paintlavillered

[paintlavillered]

*stares in awe and yearning*

[paintlavillered]

for a lucius fic/blurb maybe he was betrothed to a girl before he was sent away and them reuniting after the events of the movie

OMG YES THANK YOU!!! This is divineeee im gonna make it a lil angsty (with happy ending though)

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In all the years he’d been gone, he had never stopped counting the days until he saw you -- his betrothed, the love of his life -- again. Both of you had been young when your engagement was arranged, meant to marry when you were of age. You were the daughter of a senator who was close to Emperor Marcus Aurelius, his grandfather, and you had been friends since infancy.

He remembered playing in the gardens together, chasing butterflies, picking flowers for your mothers, and feeding the fish in the vivarium. Endless days of laughter, without worry of what the future might bring. At least you had each other, and there was comfort in thinking it would be for the rest of your lives.

But everything changed after the death of Maximus, the gladiator who had slayed his uncle, Emperor Commodus. Staying in Rome as a youth was far too dangerous, as many would attempt to assassinate him for the throne. His mother Lucilla's last act of love was to save him, even it it meant there was a possibility he would never come back.

Unfortunately, though, that meant he did not have time to say goodbye to you; to vow his everlasting fidelity. In Numidia, the breeze blowing in from the sea whispered your name, and he swore he could almost see your face -- as he remembered it in youth -- where the sky and the water met on the horizon.

The resulting rage and guilt fueled him as he started training, becoming stronger and more cunning over the years. He vowed his revenge against the Roman armies, fiercely defending the country that housed him.

Their arrival had been both a curse and a blessing, but only because they took him back with them. In the sands of the Colosseum, he fought harder than ever before in order to prove himself.

It was torture being unable to find you, wondering day and night where you might be in the great city. But once again, he let it fuel him, hellbent on taking down any enemy that might stand in his path.

It wasn't until the first game he participated in that Fate seemed to smile upon the two of you, and you saw each other across a great distance. Him in the arena and you sitting on the second tier with your father.

Your eyes widened in recognition and you couldn't look away. You almost stood but stopped yourself in order not to bring any unwanted attention to yourself. You absently grabbed your throat, your heart thundering fiercely with a maelstrom of emotions.

"Lucius..." you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Did you say something, dear?" Your father asked, glancing at you curiously.

You shook your head, but an icy dread spread throughout you as beasts were released into the arena. Lucius nodded at you just barely before he had to tear his gaze away, his sword at the ready. The way he fought was precise and ruthless, reminiscent of his father, Maximus.

You anxiously looked towards the Emperor's box, seeing Queen Lucilla come to the same realization. You desperately hoped you would be able to speak to her, so the two of you might find a way to speak to Lucius.

You sat at the edge of your seat the entire time, watching him fight his way to victory. You couldn't help but cheer with the crowd, immensely relieved, but covering it up with infectious enthusiasm. Lucius looked to you once again before he was forced to leave the arena, silently vowing to get to you, no matter the cost.

Under the cover of night, and with some help from General Acacius, some of your father's guards accompanied you to the underground cells where Macrinus kept his gladiators.

The gate to Lucius' cell was opened and you stepped in, making him immediately stand from his cot. Tears sprang to your eyes, a sound that was half sob and half laugh escaping you.

"Lucius!" you said as he embraced you, kissing you desperately.

You kissed him back as tears of happiness tracked down your cheeks. You pulled apart to look at each other, taking in the evidence of time on your features. Your hands cradled his face tenderly, seeing the boy you remembered beneath the man that now stood in front of you.

"I can't believe you're here," you said as he kissed your palms. "We have to get you out."

His jaw clenched in rage and frustration. "I have to earn my freedom in the arena, it is the only way for me."

You let out a sound of despair, trying not to break down sobbing. "But surely General Acacius can--"

He shook his head. "No one can know who I am. At least, not yet. There is too much at stake."

You grabbed both of his hands and held them against your chest.

"My heart belongs to you, Lucius Verus Aurelius," you said solemnly. "I have always been yours, and I intend to marry you no matter your status."

He swallowed thickly, pulling you in for another kiss as he realized time was running out. He leaned his forehead against yours, holding you as close as possible.

"I love you," he said. "Nothing could keep me from you.”

“Then promise me you’ll live.”

He promised, intending to see it through. There simply was no other way. Even through the most grueling trials that followed, losing one too many people in his life, he prevailed. He rightfully claimed the throne of Rome, ridding it of the threats that almost were its downfall.

And his first act as Emperor was to marry you in the palace’s gardens under the night sky, with only the Gods as witnesses. The way it was always meant to be, your fates written in the stars.

————-

[paintlavillered]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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[paintlavillered]

Sun Drenched

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: a little something I wrote after the premiere of the trailer — enjoy while I work on some other things! ❤️

—

Marcus’s fingers drum on the table, his eyes drifting over the wood. His gaze is unfocused, every color and fine line blending together, his mind distant from the talk of battle around the room. 

The whorls remind him of your curves, the ones he left draped in his sheets. 

The slow rise and fall of your breathing, your bare chest on display. He plays with the curve of your breast, reveling in the petal soft skin: fingertips circling your peaked nipple, his thumb skating over the plump weight. Bending to give it a kiss, the skin feels like velvet under his lips. A butterfly’s wings, delicate and achingly soft. 

Your fingers run through his curls on a soothing loop, his scruffed cheek resting over your heart. His touch dancing along the inside of your thigh, the bend of your knee, the sloped indent of your waist. 

Sated and spent, every sense satisfied. 

Touch, taste, smell, all nourished for the time being. 

You hum, and he listens, closing his eyes. 

“General Acacius?”

His name brings him back to the present, a table of men staring at him. 

“Hm?”

Some chuckle, some barely hide their impatience. 

“Looks like his mind is elsewhere.”

“Between his lover’s legs, more like.”

“Can you blame the man? He’s been away for almost a year.”

His smile is tired, but good natured. He holds his hand up, silencing their comments.  

“My apologies. Please, continue.”

They do, Marcus trying his hardest to focus on the plans they have laid before him, the training suggestions, the maps. Everything plotted, everyone with an opinion to voice. They fight across the table; old men and young.

“Do you have to go?”

He turns, thumbing at a mark you’ve left on his bare chest while riding him this morning. 

“I can’t neglect my duty to Rome,” he says, drinking deeply from a cup of wine. 

“And what about your duty to me?” you tease, pulling your naked leg out from under the sheets. Your hand drifts down along the inside of your thigh, and he stops his search for a tunic, watching. You skim it higher, and then higher still and his eyes darken when you slip it under the sheets between your legs, just out of sight. 

“I think I’ve more than satisfied that,” he replies, abandoning his search for clothing. Climbing up onto the bed to join you, he takes your ankle in his hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips drift higher, his grin pressing into your leg at the giggle you let out when he tugs the sheet from your body. 

Settling heavy and warm on top of you, his mouth immediately seeks your own. 

