jerking and cock spasming as he cums inside.

Rin withdraws; his eyes are fixated and anticipating as his cum drips out.

A minute later, after catching each other’s breath, Rin whispered, “baby?”

Y/n turns to look over her shoulders, clearly in bliss. “Yes?”

“Bed?”

“Yes, please…”

.

“Today, my baby packed me my favorite… jelly fruit sticks!”

Y/n sipped her morning coffee and tapped the heart on the video before clicking on the comment button.

Those are my favorites too!

You’re like an excited schoolboy about their lunches!

Is no one going to talk about it?...

Suna-san… what are those marks on your neck?

Are those… hickies?

Those are definitely hickies… wow… his girlfriend is kinky…

. . .

@hellatrashdontask @queenelleee @wrongimagine @eadyladlegard @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @satoritendoucultsacrifice @yourgonvermnethooker @littlemochi @cloud-lyy @pana-dolle @basmamme @haitanifxn @itsroseally @warrior-of-justice @jmnfilter @captainchrisstan @omissanitizerlol

[princessbrunette]

you’d always been a nerd, there was no doubt about that — it’s only now you were older, you were known as a nerd who was filling out her bikini top, and jiggling in her bikini bottoms. now, unlike yourself — you sit on a little boat out on the water with the infamous pogues.

it was jj who invited you here. it was always jj — he’d been enthralled to see the sexy little thing you’d grown into adulthood as. he’d spotted you whilst working at the library, frowning over a file book of library card entries with cute pouty lips and reading glasses that he wanted to cover in cum. hed always thought you were cute at school, but now he just had to have you. he’d used his charms on you, and now you were nervously tucked into his side, ‘making friends’ with his friends as he’d described it. “gotta get ya out there, there’s a whoooole life to be lived outside these books, you know that?”

he was burrowing through his backpack, leaning over on the boat beside you to find the weed he’d packed, clearly set on corrupting you for fun.

“its the best of the best— like, perfect for a beginner—” he rambles, dumping things out his backpack struggling to find the small baggie of prerolls he’d prepared.

“jesus, jj do not corrupt the poor girl.” john b bites back the entertained smile, lifting his head from where he lounged in the sun to look at you. “you sure you’re okay with this sweetheart? can totally… you know, stick to what you know.” he shrugs, sympathetically and you shake your head, wide eyes finding the blondes.

“its okay, told jj i’ve always wanted to try. he said he’d hook me up.” you smile politely, still a little shy around the group.

“yeah but he’s being weird about it.” kiara glares at her friend with her nose turned up, nudging him with her foot nearly knocking his balance off. “dont be a creep.”

“look i’m not being a creep, alright! ‘said she wanted to try, and i’m being a good citizen and simply helping this sweet young lady out dabbling in just a lil bit of herb okay so i don’t wanna—” he dives headfirst into another one of his rants, but is quieted by your gasp when a couple of items fall out his backpack, including a gun.

“nice work.” pope shakes his head and your eyes widen, looking around wondering why no one else is concerned.

“why do you have a gun, jj?” you scandalise and he picks it up casually, flipping it in his hands making you shuffle away, jaw agape.

“gotta protect my people, what’s wrong wi’that? look i’m a pro at usin’ this thing— set up a little target practice in john b’s backyard and lemme tell you, i have quite the aim.” he waves it around making you stiffen up, touching his bicep to stop him from being so reckless.

“god, you must be careful with that thing. they’re dangerous jj! i read that these pistols just go off at random all the time, you could seriously hurt someone and i don’t wanna be the person who gets shot by accident! do you even—” you freak, and he turns his body to you shuffling closer and silencing you.

“shh, shh, shh, shh — hey. it’s all good. i would never accidentally shoot a pretty girl. trust me, i’m so careful.” he smirks, bringing the tip of the barrel to your lips making you freeze with wide eyes. to keep you there as he speaks, an arm slings over your shoulder, his clammy hand gently grasping the back of your neck. you know you should be scared, the boy seems reckless and unhinged — and worst of all, his friends seemed used to it which tells you he does this shit all the time — but something about it made your cunt throb, dampening your bikini bottoms and subtly pressing your thighs together as you felt your skin heat up.

maybe it was all the books you read, but you’d always loved a bad boy.

“seriously bro? you’re scaring her.” kiara complains, leaning across and yanking the pistol out his hand and shoving it back into his backpack.

fast forward a few hours, and you’re back at the chateau, the only ones inside in john b’s bedroom. you’re looser, high and relaxed from the joint jj had talked you through smoking — and now you were laying your head on his bicep, his free hand down your panties rubbing your copious juices into your swollen clit.

“cant believe you’ve never been touched like this, mama. been missing out on heaven, right?” he grins, leaning down to kiss at your cheek when your eyes flutter closed, so out of it and blissful.

“mm… wanted this since…” you trail off, lips parting and brows furrowing when he curls his finger inside you.

“nah, go on. since when… tell me how long this pretty pussy’s been horny for papa j.” he dirty talks so well you clench hard around him, working up the courage. it didn’t take much, the intoxication and lust making you brave.

“since you put the gun to my lips.” you admit quietly and his jaw drops gleefully, speeding up his fingers.

“seriously? damn i knew you were gonna be a freak. it’s always the quiet ones, always dude.” he celebrates to himself before staring down at you adoringly. “man, i’m gonna have so much fun with you, pretty girl.”

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Cold Comforts (Beetlejuice Drabble)

Betelgeuse x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You have a headache and Beej does his best to offer you some comfort.

Fic type: comfort, fluff

EVERYTHING: @winchxters @calliopesdiary @xxxsugarcyanidexxx

BEETLEJUICE: @im-eating-rn @little-missscare-all @onyxvogel-official (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"There y'are, babe, where've y'been, huh?" Beej's voice travelled loudly through your apartment as you closed the door and rested your forehead against its cold surface.

You didn't offer a verbal response, just let your bag slouch to the floor with a loud thud as you ambled towards the living room where you knew he'd be. Where else would he be other than camped out watching old sitcom reruns.

Catching sight of his splitting grin and satin-striped pyjamas, you let out a very long sigh of relief before collapsing into his lap like a sad, wet cat.

Beej seemed confused about this, and his hand hesitated, hovering above your back before he finally dropped it to rub you comfortingly.

"C'mon, babe," he said, tone as soft as he was capable of making it. "Talk t'me. What's wrong, huh?"

You grumbled in response, muttering something about the beginnings of a migraine and something about work. BJ tutted and snapped his fingers, ensuring the lights turned off and the volume on the television dropped to barely audible. You winced at the loud click of his fingers, and he grunted as an apology.

A second, much quieter snap of his fingers sounded and there was a soft pop of energy to your right. You take a peek and find a duplicate Betelgeuse standing there in an all-white suit and black bowtie, domed platter in his outstretched hand.

“Refreshment to go with your dinner, babe?” The duplicate asks, scrunching his smile a little and giving you a very standard Beej wink as he whips the metallic dome from the platter to reveal an ice-cold glass of water. “Aw c’mon, don’t leave a guy hangin’- whaddaya want, huh? Lobster? Sirloin steak? Horse rib? Last time I had horse was the Plague.”

Offering a tense smile, you shook your head and politely declined.

"Mm," he grunted. "No-go there, huh? Whaddaya need, sweet cheeks?"

You sighed discontentedly and buried your forehead against his cool chest. Perks of being dead- he was always the right temperature to cool you down when you needed it. He eventually warmed up with the contact against your skin, but it was nice while it lasted. Though less so in Winter.

"Needy little thing, huh? Nuh-uh, no moving. Dead Man's orders," he tuts, pressing your head back to his chest when you try to raise it. "Be good for me 'n stay there. There y'go."

It was a good thing Beej had old MASH re-runs to entertain himself with- as it wasn't long before you were curled up, fast asleep with his fingers in your hair. And he had no plans to wake you any time soon, either.

[emotionalmessss]

Hiii! Can I request yandere Chrollo when reader tries to escape? Hc? Fic? If you want 🥰

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in so long (school is going to be the death of me I swear). I'm trying to be more active with my writing now that I've officially graduated, I'm sorry for ghosting! Anyways, enjoy Yan!Chrollo :)

Warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy/forced relationship, implied kidnapping, slight mention of violence and non-consensual touching, and psychological abuse. Chrollo is basically a warning himself lol.

Chrollo is always one step ahead. After all, he is the head of the Spider, so if you think you can escape from him--good fucking luck. He is cunning, meticulous, and devoted to having you back where you belong--in his arms. But that doesn't stop you from trying, does it?

Congratulations for managing to slip through his fingers, but it won't stay that way for long. There is nowhere in the world for you to hide from Chrollo, he will hunt you down using whatever means that will ensure his success. So, enjoy the freedom while it lasts, because it won't last very long.

Sure, Chrollo might be slightly ruffled at the fact that you actually managed to escape. But will he let that affect his calm composure? No, definitely not. Chrollo plays the long game, and he does it best. And who's to say that he didn't intentionally let you escape? To give you that brief, sweet taste of freedom, only to rip it away at the last second?

Chrollo’s expression remains impassive as he lounges on the plush couch in the middle of his expansive living room. Reclining comfortably into the cushions, he folds one leg over the other while using one hand to flip through the book in his lap. He is perfectly aware of your absence from the apartment--how could he not notice when the air lacks the usual animosity that only you can bring? 

Despite the apartment lacking its usual vibrancy, Chrollo remains calm and composed, a trait that has always irked you. His composure never slips, even now. He finds it pitifully endearing that you thought you could outsmart him--have you learned nothing? Chrollo doesn’t know if he wants to praise you for your bravery or laugh at your naivety. 

Sighing, he stretches his legs out across the coffee table, idly smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on his dress shirt. You thought escape was an option? How quaint. His lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk; his predictions had been correct--like always. While Chrollo can’t deny that he finds your actions mildly irritating, they are more entertaining than anything else--not that he’d ever show it.

“It’s intriguing, really, how you thought you could just slip away from me,” Chrollo mutters to himself, his voice measured and almost serene. His big, gray eyes finally look up from the antique book in his lap, drifting towards the large window that offers a view of Yorknew City’s skyline. Somewhere out there, you’re hiding, and he can clearly picture the mixture of relief, fear, and paranoia etched on your pretty face. 

He taps his fingers on the armrest of the couch--the only sign that his mind is working in overdrive. Clicking his tongue thoughtfully, Chrollo tilts his head back down to the book resting on his thighs. Running a hand through his raven locks, he lets out a hollow chuckle, quickly followed by a deep sigh. For now, he’d let you play your little game, but in the end, you would not win.

Just like everything else, Chrollo's response will be chilling and methodical. As the head of the Spider, he'll use all the resources he has to get his love back. But for the time being, he will let you enjoy your little game. He's more than confident you'll be back where you belong. Make sure to keep looking over your shoulder every so often, he won't be far behind.

Chrollo will have you back in his grasp, no matter how much you kick, cry, and scream. He will remain unflinchingly composed, acting as though you were merely a small animal that needed to be handled with gentle care. The entire time, he'll have that small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips--that smile that you've come to hate and suggests bad things for you.

Once he finds you--if he hasn't already been watching you the entire time--he'll strike when the time is right, and when the circumstances align in his favour. He won't be openly aggressive, definitely not towards you. Chrollo will take a different route, one that involves planning, scheming, and manipulation.

Consequences? Oh, there has to be some consequences for your disobedience. But, Chrollo would never lay a violent hand on you. No, that's not his style. He could never physically hurt his love. He can hurt you in other ways, though. Friends and family? That's a whole other story. Chrollo being Chrollo, will do whatever it takes to ensure you comply. Only if he's pushed to that point.

In Chrollo's twisted mind, he is protecting you from the dangers of the world--like a good lover should. He firmly believes that the only place for you to be happy and safe is by his side. He'll manipulate you into believing that you need him, and that even the thought of escaping is utterly impossible.

You’ve been sprinting through the empty streets of Yorknew City for hours, and no matter how far you run, you can’t seem to shake the terror that threatens to swallow you whole. At this point, your feet sting, your lungs burn, and your mind is a jumbled fucking mess--is this what insanity feels like or has Chrollo corrupted you so much? Neither of those reasonings are favourable, but you’d probably choose insanity over Chrollo. 

Frantically, you examine your surroundings as you come to a stop, panting and keeling over. You sluggishly move towards the corner of a large building, slumping back against the bricks and wipe the glistening sweat from your forehead. This is Hell, isn’t it? Clutching your chest, your mind races with a slew of possibilities; different escape routes, places to hide, and potential consequences should you get caught. 

What would the reincarnation of the Devil himself do to you if he were to catch you? Would he hurt you? The odds of Chrollo physically hurting you are slim, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t harm you in other ways. Despite spending an unwilling amount of time with him, you could never fully understand the bastard. You weren’t entirely sure if that was a blessing or a curse. 

“Get it together, fuck.” Your voice comes out strained and raspy as you forcefully compose yourself, shoving off from the wall to round the corner of the building. Every detail about that man pisses you off--his calculated mannerisms, his unflinching composure, his studying eyes that make you feel like he’s staring into your soul, and that god-awful smile that never looked genuine. 

Just when you soothe your chaotic mind and turn the corner of the building, he appears before you. Your heart plummets, and your feet drag across the pavement as you abruptly halt, completely paralyzed under his scrutinizing gaze. You watch him like a cornered animal, prepared to flee at the slightest sign of malice. But, of course, there is none--perfectly expected from a man like Chrollo. 

“My dear,” Chrollo begins, using the endearing nickname you’ve come to loathe. His voice completely devoid of aggression, showing no hint of the manipulative thoughts that are definitely running through his mind. “Wandering the streets alone at this hour isn’t wise,” he chides gently, his tone tinged with condescension. “Come now, let’s get you back home.” His hand extends towards you, as if he’s giving you a choice. 

You muster up a sliver of self-control, refraining from cussing him out. Instead, you take a cautious step backwards--away from the beast. Noticing this, Chrollo’s lips pull into a slight smile, and his hand returns to his side. He doesn’t move an inch, letting out a resigned sigh that suggests he had anticipated this outcome. His gray eyes never leave yours as the sound of approaching footsteps begins fill the silent street. 

“Please, let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” Chrollo continues, his attention focused on you, purposely feigning ignorance of his loyal Spiders who are slowly encircling both of you. He remains the epitome of calm, acting as if your escape attempt was just a minor inconvenience. You stand still, and the Spiders close in, strategically blocking off all paths except for the one leading to Chrollo. 

[smellslikechahnspirit]

I am in need for another chan taking care of you on ur period. But could it be a one-shot? And could it be husband!channie?

I hope you like it, its a bit short but hmm...If you want a part two let me know!

Annoyed

[Husband Channie taking care of you on your period]

BangChan x Reader

🤍 read guide lines in Masterlist!

THIS IS (OBVIOUSLY) ALL FICTION AND IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY! THIS IS MY PERCEPTION OF HOW I THINK SKZ WOULD BEHAVE IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS AKA, NOT REAL.