His voice is heard above the rest in the end. Plans settled for the day, he stands from the table, rubbing at the stiffness in his lower back from years spent in the training yard, sitting in a saddle, sleeping on the ground. The men shake his hand one at a time as they file out of the room, and he follows, walking out into the courtyard. 

The sun shines down on his face, and he tilts it upwards, soaking in all he can before he’s summoned again. A council with the emperors is next, the future of Rome to be decided. More old men sitting around on their pompous asses to decide the fates of both himself, and the men that fight beside him. 

Passing the training yard, the men shout their greetings to him as he passes. He molded so many of them, took them from their cradles into manhood, taught them how to be worthy of protecting one of the greatest cities in the world.  He pauses, watching, the clang of swords melting into the background. 

You buck underneath him, your bare skin flush with his own, your hands splayed across his chest with a shove. As hard as you can, you try to budge him, and he grins above you. 

“You can do better than that, my love,” he teases. Still, he lets up a fraction and you use your weight to roll him onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and his mouth waters. 

“It’s not fair,” you complain, slightly breathless, your pretty pout making him thicken underneath you. “You’re so much stronger than me.” A mischievous glint dances in your eyes. “Maybe I should wander down to the training yard. See if grappling with those men makes me any better.”

Your fingers entwine with his, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to let you catch your breath – and then he lunges. Sitting up with a cinch, he pins your hands behind your back and tips you backwards into the bedding, trapping your arms. You laugh and fight back, trying hard to ignore the stiff weight of his cock as it brushes between your legs. 

“Why, when you have the best one in your bed already?”

You try to dodge him, rolling to the side to see if you can escape the bed, and he snatches you back into place, his strong arm banding across your stomach. Faster than you can react, he’s pinned you face down into the sheets, and his knees force your legs open, his hand wrapping firmly around your plush hips to jerk them up. 

Breathless and hard won, he lines up and shoves himself forward, fucking his victory into you.  

Stuck longer than he would have liked in councils this afternoon, he feared they would turn into a dinner invitation. The emperors were fond of drawn out, elaborate affairs, tables of food and wine, pleasantries exchanged with the secret intents hidden beneath smiles. 

He walks with a purposeful stride and a stern expression, one he’s practiced among the years. It’s a commanding gait he hopes will deter anyone from stopping him for an idle chat. He’s had enough of Rome’s business for today. 

“General Acacius.”

A guard greets him as he passes, the man snapping into a rigid stance.

“Is she in there?” Marcus asks. 

“She hasn’t left all day, sir. Just like you asked.”

Marcus nods, rounding the corner to his private chambers. Opening the door, he’s greeted with silence. 

It’s a peaceful silence, the room drenched in the sunlight of the late afternoon, the lingering smell of the rich oil you use on your skin in the air, the curtains to his balcony billowing in the breeze. It’s there where he finds you, fast asleep on a chaise. A book open and laid flat across your chest, he admires the softness of your profile for a moment. 

Long lashes, plump lips, beautiful, soft skin – and completely naked, underneath your thin robe. 

He carefully takes a seat and you stir at the shadow that overtakes you, giving him a gentle, lazy smile in greeting. 

“You’re back.”

“Finally,” he says, lifting the book from your chest. He gives it a glance, flipping through the pages for a moment before setting it down. “Is this how you spent the day?” he teases warmly. “Lazing in the sun?”

You roll onto your side, your robe sliding open with the movement. His eyes drop to the exposed juncture between your thighs before slowly drifting upwards: the soft curve of your belly peeking through the folds of fabric, the plane of your chest awash in sunlight. Your skin looks freshly oiled and warm, and he longs to press his face against it. 

Instead, he leans in for a kiss. 

“You told me not to leave, sir.” You murmur the words against his lips, your hand slipping over the curve of his bare thigh, sliding up underneath the hem of his tunic. “So I didn’t.”

He hums, pulling back with a lick of his lips. His eyes make a hooded, dark circuit down your naked body only to slowly crawl back up. 

“Did you have a good day, my pet?”

The endearment is one that he knows you like, the implication that you exist only for his leisure and pleasure. If only you knew it was actually the other way around, that you held the leash of the world’s most feared general. 

“I did. I’d hoped you’d join me for dinner,” you smile, bringing his attention back to your face. 

“And what’s for dinner?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low, raspy tone. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, cupping you wholly between your legs. “This?”

His fingers press against your damp curls, searching, exploring. His hold tightens, and you suck in a breath before melting into the chaise. 

“If you wish,” you sigh, letting your legs fall open. 

He does. He’s been waiting all day to settle between your plush thighs, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of your body. So much softness, after a life spent so hard. The way he stirs for you makes him feel like a young man again; it’s constant, his wanting. He shifts to his knees, the stone digging into his skin. 

The sun catches the chestnut hidden in his curls when he bends for a taste of your sweet cunt, and you brush through the soft locks, twirling them around your finger. Every lap of his tongue makes you lazy and warm with arousal, until his nicked hand splays across the inside of your thigh to open you wider – and then the heat that he’s been stoking turns into a bright flame, his tongue flicking faster and faster. 

“Marcus,” you moan, your thighs tensing around his scruffed cheeks. 

With a suck, he pushes you over the edge. And when he pulls back, another flame licks hot through you at the sight of his glistening chin. 

Status and wealth, lands and glory. Respected and feared, a place of honor in the Roman Empire. 

All of it at your feet, lapping at your cunt. 

He stands, stripping himself of his tunic, his sandals. Your own robe discarded on the ground, he kneels on the chaise and the body that he’s molded over the years both in the training yard and in battle is bare and firm, your fingers stretching out to brush through the dark hair that collects beneath his navel. His stomach is a soft curve, his cock heavy between his thighs, and you drift your touch down, wrapping your hold around it and giving it a tug. Hard and aching just for you, he groans as you explore the velvet skin, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. 

Stopping, you pull him down to join you and he lines up, pushing himself inside. 

He fucks like he’ll never be able to stop. 

Like he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance again. 

Like every push inside is a claim, like every kiss is a mark he’s branding on your skin. 

The silver at his temples and that dusts the corners of his jaw are indicators of his age, and he fucks with the same experience it would imply. 

He fucks like he fights; ruthless and hard. With his hand wrapped around the curve of your shoulder, to keep you underneath him. With your leg hitched high over his hip to force himself deeper.

He’s insatiable; your cunt sore, and yet begging for more. 

Sweat slicks across his back, the sun of the fading day beating down upon it. He sits back on his heels, and brings you with him, and then you’re both drenched in the light. Your arms wound tight around his broad shoulders, his arms keeping you in place on his lap. 

His mouth lingers against your own, labored breathing passed between the two of you and he fucks until you cry out his name into the sky, your own on his lips shortly after. 

Then he lays with you, entwined, until dusk dims the sky. 

The warm breeze skims across your flushed skin, and he stands, walking back into his room. 

Admiring his bare ass and strong back, you watch him call to a guard for dinner – and then close your eyes, stretching with content.

[paintlavillered]

HE LOOKS SO BOYFRIEND <3

[paintlavillered]

Dad I'd Like to... — A. H.

aaron hotchner x gn reader cw: 1.7k. implied age gap. established relationship but you guys haven't gone past the cute stuff, kissing and making out yet. kinda suggestive at the end. pls do lmk if i missed any! a/n: mb i guess i love making reader say embarrassing stuff.. hope u guys like it :]

Aaron asked you out and surprised you with a romantic candlelit dinner at his place. This man actually took the time to practice making the dishes beforehand, like weeks prior, to make sure it at least tasted decent, but to you the time he spent to prepare made the food taste even better; it really was the thought that counted. The thoughtfulness and effort alone were enough to make you feel all the more giddy and smitten by this man. And also how the food tasted really good. Husband material right there, you thought to yourself.

After finishing every last bite of the dinner he made for you, you were currently helping him clean up after a lot of insisting.

"You didn't have to." He mumbles as you wipe the utensils while he rinsed the plates and placed them on the side for you to wipe them dry.

"You cooked so at least let me help you clean up."

"Well, I invited you over so I'm the host. No guest should have been allowed to work in the kitchen. You can just sit still and look pretty for me." He says in a as-a-matter-of-fact tone, booping your nose which now had a little bit of bubble.

Yelping dramatically, you scrunch your nose at him, making him grin at your adorable expression. "I can never win against you, can I?" You both chuckled as you wiped the bubble off of your nose, but he had a triumphant smile and you, a defeated one.

"Have you finally made peace with that?" His lips lifted, showcasing a smug grin.

"I'm getting there, but I'm still trying to resist. Ain't going down without a fight, y'know?" You answered defyingly, earning a chuckle from him.

"That's my girl." The comment made your cheeks warmer, and this effect he had on you did not go unnoticed.

Comfortable silence filled the kitchen as he finished washing the dishes and utensils, now waiting for you to dry them.

He slowly moved behind you, as if approaching a stray cat, wary and observing whether it'll let its guard down or fight back. His hand rested on your waist, and when you didn't tense up and move away from him, his arm encircled your torso, back hugging you with his chin lazily placed on your shoulder. You leaned your head beside his, softly nuzzling against him, smiling at the physical contact and display of affection. He let out a hum, loving how you were so open and how you accepted his affection. He was basking in the warmth of your body, admiring the rhythm of your breathing.

You hanged the towel on the side once you were done. That was when he placed a kiss on your shoulder. It wasn't laced with desire or lust, but just pure adoration and contentment in this moment with you.

"Would you care for a glass of wine?" he invited, thumb tracing circles on your waist, making your heart race both at the action and the invitation. You didn't know whether he had other plans or just wanted to enjoy a drink with your company. Either way, guessing had the anticipation and thrill building.

And a glass of wine you both had. Actually, it was more than one glass which is why you were both a little more honest now, laughing and joking around easier, and blurting out information without hesitation, liquid courage coursing through your veins as a daring idea popped into your head.

"Hey. Do you know what my first impression of you was?" You muttered before drinking from your glass and placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch before scooching closer to him.

"What?" he looked at you, face showing curiosity, amusement, as well as anticipation.

His expression as well as what you were planning to say made a giggle escape your lips as you nibbled on your bottom lip, grinning like a cheshire, and talking with a tone that's more sultry, but with a hint of nervousness, evident from your shaky voice. "Mm, I thought you were such a dilf." You confessed.

"I'm a.. dilf?" he asked cluelessly which made you laugh a bit, apple-cheeked at his obliviousness which was quite endearing. He thought the same about you and your little giggles; he always felt accomplished when he hears that and knows it's because of him.

"Mhm, do you know what that means?" Your voice wasn't louder than a whisper as you leaned closer to him, shoulders now pressed together, hand prompted on the space under his thigh as your lips almost grazed against his earlobe.

His breath was stuck in his throat as he froze from your bold and daring demeanor, but he wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. "Tell me."

"Only if you say please." You teased, making him chuckle, but he didn't mind surrendering to your little demands. So, he placed a hand on your waist and pulled you closer, forcing your hand to now land on his thigh to keep your upper body propped up because without it, you'd melt into him immediately. His face turned towards you as he placed a kiss on your cheek before he pulled away to gaze at your beauty.

"Please, pretty girl."

He said with such devotion and adoration dripping from his tone. Suffice to say you felt goosebumps all over your body, every inch feeling a chill despite the heat spreading from your heart and straight through your neck and face.

You were unaware that he had felt the same way from your actions. Currently, he was restraining himself from being rash and impatient, wanting to see a sign, hear the words, the confirmation from you. After all, you didn't need to be a profiler to notice the tension that's growing, breathings quickening, the air that's thickening.

Taking a breath in, you blinked a few times, staring at his lips before shifting back to his eyes with your blown out pupils, shuddering from how his hand gently caressed your waist, occasionally going up and down a few inches, teasingly grazing against your hips and closely under your chest. Funny how this is him restraining himself.

"What does it mean, hm?" He asked, making your cheeks heat up. Shit, did he notice that you got distracted from his touch? You thought to yourself.

Before he could say anything else, you decided to cut to the chase and satiate his curiosity.

"It's used to describe an attractive, older man, usually a dad. And the acronym stands for... Dad I'd Like to Fuck."

His grip on your waist tightened as he put the glass against his lips, finishing his drink before placing it down on the table on his side of the couch. Now he had one hand caressing your thigh that was against his. "Is that so, pretty?"

"Do you mean that?" he looked more serious now as he faced you, watching your face and analyzing your expression. You smiled, blushing as you nodded, "Of course I do. I just wanted us to, y'know... take our time."

You reassured him, cupping his cheeks and placing a peck on his lips, "What made you think otherwise, handsome?"

He chuckled at the nickname, the crinkle in his brows now gone. "Well, I wasn't sure whether our age difference was a concern or issue for you. I'm not exactly... your age, not that I mind at all."

"Nonsense," you cut him off, thumb gently stroking his cheek, looking into his eyes lovingly, "... it's one of the reasons I liked you."

There was a spark in his eyes from your response, some emotion you couldn't quite place your finger on was twinkling. "Really now? Enlighten me."

"Now why do I think you're just fishing for compliments, Agent Hotchner?" You raised a brow jokingly, retrieving your arms and crossing them in front of your chest.

"Maybe I am. Won't you indulge this old man, ma'am?" The way he referred to himself made you giggle and lightly smack his chest.

Having enough liquid courage made you go on this ramble about him. "Well, you're a lot more mature than guys my age. You're calm and collected, patient, smart, strong. I like how you are when working, so authoritative, in control, demanding and commanding in such a cool way. Need I say more?"

Your words boost his ego, and if you look closely his cheeks were a little pink. He thanks the dim lighting for hiding his flushed face, and now he hides his shyness by grinning at you, his hand still massaging your waist while the other continued stroking your thigh. "Oh please don't hold back for my sake. I honestly don't mind if you keep going." He was clearly enjoying himself.