07:03 PM

So, what do you wanna eat for dinner tonight? Hmm I think we still have some left-overs from yesterday, that´ll be fine, right? You stayed quiet for a second. He looked at you as he was still folding the towels. Right baby? You nod. Yeah, sure whatever. It pissed you off. You didn´t really know why. Litterly anything else would´ve been better than having the same thing as yesterday. He noticed your change in behavour but didn´t comment on it. You kept folding laundry together as you turned the tv up a bit. Oh this part is so sad. I love it though. Toy story 3 was playing and it was the part where Andy gave his toys to Bonnie. You paused your folding for a second and sat down on the couch between all the clothes. Watching closely at the tv, as Andy drove away. You started tearing up. Chris noticed and walked closer to you, petting you soflty on your back. It´s just a movie babe, it´s okay. He said as he comforted you. I know, but it´s just so sad. You replied as you were now basically sobbing. Oh honey, why does it affect you so much all of a sudden? He hugged you tightly. I don´t know! You said a little too irritated. I don´t know why I´m crying so much. Sorry. Don´t be sorry baby. You´re feeling emotional, it´s human. Chris already knew something was up, and by the looks of it all, with even the comment about the food earlier, he knew exactly what time it was. Shark week had offically begun. Look, how about we order some pizza tonight hm? We can just order in and we can cuddle all night on the couch watching as many Disney movies as you want, Hm? You got confused. I thought you said left-overs was fine. Yeah, but when you´re on your period, you deserve a little extra love. Even more than usual. How did you know? He shrugged. You got a bit insecure and irratated by yourself, loosening yourself from his embrace. He knew you always got a bit defensive and indipendent on these days. You were married after all, and had lived together for a year, if not more. Yet most of the time he´d be at work during these days, and he mostly send you sweet texts and only gave loving cuddles at night, since well, he just wasn´t home. This vacation time he had gotten from the company was fun, but also new. You were together so much more now and on these kinda days, you just weren´t used to it. I´m fine. We can just eat the left-overs. You said as you wiped your tears away and took on a strong atitude. Hm, are you sure? I kinda want pizza. Your moodswings were all over the place and you got annoyed now. Well you could go eat pizza by yourself then. You were done with your half of the laundry and put it in the basket. You sighed and wanted to walk away, to put it in the right closet, when suddenly he grabbed your waist. He fell down on the couch with you still in his embrace. He started tickling you soflty and you started giggling. Pretending to still be a little annoyed but he didn´t budge. Chris! No, I´m not letting you go, nope, not happening. Chris, hahaha, stoooop, I´m serious. Nope, not until you agree we should just eat pizza, and you will let me take care of you for once. You stopped giggling and looked at him lovingly. He had slowly stopped the tickles and looked at you too. Eyes inches from each other, he gave you a soft kiss. Please baby, let me take care of you. I know you act like you can handle it all on your own, and trust me I know you can. But I want to pamper you. You deserve it, especially now. Whenever Chris did have time, he´d always do small romantic things either way. You loved that about him. So less time, so much effort. Always. Alright we can order pizza... He smiled and hugged you tighter. And maybe a hot bath? It´ll help with the cramps, right? We could eat the pizza in the bath too? Oooh, and even better, how about we take my laptop and we can watch a movie. All at the same time? Does that sound good? You loved his maximum effort and your mood had switched to nothing else but love and admiration. Yes, that actually sounds really nice baby. He kissed you again. Both of you had a very calming and relaxing night.

...Masterlist...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

© 2022-2024, smellslikechahnspirit • No posting on other sites or platforms, rewrites, or translations

[kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings]

hi ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

i want to say that i really like your work and would like to try to make a request with douma, where s/o is very random

for example, they just hang out and then s/o gives out a random strange fact like: "did you know that dolphins can fall in love very much and build relationships the same way as people?" or she can run up, pet him and run away, etc

feel free to ignore it! hope you having a wonderful day, love you

and forgive me for my english, it's quite crooked

Hello \(≧▽≦.)/ Thank you so much for saying that anon, that truly makes me happy to hear, also don't worry, your request has been heard loud and clear! And I love it!

I hope I've done your request justice (^ω^.) and please know that your always welcome back to browse and request something from me again.

Your English is great by the way,so don't worry!

Douma/Doma with an S/O who does random things - [Headcannons]:

There where many things that Douma/Doma found boring, in life and with entertainment, but you weren't boring - you were anything but boring

Each day you did (or said) something that tickled his funny bone

Each day you had a new fact, hobby, skill/talent and object that you had to share with him that genuinely had his brain working overtime at how you knew or did that

Douma/Doma finally found something to look forward too each day and it was you and your randomness

Your randomness was cute - adorable even - and it definitely saved you from scenario's that would have ended up with your death (and a rather pissed off and sad spouse) or at least hurt

Douma/Doma enjoys your random fact of the day - that you randomly drop on him at a random point in the day

When you first started your random fact dropping you'd started with facts about the human body during a tea ceremony

"Did you know that the average tongue is about three inches long" You said simply, taking a sip of your tea before continuing "and that the human body can shed about 40 pounds of skin?" - its safe to say that Douma/Doma was so dumbfounded by those facts he over-poured his tea with a rather star-struck expression

Although he does quite like the cute random facts that you tell him too - "Did you know that trees can make friends and talk to each other? Isn't that sweet"

You also had the habit of coming up to him randomly - at different points in the day - and inspecting his hands and tapping three times on his wrist (directly on where his pulse point would be) before leaving without a word

And bopping his nose

And sometimes knocking gently on his forehead

Also you like tracing shapes through his clothes on his back, arms and legs - making him guess the shapes and words you form with your nails

You also liked stealing his fans to use them for something random and/or weird - he once found you using them to cut fruit...

Once you baked a 10 tier cake and brought it in mid sermon with his followers with plates and water

Food was another thing that you made randomly, you baked and cooked new and weird things and brought in for him to try - as well as his followers....

When he sleeps in, it's always a 60/40 that you'll have done something to his hair - You like to fiddle with and decorate his hair and you have once perfectly styled his hair into a plaited mohawk

You've painted his nails - "Oh paint them pink next time love" He'd whined once into your neck "I want them to match the colour of your love~" + "Oh! Like the colour of my organs too?" followed by a blank stare from Douma/Doma

As you both where about to sleep you turned to him, perfect smile on your face and sleep hazing your eyes and said, "I wanna eat you! Just take a chunk cause your too perfect and beautiful for this world" before promptly falling asleep

He has found you trying to do cartwheels down the hall

You've always got something up your sleeve and it honestly brings Douma/Doma so much joy to live through each day, finding out what you had in store

.....you've made a finger puppet version of him before as well as a doll and you have used both as advisors - "And what do you think Wackus Bonkus?" "Kill him" "Oh! You Naughty Wackus Bonkus!"

[ro-is-struggling]

The Ballad of Orpheus and Eurydice || Geralt of Rivia x nymph!reader

REQUESTED

Summary: Life was good when Geralt was by her side. They were in love and happy... Until they weren't and she was left alone once again. After spending so much time under his protection, she had forgotten how dangerous the world was for creatures like her. Sad and heartbroken, she was unable to defend herself when the men came for her. Now locked up far away from her forest, she only hoped that her loved protector would come to her rescue.

Warnings: angst (with happy ending), major character death, reader gets imprisoned by a evil dude (I don't know how to tag this lol but I think it’s important to mention that she’s forced to serve him), fluff (it’s not all sad, I promise), forest nymph!reader, fem!reader, let me know if I missed anything!

English is not my first language

Word count: 12.700 (it's a long one)

Notes: A few things to have in mind while reading: It follows the timeline very loosely, and Geralt and Yen's relationship never got to that solid point in s3 cause it's not real love, just the product of Geralt binding their fates together with that wish

She never imagined that her story would end like this, locked in a cold and humid dungeon far away from her forest. Nymphs were not immortal beings —something she had come close to verifying several times in her long years on the continent—, so the idea of her inevitable end was something that she had thought about from time to time. It was not something that haunted her obsessively, but every once in a while her mind would wander to the imagining of the end of her days. 

She lived a quiet life, making sure to be cautious around any unwanted people who passed through her forest. She had no enemies, at least not ones powerful enough to present a real danger to her. So she always imagined that she would die a peaceful death, slowly fading away as her birth tree withered away after having completed its cycle on this earth. If not, she imagined she would die a heroic death as she fought the greedy humans to prevent the destruction of her forest. Both scenarios brought her a sense of comfort in a way, because they showed that she had fulfilled her life's mission, the purpose for which she had been placed on the continent.

She never imagined that the end of her days would actually be so dark and torturous, forced to live in captivity away from her home and everything she loved. She never thought she would miss the feel of the wind on her face, or the warmth of the early morning sun, or the sweet scent of flowers in the spring. She had never imagined herself living anywhere but her forest, but that was an option that had been taken away from her the moment King Elian's men set foot in her home. 

She had heard rumors of his infamous reputation from the mouths of other frightened nymphs. His name inspired terror among magical creatures, who chose to call him The Hunter as if the mere mention of his name was a sign of bad omens. He was known for his obsession with magical creatures and what he did with them after capturing them. Despite what his nickname implied, he did not always chase a magical creature to kill it and display some part of its body as a hunting trophy. No. There was a fate far more horrible and obscure than that, and that was to end up as a piece of his collection, just another exhibit, forced to smile in his presence and perform for his entertainment whenever he wanted it. It was the terrible fate that had unfortunately fallen upon her. 

In the past she had not seen King Elian as a threat. His kingdom was on the other side of the continent and while he used to go on hunting trips when he heard rumors of a creature in his vicinity, he had never ventured this far before. Besides, she was under the protection of one of the continent's fiercest witchers, so she knew no one would dare mess with her. No one who knew Geralt of Rivia would dare to challenge him, and the poor bastards who, out of ignorance or arrogance did, usually didn't live to tell the tale. The bond they had was strong, a love unlike any she had ever experienced in her many years of life, so she never thought there would be a day when she would wake up without him by her side.

"The king requires your presence." A guard announced from her cell door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet reluctantly, stepping up to the bars so he could put the handcuffs on her before unlocking her cell. The dimeritium on her wrists was engraved with the same symbols as the bars of the box in which she spent her days. It was a powerful incantation that weakened her magic so that she could not use her powers to escape. It was painful since the metal burned her skin, but she had learned the hard way not to complain.

The guard led her to the throne room, where the king was shouting directions to the group of servants working on decorating the place, changing the curtains and adding chairs and tables to the sides of the room. She had been there long enough to know that the castle was being prepared for a feast, though she did not know what the celebratory occasion was.

She forced herself to bow when the king's eyes fell upon her figure, though her expression showed how little respect she truly had for him. "Your majesty." She murmured as a learned response as she lowered her gaze to the ground.

"I hope you used your time in the dungeon to reflect on your attitude." His voice was firm, almost as if he was still angry with her for refusing to comply with his demands almost a week ago when he had wanted to use her to entertain the king of the neighboring kingdom who had come to visit. "You have to understand that you belong to me. You are here to serve me and the only reason you are not dead already is that I find you useful. But that can change and it depends entirely on how you behave. Do I make myself clear?"

She clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to avoid causing a scene that would undoubtedly send her straight to the dungeon again. "Yes, my king." She wasn't able to look him in the eye as she spoke as she didn't want to see the satisfaction in his expression. 

"As a demonstration of my great generosity and compassion, I have decided to give you a second chance to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my mercy for stupidity for this will be your last chance to prove your worth to me. If you say or do anything out of place you will know the sharp blade of my sword."

After she submissively assured him that she understood the seriousness of his words, he explained that he needed her to take care of some of the preparations for the feast in honor of his daughter. During the week the entire kingdom had participated in the celebrations for the girl's fifteenth birthday, an event that would culminate with a grand banquet in the evening. She would be in charge of preparing the floral arrangements that would decorate the entire palace as well as being responsible for the main entertainment since there was nothing to match the singing of a nymph. But in addition, the king put her on a special task. He wanted to give his daughter a beautiful garden with different types of flowers —one for each year of her life—, and she was the perfect person for the job. She accepted without question, not so much because she valued her life or feared reprisals if she refused, but rather because after being locked up for so long she missed being in contact with nature. 

"If it's alright with you, my lord, I would like to start with the garden." She said in the most respectful way possible, explaining that with her powers weakened it was the task that would take the most work.

She was escorted by a group of half a dozen guards, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her through the castle corridors to the garden. Normally she would have complained about their mistreatment, but it all stopped mattering to her when she felt the gentle breeze hit the skin of her face. It was a wonderful feeling smelling the wet dirt in the air and hearing the birds singing after having spent so much time locked up in the deepest part of the castle. It almost felt like freedom.

Working in the garden awakened a bittersweet feeling in her. On the one hand, it was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived at the castle. Walking barefoot on the grass, feeling the earth between her toes and the flowers growing under her hands was as close to home as she had ever been. It was liberating in a way, putting her powers to good use and connecting with the nature she missed so much. But, on the other hand, it was also a reminder of all that she had lost, the life she would never get back. As much as she loved being outside after so many days locked up, she couldn't help but notice that nothing felt like home. The flowers didn't smell the same, the grass under her feet wasn't as soft, and even the birds didn't sing the same. That wasn't her home. This was not her forest. 

As she buried her hands in the ground, she couldn't help but question what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it. Sure, avoiding further punishment for disobeying the king's orders was a valid motivation, but was it really worth it? Why was she trying to preserve her life when the only future she had was to live locked up there forever? Was dying such a terrible fate when the alternative was imprisonment and slavery? A life away from her home, forced to indulge the whims of a power-hungry monster was no life at all, so why was she there obeying the orders of that disgusting man? 

Then she realized that she still held out hope of escaping. Her spirit wasn't completely crushed and her love for Geralt wasn't entirely gone, so even if it was foolish, she still hoped he would show up to rescue her. They hadn't seen each other for over a year, since that sad day when their story had met an abrupt end after he confessed to her that there was another woman in his life, but she still held out hope of seeing him again. She dreamed of seeing his long white hair move in the air as he skillfully knocked down the guards that separated them and freed her from her confinement. How could she not when he had been her savior on more than one occasion? In fact, that was how they had met.

She was frightened and hurt the first time she saw him, trapped in a cage with symbols carved into the bars. It was a powerful spell that weakened her powers just like the shackles of dimeritium around her wrists. The cage was too small for her, a confined space where she could barely stretch her legs or sit up straight if she wanted to. A group of well-trained men had managed to capture her, taking advantage of her distraction and temporary weakness to lock her up and take her back to their master. She was so terrified that when she heard Geralt's sword clash with that of one of her attackers, she curled up in a corner, her body folding in on itself in an attempt to make herself small and invisible to the group of fighting men. 

She recognized immediately that he was a witcher and that brought her no relief. While his kind generally didn't tend to see nymphs as dangerous monsters —as long as they behaved and didn't do anything to end up on their list, of course— she didn't feel completely safe in the presence of a witcher. She tended to hide on the occasions when one passed through her forest, believing it was best to stay away from people like that just in case. After all, they were monster hunters, a concept that, in her experience, meant something different to each individual and there was no way of knowing for sure if she fell into that category or not. So, even though he had overpowered her captors, she still felt fear when he approached.

Geralt felt that fear as soon as he took a step towards her, it was almost as strong as the power and magic that flowed from her being. Her beauty alone was enough to let him know that she was a nymph of the forest. Behind the earth and blood, hidden in a grimace of terror, were the delicate features that the witcher had only seen in the creatures of her kind that he had encountered in the past. The nymphs had a certain look, a special glow that distinguished them from the rest of the magical beings on the continent. They were also one of the gentlest and most peaceful creatures on the continent, focused only on protecting their homes and turning to violence only as a last defense mechanism. That was why Geralt did not sense a drop of evil in her. And that was also why he set out to free her from her confinement.

Even though her captors lay dead on the ground, she still looked terrified, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a sob. When he approached her, the nymph snuggled further into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest in a protective manner. He raised his hands in the air in an attempt to show her that he was not going to hurt her, walking slowly toward the cage so he could release her. It was then that he noticed the symbols on the bars and the dimeritium shackles, which helped him understand how she had ended up there and why she was so scared. She was in a position of extreme vulnerability without her magic and, despite having saved her, he was a complete stranger who could very well cause her more trouble. So the witcher made an effort to appear friendly and non-threatening.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her to try to calm her down, though it wasn't much help. She curled further into the corner of the cage, hugging her legs to her chest and looking up at him with watchful eyes from between her knees.

"I know what you are." She answered him, the fear clear in her voice. "You are a witcher, you kill-"

"Monsters, yes." Geralt spoke for her. "But you are not one of them. You're safe with me." 

At that moment she had no way of knowing what kind of impact those words would have on her life and how genuine they were. She accepted his help because she had no other choice, but time would show her how fortunate she had been to cross paths with Geralt. At first he played hard to get, barely speaking as she nursed his wounds once her powers stabilized. She'd had to resort to using her charms a little to soften that hard exterior of his, but once Geralt began to open up to her, she discovered the man he truly was. 