A few moments go by where you just watch each other with your foreheads pressed when he spoke in a low voice followed by a shaky breath. "Do you.. mean it?"

"Of course, Aaron. I do see you in that way-"

"I meant the first one, y/n."

Confusion was on your pretty face, making him grin at how cute you looked, and making him unable to hold himself back from kissing you.

"Your first impression of me, did you mean it?"

Ohh. You understood now. "I do." Your voice became smaller, eliciting a deeper chuckle from him.

"Acting shy now? Where did that confidence go?"

He was caught off guard when you smashed your lips against him, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. Aaron was frozen as he took a few seconds before he reciprocated the energy you gave. The man couldn't hold back and placed you on his lap as he kept your lips connected, one hand on your nape pulling you impossibly closer to him, devouring and savoring the taste of your lips mixing with his flavor.

You both reluctantly pulled away for air. "I meant it, Aaron." You said through pants, and now you feel something poking you from his pants. He lets out a groan with his jaw clenching as he shut his eyes tight before boring them back into yours, the control and restraint he had worked to strengthen now nowhere to be found.

"Well, what do you feel about.. fucking this dad right now?"

© 2024 STARRYSOIREE

Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or repost my work anywhere.

[paintlavillered]

heirloom tomatoes

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, farmer!au, romance/intimacy, size difference/kink, proposal, fruits and vegetables, sweet & gentle sex, slice of life

a/n: i've been playing too much stardw valley... (there may be more to this)

wilby port was there you got sent to. you had been living in england for some time now, but you were used to the hustle and bustle of london. the constant grind of the day to day. and now you were grabbing your two suitcases off the bus to the small harbour town.

the little house near the edge of town was your new home after your great aunt passed away. you know you could've sold the house and the land around it. but, after years of working so hard in the city. the idea of an escape felt exciting. so you took it as a chance and ended up in the quiet town.

that was where you met simon riley.

the first spring in the town, you had to figure out how to kill time. you had tried a few hobbies here and there, but with the season in bloom. you wanted to try gardening. and while you could've planted strawberries or even some peppers. you decided on heirloom tomatoes, and with poor internet connection in the town and an excitement that left you with little patience.

you had to ask those in town.

johnny shrugged, "i'd say go to ghost." he placed both hands on the bar and leaned forward to look at you, "he lives closer to the river. i'd say be careful. he likes to bite." the snapped his jaws playfully before he laughed.

"ah, ghost." price said when you asked him, "yeah he'd be your best bed." as he had the cleaver in one hand, "quite man, but if you're direct in your questions he'll give you everythin' ya need." then chopped at the meat on the table.

kyle replied when you asked him while he was doing research at the beach, "i'd say ghost, honestly. he has some kind of green thumb that i couldn't imagine. you know it's possible to kill a cactus." he laughed as he got more of the sand into the test tube, "your best bet would be him. ghost."

it left you with one question, who the hell was ghost?

it took a little while before you found ghost's house. you don't know why you expected to find a haunted house at the end of your adventures. something to match this so-called ghost. but instead you found a small farm house, crowded with various plants.

while it was in abundance, every plant looked healthy and well maintained. this looked like someone who would know how to grow heirloom tomatoes. you knocked on the door and when the door opened, you took a step back from the man who answered it.

he stood over six feet, he was broad all over. he was in a red long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up. as a result you could see his arm full of tattoos. it made you swallow as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

"can i help you?" he asked as he eyed you up and down.

you swallowed, "um hi! i was wondering if ghost was here?" it sounded weird in your head but you straightened up a little, "i was told by others that he could help me grow tomatoes."

the man looked intimidating. he was curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, his nose was crooked probably from multiple breakages. he had tattoos and scars that lined his body. his voice was a rumble as he replied, "name's simon. no need to call me ghost." then held out his hand. you smiled and shook it.

what you thought would have been an easy few tips turned into a pretty hard-core lesson about not just heirloom tomatoes, but all tomatoes. you tried to take notes on your phone, but ended up having to go old school and writing everything down by hand with a notebook and pen that simon gave you.

"no one usually listens this long." he chuckled a little as he took a sip of his water, "likes of johnny get bored after about five minutes." he crossed his strong arms and you felt something quiver inside of you.

you replied, "well, i want to do it right. it's not fair to the plant that i kill it." you tapped the pen against the paper, "so what was that about cherry tomatoes." and you watched him smile a little.

while you didn't have a huge piece of land like simon. but you had enough to build your little garden. it felt weird rewarding as the seasons changed, it grew warmer. and simon came to visit you more often to check on the plants.

johnny made a joke that simon was your shadow now, even referring to him as "the shadow" and you tried not to think too hard about it. simon was just a good friend.

when simon caught wind of this, he had to be a little more forward. over the time you had spent together, he had grown fond for you. so one sunny summer's day, he picked up flowers from the local shop and went to your house.

when you answered the door, you looked at him. and he looked at you. you were in a purple checkered apron with flour on your face.

"what are you doing?" he asked as he looked past you into the house. he could see the mess in the kitchen and the smell of cookies wafting in the air.

you looked at the bouquet of tulips in his hand, "what are you doing?"

"i was bringing you flowers.. to ask you out." "i was making cookies... to also ask you out."

you both looked at one another in the eye before he handed you the flowers and you looked at them then him again. you felt a leap in your chest and felt a heat in your cheek.

in unison you both said, "will you go out with me?"and then both of you smiled at one another. simon gave you that quiet smile he had and you broke into a wide grin. next thing he knew, you were pulling him into the house just as the timer went off for the cookies.

they were your attempt at shortbread cookies in the shape of hearts. but simon thought they were delicious. especially when you sat in his lap and chased every bite of a cookie with a kiss. simon soon learned that he loved your kisses.

"how does it taste?" you asked as you leaned in a little closer.

"perfect." he placed his large, rough hand on your soft cheek and leaned in to kiss you on the lips. you melted a little at the feeling. you felt comfortable with simon.

he was a protective force in your life. he didn't make you feel small, in a bad way. there was an obvious size difference so you were physically smaller. but simon would never make you feel weak. after that, simon was over every day.

he brought vegetables and fruits from the farm. sometimes he'd bring wild flowers from around the property and on weekends eggs for breakfast.