Geralt tended to lean into rumors about himself and his kind, pretending to be emotionless and not caring about anything or anyone but himself. But that was all an act, a protective shield. In reality he cared. He was capable of feeling emotions as deeply as any other being on the continent. He hated and held grudges, but he also loved and cared for those close to him just as intensely. And once she discovered that, she found it very easy to love him back. 

She was truly safe with him, and in the long years that their love blossomed he did nothing but prove that to her. Geralt was her favorite person in the world. He was her home, her lover, her protector... A love like that was not easily forgotten and no one could blame her for holding out even the slightest hope that he would come for her, that he would somehow sense that she was in danger and rush to her rescue. It had happened in the past, their connection was that strong, so it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea. It was just... naive of her.

Geralt had been traveling for days. He usually preferred to use alternative paths hidden behind forests or swamps, they were quieter and better for his business. Not many people used them so he didn't run into anyone that would bother him, and it was easy to run into the occasional monster roaming around, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. What he hated, however, was that most of the time it took him twice as long to get to some town where he could rest with minimal comforts and eat a hot meal. 

Had he taken the main road he would probably already be at his destination, drinking in the dark corner of some dingy bar or locked in the room of some cheap inn, and not wandering the forest in search of an animal big enough to satisfy his appetite. He didn't mind being outdoors or having to hunt for his food on the spot —-in fact he was so used to that he almost preferred it—, but this time he was tired and couldn't wait to be anywhere but there. Perhaps that was why when he came across a king and his hunting party he accepted his offer to return to his camp to eat with him without putting up much of a fight. 

Geralt hated royalty and King Elian was no exception. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, just like the vast majority of kings, but there was something else about him that rubbed the witcher the wrong way. He tried to decline his offer at first, but he was unwilling to take no for an answer.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist. My camp is not far from here and my tent is big and warm. I have more than enough food and I would love to hear some of your stories while we eat." The king insisted, pressing Geralt to accept his offer. "My men don't make for good company and I'm bored. I'm sure a witcher like you has been involved in a good share of adventures that make for fascinating stories."

In any other circumstances, Geralt would have found a way to escape from there. The last thing he wanted was to be used as the personal entertainment of an arrogant king. But this time he decided not to resist too much. He attributed it to his tiredness, he had been traveling for a long time and at least it wouldn't be a sacrifice in vain since he could at least get food in exchange for entertaining him for a while. But perhaps there was something more than that playing a role there. Fate itself had crossed their paths for a reason, even though he didn't know it yet.

"It's not as interesting or glorious as one might think." Geralt said with honesty. 

In his experience there were two types of opinions regarding his people and what they did for a living. There were the people who despised them for what they were and believed they were no different than the monsters they killed and there were those who found them fascinating and longed to go on adventures like the ones they often experienced. To him both opinions were bullshit. He wasn't a monster, he didn't kill for pleasure or for fun as many people believed, but neither was he some kind of hero whose life was worthy of being immortalized in songs and poems. He was just a man who did what he knew best to survive, just like all witchers and all beings on the continent. He and his kind did not deserve hatred, but neither did they deserve to be crowned with laurels. They deserved to be left in peace, nothing more, nothing less.

"I have to say I'm grateful for the work you and your kind does." The king continued speaking without acknowledging Geralt's words. It was as if he was not there, his words were of little value to the king when they did not say exactly what he wanted to hear from him. "These creatures are dangerous and can't be left alone to live amongst us. Although some are fascinating creatures if given proper care and purpose."

Geralt looked at the monarch with a frown, unsure of what he meant by that. He said nothing, however, just remained silent for most of their journey to the camp, while trying to get a better read on the man beyond the typical arrogance of all of his kind. There was something about him that he did not like, something that caused a feeling that other kings and nobles did not. It was something more than his simple unpleasant personality, but he could not figure out what it was.

"You should come to my kingdom sometime." King Elian offered as they finally reached what appeared to be the camp where he and his hunting party had set up their base. "I have a collection of creatures I'm sure you would love to see."

The witcher halted his walk, looking at the king with narrowed eyes. "A collection?"

"Oh yes! I have the biggest collection of magical creatures in the whole continent." He admitted as if it was something to be proud of. "I have some pretty rare ones I'm sure you and your people would love to study. You're more than welcome to come over anytime! After all, we are all on the same side."

Geralt did not like the way the king referred to magical creatures and hated that he equated himself with witchers and the work they did. They didn't lock up monsters to brag about their large collection to strangers. They didn't see them as objects that gave them some kind of prestige. They saw them as living creatures, sometimes dangerous, sometimes misunderstood. Witchers did not enslave or kill monsters for fun as he seemed to do and Geralt was disgusted that he would even try to imply such a thing.

However, before he could voice his opinion, the king shoved him into his luxurious tent and the servants set a plate of food in front of him. It was filled with meat and potatoes and vegetables so colorful that they must have been freshly picked. It might have been the hunger talking, but it was the most appetizing food he had tasted in a long time. It was indeed fit for a king and Geralt thought it was definitely worth chatting with his host for a while in exchange for a share, especially after tasting the wine.

"It's good, isn't it?" the king asked him, studying his reaction as he lifted the wine glass to his mouth. "I have someone special that takes care of all the plants in the castle so I only eat the best of the best. It's actually one of my creatures. You can meet her, if you want."

Geralt let go of the piece of meat between his fingers and looked at the king with a frown. There was a subtle change in the air that made him instinctively tense, wondering what his host was up to. The king gave him a small smile before gesturing to one of his men, who left the tent without saying a word. The monarch's menacing aura put the witcher on alert, carefully watching his every move while he ate as if trying to predict what he would do next. His attitude had changed in a matter of seconds. Geralt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something about the way he looked back at him that put him on edge. It was almost as if he was waiting for something to happen —as if he knew something was going to happen—, the glow of anticipation clear in his eyes. 

He didn't understand his attitude, at least not until the guard returned to the tent. Only he wasn't alone, but was carrying a girl on his arm who was shuffling her bare feet across the ground hesitantly, as if she really didn't want to be there. Her eyes were downcast and her long hair was tangled over her face, so that Geralt could not see her features. Her dress, which seemed to have been a beautiful piece of art at one time, was now dirty and worn, with the fabric torn to shreds on some sides. Her hands were bound together at her wrists, trapped by shackles of dimeritium that marked her condition of slavery. It was a sad sight that became horrifying when Geralt smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

His heart stopped as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet smell of cherry blossom that he knew and had come to love. The world around him stopped as he was struck with the horrible realization of what was happening. He did not need to see the face of the captured young woman to know it was her. It was enough to feel her energy in the tent as he breathed in her characteristic sweet scent. 

Geralt jumped to his feet, hand gripping his sword as he entered a state of desperation. He wasn't thinking, he couldn't, he had been reduced to his most primitive instincts by seeing her there in that condition. She was weak and injured in a way that Geralt had never seen, her glow and warm, positive energy almost completely extinguished after being tortured for who knows how long. However, when her eyes met his, he noticed a slight glimmer of joy and hope. That only further increased his desire to protect her, the murderous urge growing inside him and urging him to crush anyone who stood between them.

"Let her go!" Geralt demanded firmly, turning his eyes away from his former lover to look the king in the eyes. 

He was furious and desperate, it was evident in his voice and in the hard expression on his face. Anyone would have given in to his demands if he looked at them with those murderous eyes, but King Elian did not flinch. He didn't seem to care that Geralt was pointing his sword at him or that he looked ready to take on an army on his own, he continued to eat as if nothing was happening while the tent filled with guards ready to defend him.

"Please, sit down. You barely touched your food." The monarch spoke in a calm, casual tone. But Geralt did not move, he stood his ground, sword held high and hate-filled eyes fixed on him. "Fate is its a curious thing, don't you agree? This invisible force pushing us to the right path so we might fulfill our destiny, making every little interaction, every little decision, integral... Take this as an example. This morning when I woke up I didn't think that I was going to cross paths with you and yet here we are."

"Let. Her. Go." Geralt interrupted the king's unimportant ramblings, pausing slightly at each word to emphasize his anger. He didn't care what the man had to say, he would slice him through with his sword right there if it weren't for the fact that his sweet nymph was bound and surrounded by guards who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her before he could get to her. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be my sword doing the talking."

"I don't want to fight you, Geralt. If anything, I want to thank you for helping me fulfill my destiny, my purpose of becoming the biggest collector of magical creatures in the continent... You see, if it weren't for you, I could never have captured a forest nymph as powerful as her. I admit that you ruined my plans the first time when you attacked my men, but in the end it was thanks to you that I was able to get my hands on her."

"What are you talking about?" the witcher asked, confused. It could be the adrenaline coursing through his veins and drowning out his thoughts —or the fact that his heart was beating so fast that it was pounding in his ears muffling all other sounds—, but the king wasn't making much sense to him. They had never crossed paths before, and if they had, he would never have helped him in something so horrible.

"I could never have caught her while she was under your protection. But when you left... well, let's just say she was withering away little by little, weakening day by day until she got to the point where she couldn't defend herself when my men came for her."

Geralt froze in place as the king's words echoed in his head. It was a lot of information to process and he was in no condition to do so. If he wasn't so devastated he might have reacted to the implication that the king had been watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike after he had saved her from his men the day they had met. But at that moment he could only concentrate on the feelings of guilt and regret that came over him. 

When he left, he never thought about the consequences his decision might have. He never thought about how his departure would affect her or if she would be okay. He knew she would be sad and hurt, just as it hurt him to have to leave her, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. So he focused on moving on, hoping she would too, without stopping to consider the consequences. He thought about her a lot in the time they spent apart —when he lay awake at night, admiring the stars and the nocturnal sounds of the woods; or as he dressed quietly after spending a night with Yennefer—, but in his mind he always pictured her happy. She was strong and had lived many years alone on the continent before their paths crossed, so he was sure that their breakup would not destroy her. He was sure that she would find a way to get back on her feet and that it would be better for the both of them to stay apart. 

Now he realized that was just an excuse. He was being selfish, protecting himself and running away from reality so as not to face it because it hurted him. It hurted to know that he was hurting her. It hurted that he fell in love with another woman behind her back. It hurted to have to leave her after all they had been through together, the love they shared, the moments of vulnerability and intimacy that had brought them together. It hurted because he had failed her, because he couldn't keep his promise to be with her forever. So he completely disappeared from her life, making excuses to justify his behavior and convince himself that he was doing the right thing even though he knew deep down that he wasn't. He ran away like a coward and she ended up paying the price for it.

The witcher's eyes searched the nymph's, hoping to find in them the answers to the questions he had not asked, some indication that the king was not lying. She escaped his gaze, feeling embarrassed and extremely vulnerable. But eventually their gazes met and Geralt knew the mistake he had made. He should have been there for her. He should have helped her when they came for her. He should have searched for her all over the continent once he noticed her disappearance. He should have protected her, just as he always had. He had failed her twice, but he would not let there be a third.

Geralt carried out his threat without hesitation, lashing out at the nearest soldiers in an effort to reach her. The clinking sound of clashing swords and the groans of his opponents were all that echoed in his mind, focusing on his enemy to keep his head cool and ensure victory. They were no threat to him. They were well trained and knew how to move around very well, but he was a witcher with decades of experience and unmatched reflexes and skills. He had defeated them once in the past and he would do it again now without breaking a sweat.

At least that's what he thought before he heard the voice of the young nymph in the distance calling out for him.

“Geralt!” She exclaimed his name for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her sweet voice traveled through the air, piercing through the sound of metal and the grunts of pain until it reached his ears. She managed to get his attention immediately as he recognized the hint of fear in it. As he buried his sword in his opponent, his eyes snapped up to her, searching for her in the crowd following the sound of her voice. 

When he finally found her, Geralt's heart sank as he discovered the reason for the fear in her voice. The king had his hands around her, holding her tightly against his body. His left hand was wrapped around her torso, restricting her movement, while his right hand wielded a silver dagger against her neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light, revealing the sharp edge that burned the girl's skin. Desperate, Geralt tried to lunge at the monarch, but he stopped him with a click of his tongue.

"One more step and she dies." He assured, firmly. Geralt noticed the honesty in his voice, so he stayed in place and slowly lowered his sword —though he did not drop it—, a desperate attempt to buy time to think of a plan to get out of there with her by his side.

"You don't have to do this." Geralt tried to reason with him even though he knew it was in vain. He didn't see her as more than an object, just another piece in his long collection of creatures, so it was safe to assume he didn't value her life very much. But still, Geralt didn't have much choice so he tried anyway.

"She has been nothing but trouble since the moment she arrived at the castle, isn't that right, darling?" The king grumbled, lowering his head just slightly so he could mutter the last question against the young nymph's ear. "Crying all day, disobeying my orders, upsetting the other creatures... and now your friend over here kills half my men after I feed him and show him my generosity."

"If we present so much trouble to you, why don't you let us go? I'll take her with me and I promise you won't hear from us ever again."

"You are ungrateful brats." The king continued speaking, completely ignoring Geralt's words. "You think you are special, important, and therefore above it all... but you are not. Your actions have consequences and I am the one who decides what they are... You do not deserve my generosity or my mercy."

Geralt didn't have time to think about the hypocrisy in the monarch's words because before he could process them his eyes watched in horror as he slid the blade of the dagger across his beloved's neck. Blood began to gush violently from the wound, the thick, sticky liquid sliding down the young woman's delicate skin, turning everything red. He screamed her name, his sword slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor with a muffled sound. He ran towards her, completely forgetting the guards he was fighting moments before. He only cared about her.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion, as if his feet were twice as heavy and dragging them along the ground was more difficult than usual. Everyone around him seemed to slow down, the men around him, the gentle breeze of the wind... everything but her. He watched her collapse to the ground, blood covering her chest as she struggled to keep breathing. But he couldn't reach her. All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms one more time, but it was as if an abyss was keeping them apart. It felt as if fate was mocking him, punishing him for his mistakes by allowing him to be there with her, but not letting him do anything to save her. 

He tried to stop the bleeding as he knelt beside her —placing his hands on her neck and feeling the blood gushing from the wound—, but it was too late. She was pale and weak, all the magic in the world could not have saved her at that moment. There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful green orbs that were fading with each passing second. She was scared, Geralt could see it in her expression. She didn't want to go, but she knew there was nothing else to do now.

"I'm here, I'm here." Geralt whispered in the calmest, most comforting tone he was capable of uttering at that moment. He swallowed his anger and pain, holding back tears so he could give her some peace. He cradled her face in his hands, fingers caressing the skin of her cheeks delicately as if he were afraid of breaking it. "It's going to be okay... you're going to be okay. I will fix this."

She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but instead of sound only blood came out. Geralt caressed her gently, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her hand around his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. She was begging him to understand her, to read in her eyes her thoughts as he had done so many times in the past. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand her, although in hindsight it should have been obvious to him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, to assure him that none of it was his fault and that no matter what had happened between them, he would own her heart forever. 

"I love you. I always will."

Geralt saw the reassurance in her face as the warmth of love enveloped her in her last moments. She gave him the faintest of smiles, an almost invisible sign of the peace his words had brought her. And then her grip on his arm weakened, her hand dropping to the floor as life left her body. Suddenly, that subtle smile, now permanently carved into her expression, was all he had left of her, of her life and the love they shared. 

Geralt did not fight when the soldiers dragged him and tied him to a tree to leave him there to die while they escaped, he did not have the strength to do so. He was numb to the world around him, consumed by grief. The sound of the king and his men preparing to leave sounded muffled and distant, as if they were far away from him. And in a way they were, for his mind was not one with his body, but far away. He was focused on the slowly withering body of his beloved, on the fear as she called his name and the terror in her eyes as the edge of the dagger sealed her fate. He could only think of her and all the time they had lost and could never get back, feeling the guilt slowly consuming him as her body transformed into a pile of pink petals.

Geralt admired her face in the dim glow of the candlelight, thinking about how beautiful she looked tangled in the sheets beside him. Her hair spread across the pillow like a halo around her head and her smooth skin was covered with a light layer of sweat that gave her an almost ethereal glow. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. He found it hard to believe he had someone like her lying next to him, looking at him with love in her eyes. 

It wasn't just her beauty. No. It was the peace her mere presence awakened in him and the void he felt in his chest when they were apart. It was the way he dreamed of her and her caresses every night he went to bed alone and how his longing disappeared when he felt her warmth against him as their bodies melted into one. It was the way her kisses made him feel like he was home, safe and away from the complications of the world outside the little paradise that was her forest. It was much more than physical attraction, more than the effects of her nymph charm, as he had initially thought. It was love. Pure, honest love, like he had never felt before. He was in love with her, and while he hadn't put it into words yet, he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Her fingers aroused a warm tingle as they caressed his cheek. Geralt leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the magic of the moment. It was amazing how such a subtle act, such a light touch, was able bring out so many emotions in him. It was something only she could do, a clear demonstration of how deep his feelings for her were.

However, when Geralt opened his eyes again, he didn't find the special glow he usually saw in them at intimate moments like this. She was looking straight at him, but it was as if she was looking right through him, as if her mind was lost in her thoughts. Something was bothering her, that much was clear in the green tint of her eyes. Her mouth would open slightly, almost in an imperceptible movement, only to close seconds later, as if there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't quite bring herself to say. So he decided to ask her about it. 

"What's wrong?" Geralt voice was low and raspy with sleep, looking at her with a slight frown in confusion. There was a moment of silence before she answered. Her eyes never left his, but her hand slowly slid from his cheek to rest on his bare chest.

"I'm afraid of losing you." She eventually said, her voice almost a whisper. "You travel across the continent, meet all kinds of people... I'm afraid one day you will get bored of me... find someone better and leave me forever."

Geralt could not believe his ears. It was ridiculous to him that she could have such a fear of abandonment when he felt the way he did. If only she knew how happy being with her made him... If only he could somehow transfer his emotions to her so that she could feel his heart race when they kissed, or experience the peace that filled him inside every night when he lay down next to her... If only she knew, she wouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts. So, he took her hand in his and pressed it against the left side of his chest, right over where his heart was beating with love for her. She needed to know that she was the only one who had a permanent place there. She was the only one he loved and he doubted that would ever change.

"Believe me when I tell you that there is no force on this continent that can keep me away from you." He spoke in a soft voice and watched as her eyes lit up full of illusion. "I love you, forever and always."

He sealed his promise with a kiss, showing her with his lips how serious he was about it. He loved her and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to be with her for the rest of his life, sharing intimate moments like this one and protecting her from any evil that might come her way. He felt complete with her and could not imagine how miserable his life would be without her by his side.

Geralt allowed himself to get lost in the passion of the moment, fingers tracing trails over his beloved's bare skin as he melted into the kiss. It was different this time, more intimate and charged with all the emotions that were left unsaid —it was their special way of communicating, one kiss and they knew what was going through each other's minds. The comforting warmth of love filled his heart, leaving him in a state of total bliss as she whispered sweet nothings against his lips. He was happy in a way he could not remember ever being before, in a way he knew he could only be with her. 

But suddenly that comforting warmth that flooded his insides was replaced by a paralyzing cold, an emptiness that pressed against his chest and took his breath away. Geralt could no longer feel his beloved's lips against his. He could no longer smell the flowery scent her soft skin radiated or feel the warmth of her body. He was trapped in a black void, in emptiness itself, all alone. And in the distance he could hear his name being called.

Geralt

Geralt

Geralt

It was a cry for help, the voice of terror of someone who had been confronted with their own mortality. The voice trembled with fear, certain of the fatal fate that awaited them. Geralt could not escape its shrieks, no matter how hard he tried. It was his own personal hell, a void where he was forced to confront his pain, his guilt, and to listen again and again to his beloved's voice filled with terror as she spoke his name for the last time.

Geralt woke up tangled in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and breathing fast due to his nightmare. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling as he tried to pull himself together. His beloved's voice was still ringing in his ears, only that with every waking second it became more and more distant until it became an almost unintelligible whisper. Anguish and guilt weighed heavy on his chest, but he was used to that by now. The emptiness inside him had accompanied him every moment of his life since that unfortunate day. He could not escape the pain and regret he felt, it haunted him even when he closed his eyes at night. He could not even enjoy the peaceful ignorance in the mornings, when one's mind is too sleepy to process life's tragedies, because his nightmares would remind him of every painful detail of that day so that he could not rest.

At a time like this, when life had become so overwhelming that he was unable to sleep, he usually reached out to her. With her gentle touch and sweet voice she was always able to calm his tormented self, wash away the anger and frustration and replace it with love and calmness. But now she was gone and he didn't know how to go on. He missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He missed the melodious sound of her laughter and the light in her eyes when she was happy. He missed waking up next to her in the mornings, feeling the warmth of her body enveloping him as she whispered good morning to him, her voice hoarse from sleep. He wished he could once again feel the soft caress of her lips on his and hear her say she loved him one more time. 

There was nothing Geralt wasn't willing to do to have her back with him, to be able to tell her how much he loved her and how he regretted leaving her. He had been an idiot to have given in to his desires for Yennefer. He should never have gotten involved with her, he should have let her own greed and obsession destroy her that day. He should have saved Jaskier and moved on with his life, after all Yennefer's problems were of no concern to him. But he could not resist his need to intervene, acting like a knight in shining armor instead of what he really was: a witcher. He made an impulsive decision, binding their destinies with magic and unknowingly triggering the death of his beloved. For if only he had been with her, if only he had stayed by her side to protect her as he had promised, he was sure things would be very different. She would still be alive and he would not be so miserable.

But Geralt was determined to make things right. He refused to let her die because of his mistakes. And looking at the cherry blossom tree growing outside his window, he knew the time was getting closer.

"I will fix this." He spoke to the tree, stroking the trunk with his hand as he sucked in a long breath of air. It smelled like her, a sweet scent mixed with the aroma of wood and wet earth. It ached and comforted him in equal amounts. "I will bring you back to me and I will keep my promise to you this time."

Geralt knew she was gone, but her essence was still alive in that tree. Born from the pink petals in which her body had withered when she died, it grew stronger with each day, keeping a fragment of her alive. Of course it was not her, but for now he was happy to make promises to the wind that its branches generated, clinging to the sweet scent of its flowers as the only sign that his words were well received by her. It was all he had, all he had left of her, and for now that was enough. He still wasn't sure how he would fulfill his promises or even where to begin. But he was sure of one thing, and that was that his love for her was stronger than fate itself and there was no force on the continent that could stop him from keeping his promise this time.

The solution to his dilemma presented itself almost by accident. And it came from the place Geralt least expected. He had spent the last few months visiting every library he had access to, reading every book and consulting with every expert he knew in his desperate search to find a way to bring his beloved back to life. But in the end, it was Jaskier who presented him with a solution in the form of a song. 

They were traveling on a back road after a successful job. The bard had offered to accompany him under the excuse that he needed new inspirations, but Geralt knew he was doing it because he didn't want to leave him alone. Jaskier knew the pain he felt and being the good friend he was he wanted to accompany him in mourning. Geralt appreciated him even if he didn't have the strength to say it in words. His light-hearted comments and meaningless ramblings were exactly what he needed to distract his tormented mind. Even his spontaneous singing at the worst possible moment cheered him up instead of irritating him as usual. Anything to help him concentrate on something else was welcomed.

They had been walking for hours, hoping to reach the next town before dark and sleep in a comfortable bed in a warm room and not in the middle of the forest again. They were quiet, only the chirping of birds and the sound of leaves crunching under their feet echoed in the air. They had run out of things to talk about an hour ago and Jaskier was starting to get bored. So he did what he always did when he found himself in that situation, sing. Only this time Geralt didn't recognize the verses as one of his own original songs. It was one he had not heard him sing before, so he paid attention.

It told the story of a young man that had managed to win the heart of a forest nymph with his beautiful singing. The connection they shared was so strong that they married shortly after meeting, in the same place where they first saw each other. Happiness and love filled their days for a few long and joyful months. That was until fate, jealous and bitter, stood in the way of their happiness. So, one morning, after being bitten by a snake, the young nymph died. Her beloved fell into a state of despair when he heard the tragic news. Unable to accept that his wife had been taken from his life without warning, he descended into the depths of the underworld to plead for her soul. The song narrated the difficulties of his journey and the perseverance with which he had faced each difficulty until he reached the lord of the underworld himself, to whom he tearfully begged for the return of his wife. The emotion in his words was such that he managed to move Hades, who gave in to his prayers. Although he imposed a condition: that he would not turn around to see his wife's soul following his steps until he left the underworld.

The story did not end well since the young man had been too eager and had turned to see his beloved before she was completely above ground. But Geralt didn't care about that somber detail. His attention was focused on the young man and his journey to the underworld, not only because he felt somehow connected to the emotions of sadness and despair he felt, but also because he was fairly certain he could recreate his heroic efforts.

"Are you crazy?" was Jaskier's reaction to hearing Geralt's idea, his voice raised in a tone of surprise and concern. "Haven't you heard the end of the song? Things go wrong! He doesn't get his wife back!"

“I know, but I don’t care.”

“Geralt, the story it’s just a myth… a tragic love story that one could say is a cautionary tale! You’re not supposed to follow in his footsteps, you’re supposed to learn to live with the grief, process your emotions and eventually move on… Look, I know this is hard for you. I miss her too… What happened to her wasn’t fair, but it wasn't your fault either. Blindly following the words of a myth is not going to change anything.”

“But it’s not a myth, not all of it at least.” Geralt recognized that the love story of the young man and the forest nymph might be an invention, but he knew of the existence of a door to the underworld. It was hidden and required great power and extensive knowledge of magic to be opened, but it was real. And fortunately for him, he knew one of the most powerful and skilled mages on the continent. Though convincing her to help him would not be an easy task given how things had ended between them.

"Why should I help you?" Yennefer said with annoyance in her voice when he showed up unannounced to ask for her help. It was clear that she did not enjoy the witcher's surprise visit and was not shy about showing it. "And more importantly, why are you asking for my help with something like this? I thought you of all people would know how dangerous opening the doors of the underworld is."

"Why do you care?" Geralt answered her with another question. To be honest, he didn't think the difficulties in getting her help would come from a moral issue. Yennefer was not the type of mage who cared too much about such things. "Are you in this or not?"

"That depends... what's in it for me? I hope you know I'm not going to waste my energy in helping you out of the goodness of my heart, not after all the shit you did." Geralt smiled at her remark, surprised that it had taken her so long to once again blurt out her complaints about him saving her life. She was still angry at him for linking their destinies with the wish to the Djinn and at this point he doubted she would ever get over it. 

"You get the once in a lifetime chance to traverse the underworld and possibly get knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension." He simply stated.

Yennefer was silent for a moment, watching Geralt intently, violet eyes piercing his yellow orbs. It alerted him to strengthen his mental shield to keep her from entering his thoughts. 

"When you live as long as I have, once in a lifetime opportunities start losing power and meaning."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to explore the unexplored and that's your answer? This could have all the answers you've spent years looking for and you're not interested?"

"Oh I'm interested, I just can't understand why Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher who prides in his indifference and ability to not intervene, would be interested in opening the gates to the underworld?"

"I have my reasons and they are not of your concern. Are you going to help me or not?"

Yennfer was silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, she smiled at him, and he knew he could count on her help.

Preparing for such an adventure was difficult. It was the first time in his life that Geralt did not know what to expect. He had no idea what he was going to encounter once they crossed the gates to the world of the dead. He didn't know what kind of obstacles he would encounter on the journey or if he would even accomplish his task. But he had to try. Even if it was the last thing he did, he owed it to her. 

It was difficult to prepare for the uncertain, so he tried to imagine all possible scenarios and prepare accordingly. He tried to be as meticulous as possible, but he knew it was impossible to stay on top of everything. What he never imagined, however, was that trouble would come from Yennefer's end. He always saw her as such a powerful and determined individual that he did not take into consideration that her energy could wear out and her magic could be consumed. Geralt had no way of really knowing how demanding the spell to open the gates of the underworld would be. He knew it was not something that just anyone could do, but he thought Yennefer could handle it without much trouble. He had never seen magic like hers. And what she lacked in skill, she made up for in stubbornness, so he thought that with her by his side things would not be so difficult.

However, the moment they took a step into the world of the dead, Yennefer fell weakly into the witcher's arms. She muttered something about having spent her energy and how the nature of the place did not allow her to pull herself together. Geralt suggested that she stay outside, after all, this wasn't her fight and she didn't have to risk so much for him. And at that instant, as if the walls were listening to them, the doors closed, leaving only one possible path.

The place was cold and dark, like a cave hidden deep in a mountain. There was not so much as a ray of sunlight, the little light that illuminated their way came from torches distributed along the stone walls. The air was heavy, stale, and it was hard to breathe. It was clear that this was no place for the living, but Geralt continued on his way despite the difficulties. He took Yennefer by the waist, letting her wrap one arm around his shoulders so she could walk, and followed the straight path that the torches seemed to indicate. At the end of the tunnel he came to a large river, and on the shore rested a boat. Inside it stood a hooded figure, long black robes covered its entire body in a way that Geralt could not see its face when it turned to look at them, only a void lost inside the hood.

"He's been waiting for you." The figure spoke, stepping aside so they could board the boat. Geralt hesitated, thinking back to all the catastrophic scenarios he had imagined in preparation for this moment. Surely that had to be a trap, things couldn't be that simple, could they?

"He wants to speak to you, Geralt of Rivia." The figure spoke again as it noticed the hesitation in the witcher's attitude. "He sent me to find you and ensure your safe passage through these waters." He did not trust it, but Yennefer pushed him into the boat with what little strength she had, so he had no other choice.

The dark figure did not utter another word. It went about its task in complete silence, paddling in the waters of oblivion until it brought them close to shore. It did not help them down once they reached their destination, nor did it open its mouth to give them directions. Just pointed a long, skeletal finger toward the horizon and set off the same way it had come. 

A dark, dead forest loomed before them. Long, thin tree trunks, nearly leafless branches and shabby bushes decorated the path. Everything seemed to be in shades of black and gray, though that was probably due to the lack of sun. In the distance a structure could be seen, a castle whose colors matched the rest of the landscape. Although the neat and polished appearance of its exterior contrasted with the disheveled and dead environment around it. It was clear that that was where they should go, so Geralt took Yennefer in his arms once more and set off on his way. 

There was not much distance separating them from the castle, but the witcher felt as if he had spent an eternity walking. And yet, at the same time, when he reached the large wooden gates, he was amazed to have reached his destination so quickly.  His perception of time was totally altered, affected by the atmosphere of the place.  Time did not flow there in the same way as it did on the surface. It was as if it was both stopped and accelerated all at once, as if each step took hours and at the same time a couple of seconds. It was more than the absence of sunlight confusing his perception. It was the way things worked in that place, a world separate from the one lying on the surface that he was not supposed to access.

The man who appeared in front of them when the doors opened on their own was imposing, but far less frightening than Geralt expected. It was enough to look into his eyes to know that he was the person in charge of the place. Power shone in his eyes in the same way the witcher had seen it in the kings in the world of the living. And yet, there was something unique about them, something that made it clear that he was no mere mortal. Geralt knew better than to challenge him, though he wasn't sure his emotions would allow him to be cautious if things didn't go as he hoped.

"I've been waiting for you, witcher." the god said in a loud, clear voice. "I'm surprised it took you this long to find me."

Geralt was not pleased to learn that he had been waiting for him. He had imagined it might be a possibility, but he thought the god would use that knowledge to stop him. The fact that he welcomed him without trials or difficulties, sending his people to look for him and opening the doors of his home to him without hesitation, made him suspicious.  For all he knew, it could all be a trap.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, witcher! I have far more important things to do than to set you up." The god spoke as if reading his thoughts. 

"You knew I was coming?" Geralt managed to say and the god nodded.