"simon! simon!" during the middle of a warm summer, you called your boyfriend frantically. he instantly was on high alert from your tone. when he asked you what was wrong, you replied, "the tomatoes! they're here!" and as soon as simon hung up the phone, he instantly was getting his boots on to head to your home.

you waved him over when he got there and he saw them. he saw the heirloom tomatoes, his eyes went wide at the sight of them before he pulled you in close to him. you two looked at each other before you leaned up towards simon and kissed him deeply on the lips. you held onto the front of his black t-shirt .

you pressed your face against his chest soon after and said, "thank you so much, simon." you felt heat radiate through you, a deep love for your partner. simon held you close and peppered your face with more kisses.

the kisses got a little deeper and simon held you closer. you smiled against his lips before you pulled away. he looked as red as the tomatoes you were trying to grow.

he swallowed, "as much as i would love to make love to ya out on the grass. i don't think ya want grain stains on everything."he chuckled as he held you face once more in his large hand. he watched you shift a little before you got out of his grasp and took hold of his hand.

once again you were leading him into your home. and simon barely had time to kick off his work boots before you were kissing him passionately on the lips. his arms wrapped around you as he pulled you up against him. your hands in his t-shirt as you both tried to navigate through the small house towards your bedroom.

eventually you pushed you much larger lover onto the bed and he hastily took off his shirt. you had seen him nude before. both in intimate photos he sent, and also when he'd walk out of the shower with just a towel around his waist. but to see his heavy cock one he got his bottoms off and exposed his heavy cock to you.

you licked your lips at the sight of it and got out of your clothes. before you could get onto the bed, he placed a hand on your lower back and pressed his scratchy cheek against your middle. he sighed, visibly relaxing.

"so soft." he said, as he groped your ass. you giggled and combed your fingers through his curled hair. eventually you ended up on top of him in bed. you helped remove his clothes as well, his socks and t-shirt. and you ended up in bed with you. his broad hands mapped your body perfectly, he wanted to feel every inch of warm soft skin.

you looked beautiful when you eventually ended up under him. your head in the pillows and simon was between your legs. his hefty cock was at full attention as he gazed lovingly at your figure. how could a woman so beautiful want to date a man like him? but,he realized a long time ago not to question you. if you wanted to date him, then he'd happily accept your love.

but only if he could give it back in a tenfold. he rubbed his achy cock up against you. it was painfully stiff and he loved the sight of it up against your smaller slit. he was so big compared to you, a fact that turned both of you.

simon had to admit as he sank into you, he liked feeling like a protector. to know that you were safe because of him. that nothing would hurt his darling girl. it made him feel a tug of pride as he slotted himself into your cunt.

the feeling made him shudder for a moment and the stretch made you arched your back a little. he watched your nipples grow hard which only made his cock twitch with lustful want.

he placed his hand over your chest for a moment, but didn't apply much pressure against you. his palm over your heart as he said, "your mine and i'm yours. you, me and all the tomatoes." he smiled down at you before he leaned in further to kiss you square on the lips. his words made you core feel gooey, you felt his love for you in your blood, raising the temperature of it.

he kissed you as he put both hands on your hips and moved against you. he was cautious about hurting you, causing you pain as his cock nudged against you. you moaned against the heated kiss, you shifted a little and he pressed further into you.

when the kiss broke, you looked at one another while the air in the room grew warmer. you felt the heat between your legs as he moved. his gaze was hungry as he moved against you. he admired every inch of skin he could. he couldn't deny it, he never could, but you were the most beautiful woman he ever had the pleasure to love. he wasn't known for being a lady's man, but to know that he had you. he didn't need anyone else.

when perfection was in front of him, he'd never waste you. the pace continued as did the pleasure. the heat between you two as he moved against you. you tightened your legs around him and reached out for him. you were soon chest to chest with simon making sure that he wasn't crushing you.

the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. it would be like crushing a flower, it would break simon. but you soothed any anxiety as you held his face and kissed him passionately with each of his movements.

the pleasure bloomed through both of you as the two of you continued to move against one another. you started to pick up his pace and the kisses became deeper. it felt amazing, you felt like you were on cloud nine thanks to his pleasure. there was something undeniable about him. there was something heated and needy about his movements as you pushed up against him.

"glad i fit." he remarked, "was worried for a moment that she wasn't gonna fit me." he patted your middle for a moment, the action made you squirm and clench around him a little tighter his heart hammered in his chest the more he moved against you. there was a slice of heaven under him and he wanted to make sure his girl felt good.

you giggled a little, "you're not that big. nothing i can't take. i'm strong enough." and let out a sharp moan when simon pressed into you further which made you feel snaps of pleasure in your head.

he chuckled and held onto you a little tighter, he pushed himself further into you and let himself enjoy the sweet, tender feeling of his beloved. he loved you, it was clear from the moment he asked you out. his affection for you only grew with time, he needed you daily. he was constantly around because you made him feel needed and wanted. you were perfect for him.

he kissed you once more and continued his hold on you. he rocked against you sweet cunt and felt the wraps of pleasure in his core. he loved the feeling, being so close to climax with his beloved under him.

you deepened the kiss and threw your arms around his shoulders. he thrusted up into you, his pace steady but not too rough. once again, the idea of hurting you, even by accident, pained him. he never wanted that, he only wanted your sweet moans in his ear and your smiles to brighten up his day.

you two moved against one another, the pleasure continued to course through you. the two of you made love on your creaky bed, but enjoyed each other's gentle company. you tensed up a little bit as you felt the heat of climax was over you. you moaned into the kiss, and quietly said 'i love you' under your breath as orgasm took hold. the thump in your chest made you feel hot all over.

"i love you too.' he said softly as he continued to move against you. you clenched onto him and he loved the feeling of your nails against his skin. he felt extremely hot as he bucked his hips against you. the hammering in his chest only fueled his want for you.

he soon climaxed and felt the shudder through his body. the blossom of heat in his core as he finished inside of you. with a few more heavy thrusts, he slowed his pace to a stop to catch his breath. however that was made hard because you pulled him in for another searing kiss.

you both got under the covers and kissed deeply with one another. you felt connected to him, so close to him. so loving for him. you moaned into the kiss and simon cuddled up against you.

you said i love you to each other many times as you laid comfortable in each other's arms. the love flowed between you two. simon knew and you knew that you'd be together for a long time.

simon looked at you as you laid there comfrotably. you looked like someone special to him. you looked like the future mrs. simon riley.

-

it was a hot summer day two years later, you had come by to visit simon and found him working away at the blueberry plants on the farm. eventually you got him back inside his home. you moved around the kitchen like it was your own home.

you were giving simon a stern talking to while you got him a glass of water to help cool down. simon just watched you from his spot at the kitchen table.

"and you know what happens if you don't drink water! i don't need you passing out and crows peckin you-", when you turned around you noticed a small box on the table. the glass of watr almost fell out of your hand as he opened it. shock marked your expression and he chuckled.

he took a hold of the velvet box and opened it with a smile on his lips. your scarred, famer's tan having boyfriend with a love for heirloom tomatoes, was proposing to you.

"will you-"

"yes!" you squeaked before you quickly put the glass down and went over to him. he grabbed you and seated you on his lap. you held his face for a moment to look into his brown eyes before you laid a kiss on his lips.

he only pulled away to slip the ring on your finger (it was a big too big, but that could be fixed). you looked at the emerald in the ring and felt tears in your eyes. you kissed him once more.

you had everything, a home, a husband and heirloom tomatoes. <3

[paintlavillered]

Midnight Morgue—The Morgue

hey ya’ll! please read the notes below. MDNI! please enjoy and don’t hesitate to leave feedback, it means a lot to us writers! words: 20k. my ao3: etherealevangeline

summary: reader finds herself joining Price as a coroner to pursue her “career,” as a mortician. this may or may not be an excuse to explore her eerie curiosity of death, considering her painful backstory of her dead family. this story deals with explicit themes such as smut, gore, horror, alcoholism, mental health, delusions, surgical themes/terms but probably inaccurate lol.

notes: just love the look of 2009 simon riley in this morgue AU. morgue may or may not be haunted :) ritualistic themes/cult like behavior. random sketchy ass town. Price is the supervisor. Mactavish & Garrick are small town police officers. slow burn simon x reader, enemies to lovers, simon has a huge chip on his shoulder. reader is questioning her belief in the spirit realm. feminine pronouns are used.

You found your way into the small borough of Carbon county shortly after losing your loved ones. Now, that was a while ago, having been a few years. But the pain and agony of that night never left you. It left a sinking, wallowing hole in your chest every time you thought of it. And to disguise your pain—you had turned to drinking. The feeling of the whiskey went down like water on the weekends. If anything it was less of an alcoholic drink to you and a source of never ending depravity. A way to rot on your couch.

‘’A wee alcoholic, aye?’’ You’d remember the man's words. He wasn’t the new rookie deputy cop you’d expected. No, near him was a towering man, all clad in his uniform. He had a buzzcut. What you remember was his cognac eyes boring into yours, the sight of a frown pulling at his lips from the stress of the job already taken over. Crow's feet pinched at his eye corners. His hand rested on his walkie talkie as if cradling it to soothe him.

’’Bloody hell, I don’t remember his name.’’ You muttered weakly, a sigh leaving your nostrils. Your languid, half lidded eyes from intoxication gaze up at the ceiling. It spins. You could hear the background noise of your TV—it’s nothing interesting. Nothing seems to be of interest anymore. It drags on and on until her voice drowns out. That wallowing hole inside your chest can never be sewn up, you think.

And that was mostly why you worked in a morgue. Since seeing the death of your kind—it stirred something deep inside you. Something you didn’t understand from the very beginning. It was a need to know, a primal curiosity to understand death and how it impacted the human body. You were once told it was how you coped with what happened, but how many times did you believe that when you drank your hundredth for the night?

What you still wanted to know was how it felt when that car wrapped around that pole. The smell of gasoline to burn your nostrils, and how it felt to have a 9mm blow your head off. The sound must be deafening. It must have had to blow in your eardrums and produce a shudder so violent you'd whip around. It was sickening and frightening, the kind of thoughts you had. Some would think so. But how could you sit there and write them off, when they whispered from the dark halls of your mind? Every night, beckoning. Chanting like venomous whispers.

And when the nights came, you’d sit and analyze. Hunched on your bed as the autumn night howled and the wind moaned for reprieve. Rain splattering like blood against the window. You’d replay what you’d see over and over again—only for your body to fall short of it all. The one thing missing was the experience. You were just an outsider when it happened to them, that is what it felt like.

But soon, the voices seemed to unravel. A slow hum settled down from the corner of the dingy, messy kitchen. Tablecloth slipped off, no center piece for decorum. The window was open letting in cold stark air. The lamp blinked, and surely enough your attention was back on the TV ahead of you. Rain pounds the screen as the reporter wears her flapping raincoat, eyes squinting as water raced down her pallid skin.

‘’Rattling one of the small boroughs of Pennsylvania in Jim Thorpe, a 32 year old woman was found dead by the Delaware river. Her body was found by a hiker.’’

‘’The small town is terrified as strings of bodies are found scattered around the Poconos Mountains. Will get back to you once we take five.’’ Just like that the screen cuts off. You’re left staring, shot in one hand empty. It feels cold and stale all of a sudden. It churns uneasily in your stomach, gathering like a whirlpool. Pulling at your insides and causing your vision to tilt.

Before you knew it—you’re throwing up again in your trash bin you kept beside you for when it did happen.

With all of the murders happening��bodies came in for an autopsy faster than usual. Normally, it was of a man who had fallen off a ladder and landed fatefully on his head. Leading to a subdural hematoma which then took his life. Or normally it was a druggie overdose.

But this—this pronounced a temperamental chill down your spine. Your arms brushed your sweater in uncertainty as you walked in. Your purse hangs from your shoulder—giving a glance at the receptionist who is flat faced and has saggy smile lines.

She bears no interest as you walk past and down the rickety, narrow hallway. You punch the elevator and walk in—dim and yellow lights casting a pallid sickly glow on you.

Once in the morgue downstairs, you amble down the cold constricting hallways. It’s peacefully silent, and occasionally scuffles from inside the autopsy room could be heard. When you walk in—you’re not surprised to see the bear of a man washing his hands in the sink, back facing you. He wore a reddish brown sweater, and it's rolled up. Streaks of grey line his once blonde hair. Its faint, but when you look closely you can see it. In front you is the morgue table, an overhead fluorescent lighting sending your head pounding. The lab is beside the sink, the fridge to the side holding blood samples.

‘’You’re late,’’ Price greets you gruffly, turning to wipe his wet hands on the nearby rag. He slaps it down a little too hastily for your liking--turning his shoulder to look at you, and you swallow, distant eyes tracking his boots. They were distressed, worn, and the leather was peeling from the toe front. The flaps weren’t firm anymore. His khaki pants slouch slightly at the rim of the boots.

’’Got caught up.’’ You said, the words sounding flat. It bore no heartbeat. You knew what you got caught up with.

‘’Get on with it, MacTavish is coming in with a body.’’ Price said firmly and you nodded your head. His pinched eyes watch you for any signs of swaying or slurring. You feel like a carcass—being picked apart under his gaze. He picks and prods at the meat and torn flesh that resembled you, leaving nothing but that exposed hole of deprecation.

You shudder under his gaze. You don’t like it. But you know this is how he is. Ever since you first came. It must be from all his years of military experiences which is why it came so easy to tear you apart like this with just a look.

You unwrapped your scrubby red scarf, hanging it in the closet door inside. You hang your purse and quickly scrub your hands down, head lowered in the sink where he previously stood. You get under your fingernails, as the suds glide down. You scrub until red shows up and your chest feels less tense than it did under his gaze.

‘’Get on with it, MacTavish is coming in with a body.’’ Price said firmly and you nodded your head. His pinched eyes watch you for any signs of swaying or slurring. You feel like a carcass—being picked apart under his gaze. He picks and prods at the meat and torn flesh that resembled you, leaving nothing but that exposed hole of deprecation.

Wiping your hands, you move with haste. You walk past him and the smell of tobacco hits you. He moves back to address you, eyes lingering on the top of your head uneasily. His arms cross as if surveying you. Was he a hypocrite, eyeing you as if you’d committed a war crime for drowning your sorrows? You shouldn't think like this—he’s your superior. But apart you has little to no room to care for his reputation.