"And most importantly, I know why you are here. I knew you were going to find your way here the second she came in."

The mere mention of his beloved in the conversation had Geralt's heart racing, a gesture of both love and anxiety. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him, watching him with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She knew of his former lover, the forest nymph he had abandoned after their destinies were linked, and he had no doubt that she would understand what was happening in just a second, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to have her back.

"So, I'm assuming you know why I'm here."

"I do, yes. And I will not be opposing to your wishes, Geralt of Rivia. I knew from the first moment that this was not her time and I am willing to give her another chance to live out her destiny without surprise interruptions from magic... However, I do have one condition."

"And you say it was not a trap..."

"It is not! It is just a simple... exchange."

"An exchange of what?"

The god paused, taking his moment to answer.

"Souls are complex things, Geralt. Very powerful, very strong... I can't just let one walk out of here."

"Why not? You have plenty here."

"It's a matter of balance, I don't expect you to understand that. But, if you want your dear nymph back, you'll have to give me a soul in return."

Geralt was silent for a moment, carefully analyzing his situation. After all the work it had taken him to get there, he didn't plan to leave empty-handed. But he also didn't want to condemn an innocent soul who had nothing to do with his mistakes. So he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Fine," the witcher agreed. "Take me then. My soul for hers, it's only fair."

Yennefer tugged on his arm, ready to argue with him —thinking he was acting like an idiot by offering his life as if it was nothing—, but was interrupted before she could open her mouth by the laughter of the god in front of them.

"It's a nice gesture, but your soul isn't nearly powerful enough. It's better than an ordinary human’s soul, I'll give you that, but she's a nymph. Do you have any idea how much energy her soul contains?"

"Then name your price." Geralt said. He wasn't necessarily going to give in to his demands, but he figured it didn't hurt to learn what the god's wishes were.

"To be honest, I don't think you can get a soul of such power... however, you do have access to one that is quite close." Geralt didn't like the suggestive tone in the god's voice. And he liked it even less when his eyes fell on Yennefer as he finished the sentence.

"No!" The witcher declared as he understood the intentions behind those words. He had brought Yennefer with him to help him open the portal and nothing else. He refused to sacrifice one more life. No one else had to suffer because of his stupid decisions.

"She wouldn't suffer." The god spoke after glancing at Geralt's thoughts. "She doesn't even have to be dead, she just has to stay here with me."

"I don’t care. We're not doing this."

"Why don't you let her decide?" The god said, resting his eyes on Yennefer's violet ones. "It is a good deal. You get your lover back and she gets-"

"She gets imprisoned here forever." Geralt interrupted and the god looked at him wearily.

"She gets to be the most powerful madge in history, sitting by my side ruling the underworld... isn't that what you always wanted, Yennefer of Vengerberg, to have power beyond imaginable? What's more powerful than deciding between life and death?"

Geralt snorted at such words, finding the god's tricks very ineffective. But when he looked back at Yennefer, she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt. "You're not seriously considering his proposal, aren't you?" he approached her, speaking in a lower tone of voice so as not to be heard by the god.

"If we leave now then we traveled this far for nothing. Don't you want to get her back?"

"No if it means hurting innocent people. You have nothing to do with this."

"Except I do since the moment you made that srupid wish."

"I didn't save your life then just to leave you here now."

"You're not leaving me, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't have to do this, Yennefer." Geralt's voice became softer. She seemed quite sure of her decision and he knew it would not be easy to persuade her otherwise, but he had to try. He didn't like the idea of leaving her behind, of sacrificing her in favor of his own happiness. 

"Oh, please! I'm not doing this just for you. I usually don't like to waste my time and energy just to end up empty handed. I came here because, as you said, it was an opportunity to find the answers I've been looking for. So why don't you worry about you and let me worry about myself?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. And while she wasn't lying and really had interests of her own in that place, Geralt really was a big part of the reason she wanted to accept the god's offer. There was something in his eyes, the sparkle of true love, that shone every time he thought of his departed lover. It was something she had never noticed in his eyes when he looked at her. It was clear that what they had was real, it softened her hardened and withering heart, and gave her hope that love was real. Though of course, she would never admit that to Geralt. 

The witcher growled under his breath, clenching his jaw. Even though part of him didn't like the idea of leaving Yennefer behind, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved to hear those words. If she wanted to stay there for her own selfish reasons, then accepting the god's proposal was much easier on his conscience. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her once more, giving her one last chance to back out. 

Yennefer shrugged. "I lived a long time among the living, had my good share of adventures... maybe it's time to try my luck in the underworld. "

That answer was good enough for Geralt. He accepted the god's proposal, exchanging Yennefer's soul for that of his beloved nymph. She would stay in the underworld with him and in return Geralt would get a second chance with his lover. The god instructed him to return home and assured him that when he arrived, her soul would already be back in her birth tree.

As he made his way back, the thought that the god was tricking him crossed his mind. He realized that he really had nothing to assure him that he would keep his word. For all he knew, this could have been a strange move by the god to get to Yennefer and her powers for some reason he did not know. Perhaps he was being used as a pawn in a larger chess game that he did not know he was part of. Perhaps he had unleashed a terrible evil upon the continent without realizing it.

But then he felt it. 

The sweet scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils the moment he set foot in the forest. It was strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. He noticed then that everything looked greener and more alive, every flower, bush and plant glowing in the warm sunlight in a way that they didn't when he left. Even the birds seemed to sing louder and more cheerfully. 

Geralt ran to the cherry blossom tree he had been tending for what had felt like an eternity. His heart was racing with every step he took, not from the physical effort, but from the anticipation. The hope of seeing her again was what had kept him sane since that horrible day he had lost her. All this time he had thought it was impossible, an illusion that only served to keep him on his feet until the pain subsided. But now it was a reality, and he had so many emotions swirling inside him that he didn't know exactly what to feel.

Suddenly, his eyes came upon a figure on the horizon. It was partially blocked by the rays of sunlight that kept him from seeing clearly, so he picked up his pace to get closer. Little by little the figure revealed itself in front of him, until it became clear to him that the one who was walking around the forest, picking flowers and petting the animals, was her. 

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, with her long hair blowing in the wind and a sweet smile on her face. It was as if time had never passed, as if that horrible day and the pain that her death had unleashed had been just a bad dream. It was as if he had never lost her.

Geralt stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on hers, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through him. All this time he had dreamed of this moment and now that he had her only a few feet away he didn't know how to react. His eyes blurred with tears, but he caught a glimpse of his beloved's figure running to him before he felt the warmth of her body in his arms. He held her tighter than he ever had, pulling her against his chest as a way of both making sure she was real and that she couldn't pull away from him.

"You came for me." She muttered, melting into the embrace. Her memory was somewhat fuzzy, but she remembered clearly the moment when the blade of the dagger had caressed her neck. She remembered how it had felt and the horror in Geralt's eyes as she fell into his arms, taking her last breaths. She remembered his words of comfort and his promise to make things right, as if he actually could. She still didn't understand how she was back there, but she knew it was Geralt she had to thank for her second chance at life. Somehow, he had found a way to bring her back, she was sure of that.

"I'll always come back for you." 

The kiss they shared was unlike any other. It was passionate and desperate, yet soft and tender. It was charged with all the emotions that had been left unsaid between them, sadness, regret, longing, but, above all, love. They felt that spark the moment their lips brushed, just like in the old days. Geralt hadn't realized how much he had missed feeling her soft lips on his until that moment. He allowed himself to get lost in the joy he felt, letting the warmth of her body against his slowly remove the traces of sadness and pain that had haunted him all this time.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, enjoying the moment they had both been longing for so long. It was just him, her and the chirping of birds in the trees. Breathing in the floral scent of her hair, Geralt knew that the gray days were behind him. Gone were the guilt and the pain, the sleepless nights and the cold mornings without his beloved. She was back by his side, just as she always should have been. And he was more than happy for the new beginning he had with her. A new chance to make things right, to honor his word and keep his promise, just as he should have done from the beginning. He was ashamed that he had had to lose her to realize how big his mistake had been, but now that he had her back he wasn't going to let her go. His love had proven to be stronger than everything, even death itself.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (2)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Previous chapter: 1

- Next chapter: 3

- Note: For more of my works such as this, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (All flags are up for this one, Aerys is warning just by himself)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy

The sun is beginning its slow descent, casting the gardens of the Red Keep in hues of deep gold and amber. The gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming roses, a rare sweetness in a place often filled with tension and whispers. You walk quietly beside Ser Arthur, your protector once more after a week of uneasy distance and formalities. His presence, as always, is reassuring—a steadfast anchor in the churning sea that is the court.

Arthur’s eyes are ever watchful, but he takes comfort in these moments with you, even if they are draped in silence. His hand rests casually on the hilt of Dawn, though there is a readiness in the way he carries himself, as if anticipating a shadow from around every corner. But today, it is not shadows that emerge from the hedges, but a figure of gold and red.

Ser Jaime Lannister strides toward you, his golden armor catching the fading sunlight in brilliant flashes. His confident smirk is in place, the usual gleam of mischief dancing in his green eyes. He slows his approach as he reaches you, offering a courteous nod to both you and Arthur, though his smile is more of a challenge when it lands on the latter.

“Ser Arthur,” Jaime greets smoothly, a touch of amusement in his tone. “It’s good to see you back at your post. You seem particularly diligent today.” His eyes flick to you briefly, as though implying something without needing to say it outright.

Arthur remains composed, offering a polite nod. “Ser Jaime. It’s important to maintain vigilance in these times, as you well know.”

Jaime’s grin widens, the air of casual arrogance that he’s so known for slipping into his tone. “Indeed. Especially when guarding someone as valuable as our dear princess.” He glances at you again, his expression unreadable. “My sister, Cersei, will be arriving in King’s Landing soon. She’s eager to reacquaint herself with the court. I imagine the city will be even more lively with her around.”

There’s something veiled in his words, a subtle probing as if gauging Arthur’s reaction. Jaime’s relationship with his sister is no secret, nor is the reputation that Cersei Lannister brings with her—a sharp mind wrapped in beauty, one capable of weaving webs as intricate as any spider’s. Arthur’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightens slightly, but his expression remains controlled.

“I’m sure the court will be most… entertained by her presence,” Arthur replies, choosing his words carefully. He knows better than to be drawn into Jaime’s games, especially with you so close by.

Jaime chuckles, a low, amused sound, as if satisfied with the exchange. “Let’s hope for entertainment, then.” He offers you a more genuine, almost charming smile before turning back to Arthur. “Take care, Ser Arthur. It seems you have a most important charge to attend to.” With a mock bow, Jaime takes his leave, strolling away with the swagger of someone who knows the weight of his own importance.

Once Jaime is out of sight, the tension lifts, leaving just you and Arthur alone again, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound between you. You can sense the subtle shift in Arthur’s demeanor, the guarded mask he often wears cracking just slightly now that it’s only the two of you.

You glance up at him, something playful yet deliberate in your gaze. “The court is growing busier by the day, it seems,” you remark, your tone carefully measured. “It makes it more difficult to find… moments of peace.”

Arthur’s eyes flick to you, and though his expression remains serious, you can see the faint spark of understanding in his gaze. He’s learned to decipher your carefully chosen words, to pick out the meaning beneath them. There’s a brief pause, the tension between you both a taut string ready to snap.

“Moments of peace are indeed rare in this place,” he replies, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “But not impossible, if one knows where to look.”

You take a small step closer, the distance between you shrinking until it’s barely appropriate. “And if one knew where to look, they might find themselves in the company of someone they trust.” The words are bold, but they hang in the air with an unspoken invitation.

Arthur’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly. He’s already tasted what it’s like to break free of the chains that bind him, and the thought of indulging once more, of stealing another moment away from prying eyes, is almost too tempting to resist. He knows it’s a dangerous game—one that could unravel everything he’s built—but the way you look at him now, with that mix of hope and daring, pulls at him with a force he’s powerless to deny.

“There’s a place,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Hidden away, where no one goes at this hour. We won’t be missed for a short time.”

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as you give him the smallest of smiles—a shared understanding that words are no longer needed. The decision is made, the line crossed again. This time, there is no hesitation, no fear of consequence, just the promise of something both of you have craved.

Without another word, Arthur takes a quick glance around to ensure the path is clear before gently taking your hand, guiding you away from the main walkways and deeper into the maze of hedges and winding paths. The sounds of the bustling castle fade into the background, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. He leads you through a narrow passageway, past thick vines that have grown wild and unchecked, to a secluded alcove hidden from view by tall hedges.

The space is small, intimate, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and the golden glow of the setting sun casting long shadows. Arthur turns to you, his eyes searching yours, and in that moment, the world outside ceases to matter. There’s no court, no king, no duty—just the two of you and the undeniable pull that draws you together.

You step closer, your hand still in his, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cool metal of his gauntlet. There’s a tension in the air, thick with anticipation and the shared understanding that this stolen moment is yours alone. Your heart pounds in your chest as you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch familiar yet electrifying in its boldness. His breath catches, and you can see in his eyes that he’s already lost, just as you are.

“Lead me,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Arthur’s eyes darken with the weight of his desire and the knowledge of what is to come. His hand tightens around yours, and he draws you closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers back, “Follow me.”

And with that, he leads you deeper into the shadows, where neither duty nor watchful eyes can find you. 

In the hidden alcove, where the shadows cloak you from the world, all pretense shatters. There’s no need for words, no need to maintain the roles you’ve been forced to play. The air is thick with the tension of what’s about to happen, and you both know there’s no going back once the dam breaks. Arthur’s gaze is burning now, the weight of his desire unmistakable as he takes in the sight of you, as if he’s memorizing every detail for the dark days when this memory is all he’ll have to hold onto.

Without hesitation, his hands find your waist, pulling you close, pressing you against the stone wall behind you. The cool surface contrasts with the heat radiating between you, a shiver rippling through your body as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I can’t hold back this time,” he murmurs, the strain in his voice betraying just how much he’s been fighting this need. “Tell me you want this—tell me I’m not alone in this madness.”

“Arthur,” you breathe, your voice trembling with anticipation and longing. You reach up, your fingers curling into his hair as you tug him closer, your lips brushing against his with a teasing whisper. “I want you. I need you—now, more than ever.”

The last thread of restraint snaps. Arthur’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, all the careful control gone, replaced by raw hunger. His hands are quick, practiced as they strip away the barriers between you, fingers deftly unlacing your bodice just enough to expose the bare skin he craves. You tug at his cloak, his surcoat, your movements frantic and filled with the same urgency, until only the bare essentials remain.

Arthur’s breathing is ragged as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he presses you firmly against the wall. The feel of him so close, the tension of what’s about to happen, sends a shudder of anticipation down your spine. There’s no gentleness this time, no patience—only need.

He positions himself, his grip on your hips firm as he looks into your eyes, as if searching for any hint of hesitation. But all he finds is the same burning desire reflected back at him. With a low, almost desperate groan, he thrusts into you, his body claiming yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and urgency as he fills you completely, pushing deep with the kind of desperation that only comes from holding back for far too long. You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stifle it, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, your own need mirroring his. “Arthur—”

He swallows your cry with another searing kiss, his pace relentless from the start. There’s no time for slow exploration, no room for gentle caresses. This is pure, unrestrained passion—a fierce joining of bodies and souls that’s been denied for too long. The world fades away, leaving only the feeling of his body against yours, the friction, the heat, the way he moves inside you with an urgency that borders on desperation.

Your nails rake down his back, urging him on, needing more—needing all of him. His name slips from your lips in breathless moans as he sets a rhythm that’s fast, demanding, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through you that make it impossible to think of anything but him. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice ragged as you cling to him, your head tipping back against the stone. “Please—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls, his voice thick with emotion, his lips brushing against your neck as he continues, faster, deeper, driven by the same hunger that gnaws at you both. His hands roam over your body, possessive, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you, to etch the memory of this moment into his very soul. Each thrust, each moan, each gasp builds toward something explosive, a crescendo that’s as fierce as it is inevitable.