You draw a figure of a body, finishing the legs, trailing up to the arms, and head. You then do a quick rinse and snap on some gloves by the lab desk area. Your fingers wiggle, and you turn to Price, holding up your hands and nodding.

He makes a quick move to talk, ‘’You’re not dead until—‘’

‘’You’re warm and dead.’’

Something almost like pride flickers in his eyes as you now announce it with ease. At first you didn't understand the implication behind the words but to him it held some sort of motivation. You thought it was silty to have said it--but upon seeing that glint in his eye it has you second guessing your thought for a second.

‘’If I ave’ to drag you to work, I will personally see to it that you’re warm and dead.’’ He said dryly. There's a hint of something in his scruffy voice but you can’t quite name it. The way his expression is hidden makes you tilt your gaze to his to see what’s underneath. To cut him open like a can of worms, to expose his insides and all his guilt. Shame. Repressed nightmares. The way he'd done with you. Maybe you’ve been staring too long because he then clears his throat.

The sound of boots thudding down the hallway come into earshot and soon a pretty, tall and boisterous man walks in. He’s sporting a mohawk, his skin somehow glistening despite the dreading atmosphere of the night. ’’We copped one, Doc.’’ He said in his thick Scottish accent, nodding a head before his eyes roamed over to you. His light eyes if it was possible--swelled with even more amusement.

You stand there, ignoring him as the body rolls in. It's the new recruit, you remembered, the one who held his walkie like it was something beloved to him. You flash a glance at his uniform—Garrick.

The victim is covered in a white sheet, you can’t tell if it’s a woman or man yet. The feet point out, unmoving and poking at the cloth. After MacTavish removed his gaze from your still form, his walkie beeps and he then comes over by Garrick who situates himself at the other end. On three, they hoisted the body onto the table.

‘’I had it.’’ Price muttered, slapping his gloves on.

Mactavish gives him a sloppy grin before stepping back on his boots, ‘’Wanted to impress the Bonnie.’’

Bunny?

What Bunny?

Confusion must’ve betrayed your normally flat face as you walked to the table, tilting the overhead lights to the body below. MacTavish's’ eyes glitter at your reaction, happy he got to milk some sort of response from you. You could tell he was interested, but not quite sure what to poke and prod at just yet. Garrick scoffs and a hand rests on his belt.

’’You’ll get it soon, dinnae fash yer’ self.’’ You glance at where the face is supposed to be, and then at MacTavish. Your lashes brush your brow bone, unwavering.

’’Give her a few and she’ll pick up the Scotsman, yeah?’’ Garrick said roughly, moving so he strolled the gurney out. He disappears down the dreadful hallway and you hear the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights again. Something irked you. They spoke as if you weren't in the room. Then again, you had a habit of shrinking away to hide from the limelight. Could you really blame them?

‘’English, MacTavish.’’ Price mumbles, but MacTavish is stepping back, saluting comically at you both before heading out, one hand resting on his vest. You don’t miss the way his holster wraps around his thigh and hugs it, his sidearm jiggling.

Price grabs his little voice recorder from his table, fingers pressing the red button. It's small and fits in his larger hands perfectly.

’’This is the autopsy of an unidentified male, assisting with John Price is the coroner.’’ He mentions your name and it almost has a grudging sense of respect behind it.

Your heart lurches ever so slightly at the recognition. Did you like that? Did you like being seen? You're not sure what to think as you cross the line of curiosity and shame. He then gave a subtle nod to you to start working. Your hands ghost over the edges of the thin sheet for a second too long.

’’Remove the sheets.’’ Price orders, still not having loosen up his tongue from his ex military days. It's sharp and biting, firm. You bet it straightens the soldiers up before any real whipping began.

And so you do.

You don't shudder at the sight. After seeing it so many times it burns like a memory behind your eyes. Pale cloudy eyes of the man meet yours. At the sight you find it intriguing even, as his eyes convey no emotion. It’s flat, staring into an abyss. He has no consciousness of course. But when you arrived at the scene of your mother, you thought you could’ve seen the horror written on her face in the aftermath.

''Unidentified male appears to be in his early 30s. He is wearing no clothes.’’ You begin, trailing your eyes down his features before his body. You reach out and flex an arm, seeing how the muscles move and flex.

‘’The man is still in rigor mortis.’’ You identify.

Price nodded, ‘’And what could that mean?’’

’’He was found in a colder temperature, or he just died within 24 hours.’’

Price gets up to shuffle to the drawing board. He then goes to write with the thin chalk, his back facing you. ‘’Timeframe 24 hours.’’ The chalk moves with haste. He doesn’t bother to write straight, his writing is long, narrow, and at the end his letter swoops down from the effort of removing the chalk. It screeches a bit.

‘’Blonde hair, possibly blue eyes but hard to tell since it's clouded over.’’

‘’So is it blue or not?’’

You give him a glance from under your lashes, and then suck in a breath. ‘’Blue it is.’’

You then continue, tilting the head this way and that, a pinch forming between your brows as you noted diligently his features. You can feel Price studying you intensely. You know you have yet to have order to your examinations. ‘’Caucasian.’’

You could then hear Price writing on the green board.

’’Scarring around his ankles and wrists, like he’s been bound.’’ Price drops the chalk on the ledge near the eraser and comes forward. He slapped his gloves on, standing at where the head is positioned and he nods for you to go to the board instead.

’’Left and right?’’ He looked at you, watching as you walk past and to the board, a hand still adjusting the gloves. He had a bit of a struggle with the gloves being too tight. You circled the ankle and wrists as he taught you, to which you drew arrows and defined “bound.”

He raised a brow and then his eyes lowered to the unidentified male, ready to start his own observations. The feeling first began as a trickle against his neck, almost like lengthy fingers stroking the skin there. Price rolled his shoulder, as if working out a kink to which you noticed after you turned.

How you wished you blinked an eye. You shifted in your spot.

“I’ve seen this before.” Price murmured, raising the ankles carefully. The joints were shattered, leaving the bone bruised and inflamed. It’s mottled purple and blue, the area ballooned. He reached out almost tenderly to push at the bone in the ankle where it meets the bulbous joint. The bone juts and pressed against the superficial skin, threatening to pierce. It slides uneasily.

“When?” You can’t help but ask. Curiosity strikes and you find yourself tip-toeing to eye his movements. He stands quite far, so you have only the view of his head tipped down, hands skillfully working below his waist.

In fact his grey is pronounced even more. It shines under the light like silver. “Ten years ago…another male came in. Unidentified. Broken wrists and ankles just like this.”

You swallowed and Prices’ eyes flashed. Almost as if reliving a forbidden memory. It's the way he said it--like a breathy whisper, as if too afraid to still admit what he’d seen. “It was a kid at that time.”

“A kid?”

Price nodded and then furrowed his brows. The skin pinches from the urge to shove the memory away. He then looked up at you, his eyes shadowed as he rested the ankle down. You clamped your mouth shut, as it seemed personal, and the voice recorder was still rolling.