The rhythm between you is wild, the push and pull of your bodies synchronized in a dance that feels both frenzied and natural. You can feel him trembling, holding onto the last vestiges of control, and it only spurs you on, your body tightening around him as you move together, chasing the edge of oblivion.

“Arthur—” you gasp, your breath hitching as the pleasure coils tighter, threatening to snap. His response is a broken groan, his face buried against your shoulder as his pace becomes erratic, the urgency of his thrusts matched by the rising heat in your core.

When the wave finally crashes over you, it’s blinding—pure electricity surging through every nerve as you cry out, your fingers clutching at him desperately. The pleasure rips through you, leaving you shaking, clinging to him as your body pulses with the aftershocks. Arthur follows a heartbeat later, his grip tightening, his own release tearing a raw sound from his throat as he buries himself deep within you, the last of his restraint shattering completely.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, the quiet aftermath of your shared passion filling the hidden alcove. He holds you close, neither of you moving, both of you caught in the hazy bliss of the moment. It’s fierce and tender all at once, the intensity of your connection still humming between you, a silent promise that this is far from the last time.

After what feels like an eternity, Arthur gently lowers you back to your feet, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “We shouldn’t keep doing this,” he murmurs, though there’s no conviction in his voice, only the lingering echo of desire.

You smile faintly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Perhaps we shouldn’t… but neither of us wants to stop.”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the conflict clear, but so is the quiet resolve that underpins everything he does. “No matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”

“And I’ll keep finding ways to be alone with you,” you reply, your voice soft yet determined.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in deep blues and purples as night falls. But in this hidden place, time seems to stop, leaving just the two of you in a moment that feels like it could stretch on forever.

But as much as you both wish it could, you know you can’t linger. There are duties, responsibilities, and prying eyes to return to. Yet, as you both carefully straighten your clothing and prepare to return to the world outside, there’s a new understanding between you—an unspoken agreement that this secret will remain yours, a stolen joy in a world filled with shadows.

Arthur takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles before leading you back through the winding paths and into the light of the Red Keep once more. The world waits for you beyond the garden, but what you’ve shared here will remain—a fierce, unbreakable bond forged in the most hidden places of your hearts.

As you and Arthur make your way back through the darkening gardens, the world outside begins to bleed back into focus. The warmth and intimacy of the hidden alcove fades into the cool, looming shadows of the Red Keep. You adjust your clothing, smoothing out any creases, while Arthur ensures his cloak falls back into its pristine folds, the white fabric swaying as he walks beside you with his usual measured grace. Despite the shared intimacy of moments before, the tension in both of you remains, a lingering awareness of how close you are to dangerous exposure.

The winding path narrows as you approach one of the side entrances of the Keep, the high stone walls casting long, slanting shadows in the dim evening light. You can feel Arthur’s unease beside you, a tightness in his movements that betrays his ever-watchful vigilance. It’s a precaution both of you know too well is necessary—secrecy is the only armor you have in this deadly court.

But as you near the final turn leading back toward the keep’s more public corridors, a figure steps into view from the shadows, his sudden presence nearly making you stumble. Ser Arthur’s hand instinctively moves to the hilt of Dawn to draw it, but he freezes when he recognizes the figure—Varys, the Spider, dressed in his flowing robes, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves, his expression calm and unreadable.

“Ser Arthur, Princess Y/N,” Varys says with a smooth, almost musical tone, inclining his head in what appears to be a respectful gesture. “Out for a stroll in the gardens, I see? How charming—especially on such a fine evening.”

You tense, every muscle in your body going rigid as you exchange a brief, worried glance with Arthur. The Spider’s presence here could be pure coincidence, but in King’s Landing, nothing Varys does is by accident. His sudden appearance makes your skin crawl—this is a man who has eyes everywhere, and if he’s found you here, it means he’s already pieced together more than either of you are comfortable with.

“Lord Varys,” Arthur replies, his voice steady but with an unmistakable edge. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Oh, merely doing what I do best—keeping an ear to the ground, listening to the whispers carried on the wind.” Varys’ eyes flick between the two of you, sharp as a razor despite the practiced softness of his smile. “It is fascinating what one hears when one knows where to listen.”

You can feel Arthur’s tension spike, but he remains calm. “And what whispers have you heard, my lord?”

Varys sighs softly, his expression almost sympathetic. “The sort that would concern those with deep ties to the crown.” He glances at you, his tone dropping to something almost confidential. “Prince Rhaegar has been seeking you, my princess. He was rather distressed when he discovered you were not in your chambers. He fears for your safety—and his concern has not gone unnoticed by certain watchful eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat, the weight of Varys’ words pressing down on you. Rhaegar is looking for you? The thought of your brother’s concern twisting into suspicion is a chilling one. Arthur’s grip tightens subtly, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. “We were just returning,” Arthur says, careful to maintain an even tone. “The princess needed some air after spending so many hours confined indoors.”

“Of course,” Varys replies smoothly, his eyes narrowing just slightly in what could almost be mistaken for amusement. “It would do no one good for the princess to be stifled, especially in such turbulent times.” His gaze sharpens then, a flicker of genuine warning in his tone. “However, I would advise you both to be more cautious. The prince’s concern could draw attention to places where discretion is required.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening as you process the implication. Varys is warning you—not out of kindness, but likely because he sees value in whatever game you and Arthur are playing. If Rhaegar’s alarm becomes too pronounced, questions will be asked, and in this court, those questions rarely remain benign.

“What are you suggesting, Lord Varys?” you ask, your voice steady despite the unease swirling inside you.

The Spider’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it—only calculation. “Simply that the prince must be reassured. It would be best if you returned swiftly, and perhaps even spoke of a walk or a visit to the sept. Anything that could calm his concerns. After all, it would be a shame if more eyes than necessary began watching where they shouldn’t.”

The subtle threat isn’t lost on either of you. Varys is giving you both a chance to cover your tracks—but make no mistake, he’ll be watching, waiting to see if you falter. The game he plays is one of survival, and your slip could become a weapon in his hands if you aren’t careful.

Arthur gives a curt nod, the tension between his brows deepening. “We will heed your advice, my lord.”

Varys inclines his head once more, his voice a soothing purr. “I’m sure you will, Ser Arthur. And remember, I am always a friend to those who understand the value of discretion.” With that, he turns and glides back into the shadows, vanishing as swiftly as he appeared, leaving only a lingering unease in his wake.

The silence stretches between you and Arthur for a moment, thick with unspoken worry. He finally turns to you, his expression troubled. “We need to return immediately. If Rhaegar’s been looking for you, it’s best we don’t give him—or anyone else—reason to believe there’s more to this than an innocent walk.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “I’ll tell him I felt restless and decided to walk the gardens for some air, but I got lost in my thoughts. He knows I do that sometimes.”

“Good,” Arthur agrees, though his eyes are still scanning the shadows, wary of unseen eyes. “But be careful. We can’t afford to draw any more attention.”

You reach out and squeeze his arm, a gesture of reassurance, though both of you know the precariousness of your situation. “We’ll be careful,” you say softly, but there’s an underlying resolve in your voice. You both have too much at stake now to let anything ruin it.

Arthur nods, then gestures for you to lead the way, allowing you to move ahead with him close behind, his posture rigid, his eyes alert. As you approach the entrance to the main corridor of the Keep, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the performance ahead. It’s just another game within the court’s endless dance of secrets and lies, but now, more than ever, you have something to protect.

As you make your way back to your chambers, you can’t help but cast one last glance over your shoulder. The shadows seem to shift, but there’s no sign of Varys. Still, you know he’s watching—always watching.

With Arthur close by, you square your shoulders, preparing to face whatever awaits inside the Keep.

You and Arthur make your way through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, the tension between you both thick enough to cut with a knife. The stone walls seem to press in closer as you approach the royal wing, where the shadow of the Iron Throne looms over every decision made within these halls. The evening light has faded into the deep blues and purples of twilight, and the flickering torchlight casts long, ominous shadows.

When you reach the familiar archway that leads to the Great Hall, you spot Rhaegar standing at the end of the corridor, his tall frame bathed in the glow of torchlight. His silver hair gleams, and though his posture is calm, you can see the subtle tension in his shoulders. He’s been waiting—and not patiently. 

The sight of him sends a wave of anxiety rushing through you. You’ve always been close with Rhaegar, but you know better than to underestimate his perceptiveness. His violet eyes are sharper than most give him credit for, and when it comes to matters involving those he loves, he leaves little room for doubt or evasion.

As you draw nearer, you see his eyes fix on Arthur, then briefly flick to you. There’s no accusation in his gaze, but there’s something more—a quiet demand for answers. It’s a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Brother,” you greet softly, slipping into the formal politeness that the court requires. “I didn’t realize you were looking for me.”

Rhaegar’s expression softens slightly as he turns to you. “You were not in your chambers. I grew concerned.” His voice is even, but there’s an edge to it that reveals the depth of his worry. “You know how unpredictable these halls can be after dark.”

You nod, lowering your eyes slightly in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry, Rhaegar. I was restless and decided to walk in the gardens. I lost track of time.”

There’s a pause as Rhaegar studies you carefully, as if searching for any sign of deceit. For a brief, nerve-wracking moment, you’re certain he can see right through the thin veil of your excuse. But then his gaze shifts from you to Arthur, and something in his expression changes—hardened resolve mixed with guarded suspicion. The two men lock eyes, and the unspoken tension crackles between them.

“Ser Arthur,” Rhaegar says, his tone polite but firm, “I would speak with you privately.”

The words hang in the air like a command more than a request. Arthur’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he gives a short, respectful nod. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar turns back to you, his expression softening just enough to reassure you. “Sister, return to your chambers. I’ll be with you shortly to discuss matters concerning Father’s plans.”

You dip your head in acknowledgment, though there’s a knot of worry tightening in your chest. “Of course, Rhaegar.”

Before you turn to leave, you allow your eyes to meet Arthur’s briefly—just a flicker of a glance, a silent exchange of concern and understanding. But it’s enough to ground you.

As you walk away, you can feel Rhaegar’s eyes on your back until you disappear around the corner. Once you’re out of sight, you let out a shaky breath. The game you’re playing has grown more dangerous, and Rhaegar’s suspicion is a formidable obstacle. But you trust Arthur, and you trust your brother’s love for you, even if it’s clouded by the weight of his duties.

In the shadowed corridor, Rhaegar turns back to Arthur, waiting until your footsteps fade into the distance. The prince’s gaze hardens, a rare steel in his violet eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. The silence stretches between them, heavy and deliberate, before Rhaegar finally speaks.

“Arthur,” he begins, his voice low and measured, “you’ve served me and my family with unwavering loyalty for years. I trust you as much as I trust anyone in this world.”

Arthur remains still, his expression as unreadable as always. “I live to serve, Your Grace.”

“I know.” Rhaegar’s eyes narrow slightly, a calculating gleam in them. “But there are rumors swirling through the court—whispers of things that could be dangerous if left unchecked. I need to know that those closest to me have nothing to hide.”

The implication is clear, and Arthur’s heart hammers in his chest, though his face betrays none of the turmoil beneath. He meets Rhaegar’s gaze directly, refusing to flinch under the weight of the prince’s scrutiny. “I am your sworn sword, Rhaegar. My only concern is your safety—and that of your sister.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, his expression softening slightly, though the edge remains. “You’ve always been protective of her. I appreciate that, Arthur. But I must ask… do you think it’s wise to allow her to wander the gardens alone at night?”

Arthur’s eyes flicker, a momentary crack in his stoic demeanor, but he quickly regains his composure. “She needed a moment of peace. The court is suffocating at times, even for one as strong as the princess.”

Rhaegar’s gaze remains fixed on Arthur, his silence drawing out the tension until it’s nearly unbearable. But then, he lets out a long sigh, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I don’t blame her for seeking solitude. This castle is a prison in many ways.” He pauses, then adds, more quietly, “I only hope that solitude is the only thing she seeks.”

Arthur feels the weight of those words, the veiled question that hovers beneath them, but he holds his ground. “She seeks what any of us do, Your Grace—a moment free from the chains of duty.”

Rhaegar studies him for a long moment, as if trying to pierce through the carefully maintained armor that Arthur wears. But finally, the prince nods, his expression softening. “Very well. I’ll take your word for it, Arthur. But know this—if there is anything, anything that might put her in harm’s way, I expect you to tell me. I will not tolerate secrets when it comes to my sister’s safety.”

Arthur bows his head respectfully. “You have my word, Rhaegar.”

The prince’s expression remains tense, but he finally lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rhaegar turns away, signaling that the conversation is over. He begins walking down the corridor, leaving Arthur standing alone in the shadowed hall. As the prince’s footsteps fade into the distance, Arthur releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

For a moment, the silence is deafening. The game has grown more perilous, and Arthur knows that Rhaegar’s suspicions are not easily dismissed. But as he stands there, the memory of your touch, your whispered words, linger in his mind like a soft caress.

The flickering candlelight dances across the walls of your chambers as you wait for Rhaegar, your nerves strung tight as a bowstring. The warmth of the room, usually a comfort, now feels stifling as the weight of anticipation presses down on you. You’ve spent the last few minutes pacing the length of the room, your thoughts a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. The tension between you and Rhaegar has been growing, and you know that tonight’s conversation could be the tipping point.

Your eyes flick toward the door every few seconds, your heart thudding in your chest each time you hear footsteps in the corridor beyond. You force yourself to remain calm, to banish the worry gnawing at your insides. Whatever Father’s plans are, you have to be prepared to face them—and, more importantly, to navigate them in a way that keeps you and Arthur safe.

Finally, the door creaks open, and Rhaegar steps inside, closing it quietly behind him. His expression is grave, the shadows beneath his eyes darker than usual, a sign of the many burdens weighing on him. He crosses the room in a few long strides, his silver hair catching the light as he moves with his usual grace. But tonight, there’s a heaviness in his demeanor that puts you on edge.

“Brother,” you greet softly, trying to keep your tone neutral, though the worry beneath it is unmistakable.

Rhaegar meets your gaze, and for a moment, his face softens—a glimpse of the brother you’ve always known, the one who would play you songs on his harp to calm your restless heart. But that warmth is quickly overshadowed by the tension in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with concern. “We need to talk.”

You nod, moving to sit by the small table where the candle burns, casting an intimate glow over the room. Rhaegar follows, taking the chair opposite you. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries, diving straight into the matter at hand.

“Father’s madness is growing worse,” he begins, his voice low, as if even the walls have ears. “His paranoia is reaching dangerous levels, and his fixation on you… it’s become increasingly unsettling.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You’ve known for a while now that your father’s attention toward you has shifted, becoming less about family and more about control, about keeping you as a tool for his own twisted ambitions. “What is he planning?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the anxiety tightening your chest.

Rhaegar hesitates, as if weighing how much he should reveal, but then he leans forward, his gaze locking with yours. “He’s been speaking of a marriage arrangement for you. He wants to use you as a way to solidify alliances and strengthen the Targaryen bloodline. But the options he’s considering… they’re not chosen with your happiness in mind.”

You clench your fists beneath the table, dread curling in your stomach. You knew this day would come—knew that your father would one day try to use you as a pawn in his game—but hearing it confirmed by Rhaegar makes it feel all too real. “Who?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“There are whispers of Lord Qarlton Chelsted and even worse—rumors that he’s considering someone from the Crownlands, a man known for his cruelty and ambition. Father believes that binding you to such a figure would keep you loyal and under control, a way to ensure your compliance.”

The room spins slightly, your breath catching in your throat. You can feel the walls closing in, the chains tightening around you. This isn’t just about a forced marriage—it’s about trapping you, cutting off any hope of freedom, of love.

Rhaegar reaches out, his hand covering yours on the table. “I won’t let that happen, Y/N. You’re my sister, and I refuse to let Father destroy your life the way he’s destroyed Mother’s.”

His words are a comfort, but they do little to ease the fear gnawing at your insides. You force yourself to focus, to think clearly despite the rising panic. “What can we do? Father’s grip on the realm is still strong, and his word is law.”

Rhaegar’s jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with determination. “There are ways to maneuver, to stall him. I can push for an alternative match, something that would satisfy Father’s desires while giving us time to find a more permanent solution. But that’s only a temporary fix. In the end, we need to be prepared for anything.”

You know what he’s not saying—that if it comes to it, he’s willing to defy your father outright. But you also know how dangerous that would be, both for him and for you. Aerys’ wrath is unpredictable, and his paranoia would see betrayal in even the smallest act of defiance.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I trust you, Rhaegar. But if Father becomes too insistent, if there’s no way out… I won’t let him dictate my fate. I’ll find a way, even if it means—”

“Don’t say it,” Rhaegar interrupts sharply, his voice laced with fear. “Don’t even think about doing something drastic. I’ll find a way to protect you, I swear it.”

There’s a silence that stretches between you, heavy with the weight of all the unspoken fears and desperate hopes. You’ve always trusted Rhaegar, always relied on his strength and wisdom, but this time, you’re acutely aware of how limited even his power is. The game your father plays is one of madness, and the rules change with every passing day.

Finally, Rhaegar lets out a long breath, his expression softening as he looks at you. “For now, keep your head down. Don’t give Father any reason to turn his attention toward you more than he already has. And stay close to those you trust.”

You nod, understanding the subtext of his words. Stay close to Arthur. He’s the one constant in this storm, the one person who knows how to navigate the dangers as well as you do.

“I will, Rhaegar. Thank you.”

He stands, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, a rare gesture of affection. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. I promise.”

As he leaves your chambers, closing the door softly behind him, you’re left alone with the flickering candle and the oppressive weight of the future hanging over you. Your father’s plans are a looming threat, one that could shatter everything you’ve dared to dream of. But as fear gnaws at the edges of your thoughts, a spark of defiance ignites within you.

You won’t be a pawn in your father’s twisted game. Not if you can help it.

Whatever it takes, you’ll find a way to forge your own path, even if it means embracing the shadows and secrecy that the Red Keep is built upon.

The air in the small council chamber carries the scent of old parchment and the faint tang of wine. Flickering torches cast long, wavering shadows across the polished stone floor, making the room feel more like a den of conspirators than the heart of the Seven Kingdoms’ governance. King Aerys II sits at the head of the table, his gaunt figure draped in heavy robes of black and red. His violet eyes, wild and gleaming, flit around the room with erratic focus, a dangerous gleam in their depths.

The members of the small council are seated around the table—Lord Tywin Lannister, cool and calculating; Varys, the ever-watchful Spider; Grand Maester Pycelle, feigning wisdom with every stroke of his beard; and a few other lords who are all too aware of the precariousness of their positions in this court.

Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jaime Lannister stand at attention behind the king, the white cloaks of the Kingsguard pristine and still. Arthur’s face is a mask of calm, but beneath that surface lies a coiled tension, ready to spring. He’s been dreading this meeting, knowing that your name has come up more frequently in recent weeks, and that it’s only a matter of time before the King’s attention turns back to you.

Aerys’s fingers drum on the armrest of his chair, the sharp clicks echoing in the silent chamber. “So,” he hisses, his voice grating like the rasp of steel against stone. “The matter of my daughter remains unresolved.”

The words hang in the air like a noose tightening around the room. Tywin’s eyes narrow just slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “Your Grace,” Tywin begins smoothly, “it is a delicate issue. The princess is, after all, of vital importance to the future of House Targaryen.”

Aerys’ lips curl into a twisted smile. “Indeed. She is my blood, my treasure—my weapon. But you all seem to think you know better what to do with her.” His voice rises, laced with the biting edge of madness. “Perhaps I should remind you that she is mine to command, just like the rest of you.”

Varys inclines his head, his hands folded serenely within his wide sleeves. “No one doubts Your Grace’s wisdom,” he says with a silken tone, “but it is precisely because of your unmatched foresight that we must tread carefully. A hasty decision regarding the princess’s future could cause unrest—or worse, embolden those who would seek to weaken your rule.”

Tywin’s amusement is barely contained. “Wise words, Lord Varys. The girl’s value is undeniable, but placing her in the wrong hands could be a disaster.”

The King’s eyes flash with irritation at their cautious diplomacy. “Disaster?” he sneers. “There is no disaster that I cannot crush. If her marriage does not suit my needs, I will simply take her back—and if an agreement cannot be reached, then perhaps…” He trails off, a sickening smile creeping onto his face. “Perhaps I’ll take her as a second wife myself. Who better to keep our blood pure than I?”

The chamber falls deathly silent. Even the ever-controlled Varys stiffens, though he quickly schools his features into his usual calm mask. Tywin’s green and golden eyes flick toward the king, his expression unreadable, though the faintest hint of distaste lingers in the curl of his lip.

Rhaegar, who has been sitting quietly, suddenly straightens, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Father, that is unacceptable.”

Aerys’s eyes snap toward his son, the glimmer of paranoia igniting as he fixes his gaze on Rhaegar. “Unacceptable?” he hisses. “You dare question my judgment?”

Rhaegar doesn’t back down, his expression firm but calm, the prince everyone in the realm knows—a man of honor and composure. “You’re right to value her so highly, Father. She is of Targaryen blood, and that blood should remain within our family. If a match must be made, it should be one that strengthens our House.” His eyes flick briefly to Varys, as if anticipating the Spider’s next move, but then return to his father with renewed determination. “I propose that she marry me.”

The words slam into the room with the force of a thunderclap. Even Tywin, who rarely shows surprise, raises an eyebrow. Jaime’s grin broadens, barely concealing his amusement at the chaos brewing before him. Ser Barristan’s gaze shifts subtly to Arthur, who remains statuesque, though inside he feels as though his world is unraveling.

Aerys blinks, processing his son’s words, before he lets out a bark of laughter—sharp, mocking, and tinged with the edge of madness. “Marry her? You would take your sister as your wife?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming with twisted delight. “Oh, you have a dragon in you after all, despite your meekness. But why now, Rhaegar? Why show such sudden interest in your sister’s fate?”

Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze without flinching. “She is of our House, our blood. If she must be wed, it should be to someone who understands what it means to be Targaryen, who will protect her as fiercely as she deserves.” His voice remains level, but there’s an underlying edge of protectiveness that Arthur recognizes all too well. Rhaegar is trying to shield you from the king’s madness, to keep you close and safe where others cannot reach you.

Aerys’s smile grows more predatory. “Or perhaps you simply want her for yourself, just like I do. What’s to stop me from taking what is mine, even from you?”

The tension in the room is unbearable, the silent war between father and son playing out before everyone’s eyes. Ser Barristan’s grip tightens slightly on the hilt of his sword, his gaze flicking to Arthur, who remains deadly still, his face a mask of stone. Inside, however, Arthur’s mind is racing. This is a dangerous gambit, and while Rhaegar’s intentions are clear, they are fraught with risk. Marrying you to Rhaegar may protect you from your father’s more sinister designs, but it also ties your fate to the bitter struggle between father and son—one that could end in blood.

Jaime leans slightly toward Arthur, his voice a low murmur that only Arthur can hear. “You should see your face, Dayne. It’s almost as pale as your cloak.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, refusing to give Jaime the satisfaction. The Lannister knight’s amusement is clear, but this is more than just a twisted game of court intrigue to Arthur—this is about you, about everything he’s tried to protect. He swallows down the bitterness rising in his throat, his eyes fixed on the confrontation before him.

Varys clears his throat delicately, cutting into the tension with his usual oily charm. “Your Grace, Prince Rhaegar raises an interesting point. A marriage between the princess and the prince would indeed strengthen the bloodline and quell any potential unrest among those who wish to see the Targaryen dynasty remain undiluted.”

Tywin’s lip curls, the displeasure clear even as he speaks with measured calm. “It would also prevent certain… alliances from being forged, alliances that might have been useful in securing the loyalty of key houses.”

Aerys’s eyes narrow as he looks between Rhaegar and his councilors. “You all speak as if my daughter is some tool for your ambitions. She is mine to command, mine to use as I see fit!” He glares at Rhaegar, the madness twisting his features into something almost monstrous. “But perhaps… perhaps you’re right, my son. Perhaps a marriage between you and your sister would serve our House well. Or perhaps it would merely give you more power to defy me.”

Rhaegar’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “I have only ever served our House, Father. I would do whatever is necessary to keep it strong.”

The tension simmers as the King contemplates, his mind twisting through the layers of paranoia, desire, and control. Ser Barristan’s eyes remain fixed on Arthur, a silent warning in his gaze: Be ready. Jaime stifles a laugh, his amusement at the situation barely contained, while Arthur forces himself to stay still, his every instinct screaming to protect you from the madness unraveling before him.

Finally, Aerys leans back in his chair, a sickening grin splitting his face. “We shall see,” he says softly, the menace in his voice unmistakable. “For now, I will consider it. But make no mistake, Rhaegar—your sister’s fate is still mine to decide.”

With that, the King’s attention shifts back to the matters of state, as if the terrifying exchange was nothing more than a passing amusement. The council members slowly return to their discussions, but the tension lingers like a dark cloud, heavy and threatening.

Arthur remains at his post, his mind racing even as he forces his body to remain still. The implications of what just transpired are profound. Rhaegar’s bold move may have temporarily deflected Aerys’s darker intentions, but it’s clear the King won’t let go of his hold on you so easily. And for you, the danger remains ever-present—caught between the ambitions of men who see you as both a prize and a threat.

The torches lining the dim corridors of the Red Keep sputter and hiss as the three Kingsguard knights escort King Aerys back to his chambers. In the air was a thick and oppressive weight pressing down on each step. Aerys mumbles to himself, his hands twitching restlessly as his eyes dart around, catching at shadows that seem to dance in his mind rather than the walls. His sudden bursts of shrill laughter echo off the stone, sending a shiver down even seasoned knights’ spines.

Ser Arthur Dayne walks on the king’s right, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of Dawn. Ser Jaime Lannister takes the left, his golden curls almost glowing in the low light, while Ser Barristan Selmy brings up the rear, his every movement measured and deliberate. They all remain silent as they guide the Mad King through the winding passageways, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

When they reach the king’s chambers, Aerys spins abruptly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looks at each of his Kingsguard in turn. “They’re all plotting,” he hisses, his voice like brittle glass. “Even my own blood—plotting, scheming to take what is mine.” His gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment, and for an instant, Arthur feels the full weight of the king’s madness bearing down on him. But just as quickly, Aerys waves them away with a dismissive gesture, his mind already wandering to some new paranoid fantasy.

The door closes behind the king with a heavy thud, and silence falls in the corridor. For a brief moment, the three knights stand in quiet, letting the oppressive atmosphere of the encounter bleed away.

It’s Jaime who breaks the silence first, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Well, that was quite the show. I almost feel sorry for the princess, being fought over like a bone between two mad dogs.” His tone is laced with mockery, his green eyes gleaming with amusement as he shifts his attention to Arthur. “Tell me, Dayne, how does it feel to be caught in the middle of all this? Your precious princess, at the mercy of whichever dragon has the sharpest claws.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, his grip on his sword hilt turning his knuckles white. Jaime’s words cut deep, slicing through the control Arthur has struggled to maintain. He knows Jaime delights in poking at people’s weaknesses, but tonight, with the stakes so high and the emotions so raw, it’s too much.

“Watch your tongue, Lannister,” Arthur snaps, his voice low and edged with a dangerous growl. “This isn’t a game, and if you ever speak of her like that again, you’ll regret it.”

Jaime’s grin only widens, unbothered by the venom in Arthur’s voice. “Oh, touched a nerve, have I? The Sword of the Morning has a soft spot after all. I thought you of all people would know better than to get too attached.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a glint of something darker behind his eyes—a challenge, daring Arthur to lose his composure.

Before Arthur can respond, Barristan steps between them, his stern gaze locking onto both knights. “Enough,” he says firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “We’re not here to bicker like children. Our duty is to protect the crown, whether we like it or not. This is not the time for petty squabbles.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take a breath and step back. He knows Barristan is right—letting Jaime’s provocations get under his skin is exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. But the thought of you, of what you’re being put through, makes it hard to swallow the anger simmering in his chest. “You’re right, Ser Barristan,” he says, his tone clipped as he fights to regain his calm.

Jaime shrugs, still smirking but letting the matter drop for now. “Of course, Ser Barristan. Far be it from me to cause trouble.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s an edge of curiosity in his gaze as he looks at Arthur, as if he’s trying to puzzle out just how deep Arthur’s feelings truly run.

Barristan turns to Arthur, his expression softening slightly. “You should return to your post, Arthur. The princess may need your protection more than ever now.”

Arthur gives a curt nod. “Thank you, Ser Barristan.” Without another glance at Jaime, he turns and strides down the corridor, each step carrying the weight of his thoughts. His mind races as he makes his way back toward your chambers. He can’t let the situation slip any further out of control—he can’t let Rhaegar’s plan or the king’s madness put you at greater risk. 

When he reaches your chambers, he takes his position by the door, the familiar comfort of his duty settling over him like a cloak. But tonight, it feels different—more charged, more urgent. He’s never been more aware of just how precarious your situation is, nor of the delicate balance he must maintain between protecting you and keeping his feelings hidden from the vultures circling in the court.

Inside the room, he hears the faint rustle of fabric, the soft sound of your breathing as you move about. The mere knowledge that you’re there, close but out of reach, is both a comfort and a torment. But it’s a torment he would endure a thousand times over if it means keeping you safe from the darkness closing in.

As he stands guard, his thoughts return to the bickering with Jaime, the tension with Rhaegar, and the king’s twisted plans. He vows silently to himself that no matter what happens, he will protect you—even if it means facing the consequences of a broken oath, even if it means losing everything.

In the flickering torchlight, Arthur’s resolve hardens into something unbreakable. He may be just one knight in a web of lies and power struggles, but for you, he would stand against the world.

[helisesposts]

girl dad quinn hughes is my weakness… would you mind writing something for him 🥺🥺

thank you 🫶🫶🫶

thank you anon for for the request! you ask and you shall receive. i appreciate your patience with me. school is crazy rn and i got sick. so with out further ado… i present girl dad! quinn hughes!

the birthday party

description: Quinn and y/n throw little Maya a pool party for her 7th birthday.

extra notes: girl dad! Quinn and sweetness after the cut. sorry in advance for typos and errors! lmk if there’s anything i should add! you have my sincerest apologies if this is utterly awful.

Today was a special day for the Hughes family. Namely, a special day for you and quinn. Seven years ago, today, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Maya had changed both you and Quinns lives for the better. You remember the day like it was yesterday. It’s seems like just a few days ago you and quinn were learning how to change diapers and balance him being gone so often due to his job. In the beginning, Quinn felt so guilty for being gone and not being able to see Maya everyday. It was hard for him.

He always found a way to make the most out of his time when he was home. Quinn’s favorite thing to do when he is home was take Maya to the zoo. There, he taught her all the different animals and what sounds they make. You’ve always admired his love and patience for your daughter. Quinn was a natural at fatherhood and it suited him.

Which brings you to today, Quinn took the innovative to plan Maya’s entire party out. Well, being born in the summer time has its perks. Maya had begged Quinn for days about having a mermaid pool party. You remember the day she decided, you were picking her up from school when she burst out yelling, “ I WANT A MERMAID PARTY!!”. You laughed and told her to ask dad to see if it was okay. Quinn didn’t say no, he can never so no to her. That night she asked him, he started planning it, showing you different mermaid tails he found online. He told you, “You can’t have a mermaid party and not have tails”.

After picking out tails for Maya and her friends, Quinn moved onto entertainment. To which he told you that he hired an actor to play a mermaid. If you weren’t already in love with this man now, you just fell in love. Quinn does anything and everything for his girls, even renting a mermaid for his daughter’s birthday. You were in charge of snacks. This was the only thing Quinn let you do. He did everything else and planned it perfectly.

You and Quinn started setting all the decorations up at 9:45 because the party started at 11. You had to admit Quinn did a beautiful job picking everything out. He picked out sea shells and streamers in different shades of blue. He even had a custom banner made that said “Happy 7th Birthday Maya!”. You set up the tables with the snacks and juices. You left just enough room for the cake to go in the middle. Quinn also had this specially made, it had two mermaids on either side with a birthday message.

Finally, you guys had finished setting up. Maya was inside the house watching cartoons when you and Quinn came inside. He ran up to the couch and picked her up. “Happy birthday Bug! I can’t believe you’re turning 6,” He said. Maya laughed and said “You’re silly dad! I’m turning seven”. To which quinn replied, “Oh that’s right you are!”. You chuckled at the interaction. He’s always so gentle with her. It makes your heart melt every time.

“Alright, you two let’s get our swimsuits on the party is going to start soon,” you said. Maya quickly jumped out of Quinns arms after that. Shortly, after that people started arriving. Luke and Jack were first to show up, Maya was so excited to see her favorite uncles! She ran up out of the pool and yelled to them,” LUKEY. JACK. HIII”. She proceeded to get them both a big wet hug. It’s a good thing they were wearing their swimsuits. Next to arrive was your parents and following them were her other grandparents.

Then all of Maya’s friends she invited started to show up and it was getting busy. You were busy talking to all the parent when you heard a bunch of squeals coming from the pool. When you turned around you saw the mermaid in the pool. You looked over at Quinn who had a smile plastered on his face and taking pictures. He had done it. This was definitely going to be the birthday party of the year, you thought. That’s when you heard Maya yell, “MOM AND DAD LOOK A REAL MERMAID!” Jack and Luke laughed at her excitement.

The girls talked and played with the actor mermaid for some time. Then it was time for her to leave to the girls disappointed. That’s when you told them it was time for cake, it cheered them up quickly. You guys Sang Happy Birthday to her and opened presents.

The day had gone by in a blink of an eye. Maya had been bathed and you and Quinn were putting her to bed. You guys read her a bedtime story about mermaids for the occasion. After the story was finished Maya yawned and sleepily told you guys thank you for the best party ever. You got up to leave and get ready for bed, but when you got to the door. You heard Quinn tell Maya he was so grateful for her and mom and dad would love her forever. He tucked her into bed and snuck out into the hall where you were. He hugged you so tight, kissed you on the head, and said “Thank you for giving me my greatest gift in life”.

[taesanluv3r]

coming home.

park sungho x reader

another beabadoobee song inspired sungho fic because he's just so fit for it </3 also in honor of coming home coming out so soon! established relationship, domestic sungho TT so cute :3 lowercase intended, excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors. enjoy <3

wc: 1,552

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"i wonder if she's even still awake..."

park sungho sighs as he stares out the window of the taxi, a yawn escaping his mouth as he looks over at the time on the screen of the radio. it was almost midnight. you might be wondering where the idol boy was headed to so late like this, and to entertain your guesses, he wasn't on his way to a music show, nor was he on his way back to his dorms. in fact, the boy was just leaving from there, and he was on his way over to her. to her small one bedroom apartment that they shared when he had his days off of work.

those kinds of breaks were quite rare for a rising star like him, but he makes sure to come home to her every chance he got. back home to his girlfriend, yn ln, and their pet cat, cheese. yes, his name is really cheese. no, this is not a joke. yes, yn and sungho are fully grown adults. leave them alone! cheese is a cute name!

the park guy arrives at the foot of the building's entrance, he made sure to tip the taxi driver before getting off and bidding the man a good night. sungho takes the lift to the fifteenth floor, making a turn to the left and walking straight to the door at the very end of the dark, and almost ghostly, hallway. he doesn't ring the bell in fear she might be asleep. reaching for his keys inside of his bag, the boy unlocks the door as quietly as he can before entering the warm apartment. the lights are off and not a noise can be heard. well, apart from the soft purring coming from the sleepy feline curled up on the living room couch. sungho smiles at the sight, bending down to level with his pet and beginning to stroke at its white and orange fur. cheese woke up from his sweet dreams, nuzzling into his dad's hand, the ticklish feeling of his hair causing a light giggle to escape the guy's lips. "is your mother asleep?" he whispered, asking the clueless kitty about his girlfriend he was yet to see. laughing at himself for conversing with the animal, the boy places a peck against its head before getting up to make his way over to the bedroom, and his girlfriend, that awaited him.

the door isn't fully shut, it was never fully shut. the girl always kept it open slightly just in case their cat wanted to enter, or in the case that her boyfriend had spontaneously come home- like tonight. it creaks a little as he softly pushes against it, a loving look washing over his face when the girl he'd been longing for was finally in his line of sight. yn sprawled out on her bed, her feet sticking out of one end of her blanket and her head stuffed comfortably against her silk pillows, her arms wrapped tightly around the plush teddy-bear he had gifted her for valentine's day that year. to the outside eye the girl did not look her best at the moment, her mouth hung opened and soft snores came right out of it as she basked in her slumber. but to the boy, she always looked beautiful, like an angel that had fallen from the sky and came down just to grace him with her presence.

sungho stares for just a moment longer before fully entering the room, a peppermint scent flowing in through his nose from the essential oils she had dropped into the humidifier plugged into the socket in the very corner of the space. the smell calms him, sighing in content as he walks closer to her, a single finger grazing against her skin as he tucks the messy strands of her hair behind her ear. the boy presses a kiss against her cheek, smiling when her face scrunches up and her body turns to snuggle deeper into the sheets. he straightens his back, stepping out of the bedroom and into the bathroom across from it to wash up a little and get into a more comfortable set of clothes. he re-enters the sleeping space once he's done, jumping slightly at his cat's glowing eyes in the darkness, cheese had let himself in. sungho crawls under the sheets, holding his breath as he pulls yn into his chest, careful not to wake her up.

and then he, too, falls fast asleep.

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yn ln wakes up to the sound of water running and a clinking of plates being moved around from the kitchen. she gets out of bed, walking sleepily with her eyes still half-closed into the main space of her little apartment. her bed-ridden face disappears when she catches a glimpse of her boyfriend for the first time, sungho scrubbing away at the dishes in the sink, the water bubbling up into foam from the soap. the girl speeds over to him, hugging him tightly from behind. "you're home! i missed you so much" she whispers, her voice still raspy from just waking up. he chuckles, "i've missed you too, my love" the boy grins, leaning down to the side to press a sweet kiss on her cheek, her nose scrunching up as she leans in to place one on his lips. a soft meow interrupts their moment, the couple's gazes turning towards the cat that had begun circling the floors of the unit. his head was tilted off to the side and somewhat of an angry look had been displayed onto his face, so as to say, 'i'm hungry! feed me, human!" yn laughs, finding her pet's person-like gestures hilarious, and she opens up the cupboard above her head, sungho's eyes following as she pulls out the bag of cat food. he smiles happily as he watched his girlfriend bend down, patting cheese's fluffy little head before filling up his orange bowl with the fish-shaped treats.

"darling?" he called out, causing her to turn and face him, a hum in response. "could you help me put away the clean dishes, please?" his voice was just so sweet, it never failed to melt her heart, no matter how many times she's heard him speak before. "mhm" she says, walking over to stand beside him near the sink, carefully picking up the plates he had rinsed clean of any soap, wiping them dry with a cloth before returning them to their designated spots in the cupboard. sungho hums along to a familiar tune, you're here that's the thing by beabadoobee, one of her favourite songs. the sound of his voice makes her blush a little, she sings along with him as they continue their conversation-less tasks. the boy rinses off the remaining soap in his hands, wiping them dry after passing her the final set of clean cutlery. he kisses the top of her head, a giggle escaping her lips at the fuzzy feeling that began to grow in her stomach.

"i'll take out the trash" he says and she nods, "but don't take too long, i might miss you too much" yn coos, shooting him a little pout and a pair of silly doe eyes that just turns him into mush. "i'll be back before you know it, love" and he kept his word, leaving and re-entering her apartment unit just in time for her to finish putting away the clean dishes. "ah!" she squeals when both of his large arms pulled her towards his chest, moving to grab at her shoulders and spinning her around to face him. the girl sighs, sticking her face deeper into the cotton material of his plain white t-shirt, breathing in his scent. the boy's fingers twirl in her hair, peppering about a billion kisses all over it. she looks up at him, chin still pressed against his chest. "what's for breakfast?" yn asked, eyes closing momentarily when his lips leaned against her forehead. "hm..." his eyes wandered upwards, as if he were thinking so very deeply. "what if we just..." sungho begins, both his hands intertwining with hers as he began to walk forwards, guiding her as she did so backwards. "let's just go back to bed for a bit and think about breakfast later" yn laughs at her boyfriend's suggestion, her back pushing against the door and her elbow on it's handle, bringing the couple back into the cold bedroom.

as usual, the door remained open, allowing for their grumpy little cat to crawl onto the covers with them. the couple laid down in each other's arms, her head against his abdomen and his hand grazing against the exposed skin of her arm, mindlessly doodling imaginary images onto it. the white and orange feline purred quietly, snuggling himself in between his parents. sungho moves his hand to pet his fur, laughing when yn grabs onto it to return it into her hair. "i love you so much" she whispers, turning on her side slightly so that he was fully in view. he smiles, tucking away the strand of hair that fell against her eyes. "i love you too, darling..." the boy trails off, scooting closer to hold her tighter into his grasp.

"and i'm sorry if i keep coming home too late"

the end.

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i'm crying i love sungho so much </3 also i can't wait for coming home to be released i'm gonna listen to that song like CRAZY!! anyways, hope u guys enjoyed this!! also, i made the text smaller this time cause it looks so pretty, lmk if it bothers u tho. reblogs n feedback r always appreciated!! love, kona.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Photographic Birthdays

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FOR JOSEPH SOBS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AAAAAAAAA

Rated Explicit | Warnings: The last one is dark cuz its Hypnotist Joseph

Moonlight Gentleman

The werewolves are energetic today, you woke up both men tussing outside as if they were pups. Rarely do you see Joseph entertaining the childish behavior of his twin Claude, though they are twins and appear to be in sync with one another— They are both very different.

Claude is the energetic one, a sweet one, fragile but such limitations do not stop him from playing with his brother.

Joseph is not as energetic, he is reserved, he prefers to look partially human to interact with you properly, not fragile at all. He is very protective of his brother.

Both are wolves, creatures blessed by the forest you live in, they greatly enjoy your company (Claude told you as Joseph would not admit it).

“It is our birthday!” Claude is still completely in wolf form when he runs into the house to greet you in the kitchen, “What shall we do today?” Transforming midway before hugging you from behind.

“Be careful! You know how easily humans break.” Following behind already as in partially wolf form, “He hasn't stopped talking about this since we woke up.”

You laugh, “Well it's your choice what we get to do today,” Claude squeezes you lightly, “Both of you have to share.”

“We can share you.”

“Claude!” His brother scolds him quickly.

You laugh, “We can save that for later,” Reaching behind you to pet those cute ears, “How about visiting town today? We can go see what the store has in stock and we can eat breakfast there.” Offering a suggestion. It has been some time since they have been to town, each twin having a favorite place to visit while you restocked on supplies.

“I suppose that will be fine,” Joseph says as he sits now at the table in the kitchen, he is eyeing you as if he wants to join in the room but is above that.

“Splendid idea!” Claude is always excited to visit human places.

Désire Mélodis 

There are many parties for his birthday, they are all grand performances of smiles and speeches for Lord Mélodis. He has never cared for them. Why bother when most of these people he is using to further his goals? Though he could say the same of your family, but not of you.

“Désire!”

The greatest gift you could ever give him is yourself, everything that is you is all he needs or wants. No cake, no materialistic gifts, no speeches— Just you in his bed writhing under him, ensnared by his love for you.

“Please, Désire! Let me—”

“No,” He holds you down by pressing his hands on your upper back as he thrusts from behind, “I will indulge in my gift how I want, (Name).” Grinning as you cry out in overstimulated blessing, “Yes, yes! Fuck.” Rarely vulgar, the Lord Professor keeps thrusting then stops to paint your walls white with more cum.

“You are all that I need for my birthday.” Kissing your shoulder as he lays over your body.

Azrael

Spring is coming early, the weather is still cold but the rain of spring is blessing the land. The patter of the rain hitting the glass window echoes, this before the soft music plays. You entered the room, a lounging room with a music player for your records. He remains lying spread out on the couch like a spoiled unbothered brat because he is being one as he cannot leave your domain until the rain has stopped.

“Do you hate today?” You ask him once the melody starts playing, “Do you regret it?”

No, he does not hate today and no he does not regret his fall. If he never fell, he would have never met you on this day so many years ago.

He is only upset with himself for not seeing how important this day is to you. His little mortal now sits on the floor leaning against the front of the couch. Azrael’s hand reaching out petting your head, his pet and lover, his divine mortal.

“No. Never.” Turning over to his side to drape himself over you, “You call it my birthday, why?”

“Oh, I thought it would be nice… Something you can look forward to like I do with my birthday.”

“Heh.” Mortal sentiment and it sweet you care to share them with him, a creature who will outlive you. “Pity it is raining. I would like to have you in the flower fields.” Humming at the end while you look away with burning cheeks.

Hangover

Long ago grief would not permit him to celebrate this day, a birthday he shared with his twin. He would drink himself into a stupor and wake up the next day none the better.

But he looks at the way you are trying to create a gift for him in secret, he is aware of it because you are not exactly subtle in your questions. You know it is a sensitive time for him even if he has moved on in honor of his brother— The wound is still there and can bleed again.

“(Name),” His arms wrap around you making you squeak like a cute animal, “May I see my gift?”

“Not yet! Let me finish wrapping it!” Pouting as he kisses your shoulder, “That tickles, Joseph!”

He hums, “When can I have my gift?”

“Tonight, if you will allow me to give a small celebration?”

In the past, he would reject such a notion. Would have been mean-spirited and likely hurt you with bitter words back then, but he has grown. Claude would have wanted him to live, to live for both of them.

“Tonight, then,” He hums, “I wait with great anticipation.”

Hypnotist

His favorite patient is trying to craft him a gift, how cute. Rorschach had advised against it naturally, only he is aware of the Hypnotist's sadistic treatments. Not like the fellow patient could do anything or report him, perks of being seen as a madman— A perk for a Hypnotist to use against Rorschach.

The doctor enters the recreation room, arts and crafts today, only you are here given how well-behaved you are.

“What are you making, (Name)?” Sneaking in and only announcing himself when it is too late for you to hide the gift anywhere.

“Doctor Desaulnier!” Jumping up and hiding the gift behind your back, “Oh, it's uh hmmm.” Flustered, and shy, he likes how well he has molded your mind. The treatments, his hypnosis therapy, have not only lessened those nasty little memories of yours but have you sweet on him. A pretty docile patient, pity Rorschach's mind is not as malleable as yours, ah well, the boy's fascination with the doctor's other patients works to Desaulnier's benefit.

“Is something the matter?” False concern as if he does not already know you have been working on this for weeks. Every day with arts and crafts happens you are creating your little art piece.

“Ha-happy birthday, doctor!” Pulling the gift out from behind you, “Happy birthday!�� Saying it again.

“How kind of you, (Name).” Taking the over-glittered card with glue and paper cutouts of words from newspapers— All words praising him. When he opens the card, it is a drawing of him—Well, a poorly made drawing of him but the words you put in are far better.

“This is lovely, thank you.”

You smile brightly.

“But I do hope there is more to this, little mouse,” His hand slid then holding your waist, “Hm?”

“Birthday,” Trying to gather words from that poor mind of yours. The Doctor might have adjusted that, you need your words but not your memories, “For you. Any gift!”

“Very kind of you. Would you kindly lay back for me so I can have my other gift?”

A post-hypnotic suggestion programmed into the mind; he made sure it was something he would not say often and subtle enough for others not to recognize.

You do it so easily, hoping on the long table with your legs dangling on the edge, you lie back staring up at the ceiling. Doctor Desaulnier wants to laugh, God, his personal pet is so amusing!