Price then swiveled around to open the mouth of the male. His hands pry and it falls open unnaturally, slack and limp, “Front incisor teeth are missing. Looks to be yanked from the root.”

You wince at the comment, imagining every bit of it. It makes you shudder. You turn and continue writing down his observations, circling the mouth area. A nauseous feeling arises in you. The feeling where your stomach rises and drops on a rollercoaster ride—except there is no rollercoaster. You couldn’t tell if it was from the drinks the night before, or from seeing the body crudely mangled.

“There’s something stuck in the throat. The esophagus.” Price suddenly said, shining a light down the man's throat with a smaller penlight. You turn around, hair whipping slightly, approaching the table where the body lay. You move as light as a feather, your footsteps unheard. A steady hum from the light above soothed your nerves. “What is it?”

Price sighed heavily, as if the nights worked dragged on. It did, you couldn't blame him. “When we perform the internal examination we’ll see.”

During the internal examination, Price steadily held his instrument. The scalpel slices cleanly at the pale flesh. When he inspects the throat area, he detaches the larynx, the and the esophagus, there’s swelling and trauma. You narrowed your eyes in focus to see.

“It looks…round.” You muttered as his gloves prod at it. Price extracts what looks to be a small pouch. When he lifts it in the air because his eyes occasionally struggle to see in the dark, his brows shoot up. At first you couldn’t tell what his reaction was. That glimmer of surprise goes away, as if squashing the butt of a cigar.

From behind the pouch as it swings, his gaze then shifts to you, brows lowering into an unsettling scowl, “It’s a small pouch. Looks like it didn’t make its way into the stomach, it was too big.”

“So he choked on it,” You conclude but Price is quick to stop you.

“We don’t know that’s how he died. Open this pouch for me.”

You nod and round the corner of the table, hands fumbling for the pouch carefully. He placed it in your palms and you moved over to the lab table, where the microscope is and your vials. You sit, eyeing the pouch under the microscope as Price continues speaking to the recorder. “The pouch was lodged in the esophagus, someone made him swallow it. Or he did it on his own. But the bound marks suggest otherwise, along with the shattered left and right fibula.”

You shudder gruesomely. Someone made him swallow it? It was looking more and more likely, especially with the bruises which pointed to a clear MO. You leaned in, eyes narrowed like lasers and eyeing the material under the microscope. You hum and then move away, glancing at Price who is working the victim.

“It’s just a pouch, nothing is inside.”

“Why would he swallow something empty?” Price muttered, shaking his head as his eyes trail to the rest of the body. You wanted to know as well, to have the dots connect. Suddenly, in the line of work you found yourself feeling alive. A thirst for understanding death, yet a desire for figuring out the puzzle pieces. You thought you couldn’t feel that way ever again. You swallowed and your eyes darted away at the floor, and Price cleared his throat. You joined him.

The night ended and before you knew it, you and Price concluded the death was caused by a stab wound to the heart. A tiny hole, piercing through the muscle and flesh, almost looking like a corkscrew. it was located laterally, by the ribs. It was nestled well. The thought of someone painfully easing it in, twisting and hearing the bone crack under pressure—It was too much. And then to endure the plain of everything else. It was borderline torture at that point. Maybe it was torture.

But why? Why this person? What did they do? More so, who did this?

''Whoever did this must've had a helluva PTO.'' Price muttered, before he shut off the lights, casting the area in complete darkness.

''Who do you think did it?'' Your voice comes out strong and grounded. Apart of you was not afraid to ask, you yearned for an answer. You gazed at Price who sighed and grabbed his hunky jacket, slinging it on. He glanced at you.

''If I took a wild guess, someone with a lotta' experience. They knew which bones to break, most importantly corked the mans heart fatally.''

You don't necessarily feel an ache towards the male, but it manifested as an insistent need to analyze the situation. That was how your brain worked, like a piston.

Price had left a while ago, leaving you to fend for yourself. The night is settled with a thick, blue haze stretching solemnly across the cemetery. The trees huddle and lean in as if sharing secrets, but more than ever you feel it offers you no child like curiosity, the way you would have felt when you were naive. Blankets of fog roll in like an oncoming wave. You strolled to your car.

“What d’ya find?” Suddenly, a voice cuts through the cold stale air. A certain MacTavish called out from behind you as you walked. You're arms are crossed as your burgundy cardigan is wrapped around you to keep you warm but it offers little comfort. Your scarf flits in the air as you turn around to see him.

Mactavish is leaning against the patrol car, and biting into a sandwich. It reminded you that your stomach ached as well for food. Something warm. Something tangible beyond years of numbness. You eye him before walking forward to stand beside him, although not necessarily mingling in his personal space. “What are you doing here? At this hour.” You ask, not wanting to discuss what had been on your very mind as you walked out the morgue. It was teetering at 2am now, and the idea of having a lengthy discussion of blood and bones did not interest you.

“Got called in for a bar brawl.” He said with food in his mouth. You eye him with a sense of distaste, a brow cocking and your arms still crossed to shield yourself from the October cold. You swallowed and shook your head. The shadows of the gnarly fork like trees draped over your faces, the lamp shade doing nothing to console your uneasiness. “Sounds better than my night.”

“Join me, then.” He said a bit too cheekily. You scoff, shoving a hair away from your cheek as it grazed in the wind. You’re pretty sure you resembled Rudolf the red nosed reindeer since the cold was getting harsher and unforgiving these nights. It consumed the forests and every crevice it could.

You then look at him, pausing and eyeing his amused expression. His eyes twinkled, most certainly remembering a certain event you two shared.

Finishing the last of his sandwich, he dusted his hands off and stood tall, shifting on the pavement. “I’ll drop ya home.” Did he forget you had a car?

“Not necessary.” You said a bit too fast, cutting him at the last second. You stiffen up and grasp at your elbows tighter, as if trying to melt away in your cardigan. You’re not sure what’s worse, him seeing the bottles of alcohol on the ground, or your messy unkempt place. It looked as if a hurricane rummaged in there. And his joke of being an alcoholic—it rubbed you the wrong way. The alcohol would only confirm his jokes of you.

But there was no use hiding it. It’s what you depended on for a second long high. And then the weight came crashing down, it crashed hard. But now it had been a running joke of your drunkenness, when you came into work accidentally and met the cop, MacTavish. Let’s just say, you two played in places you weren’t supposed to be.

He happened to just drop off a body, whilst he found you sitting at the stale reception desk, working. You typed clumsily and appeared dazed. The lady called in sick, so Simon took over your shift, a man you'd met a few times. MacTavish then grinned devilishly, “Aren’t ye' the new morgue lass?” And you gave him a bedazzling smile and grin as if you’d known the man. Cheeks lifted, hair flowing in waves, the warm light almost illusioned you in such a cunning way. You did not know him. It was the alcohol pumping loudly combined with the horrible urge, insistent urge to run away from your past. And behind your eyes you hid very well the pain and agony. It was believable, to the point MacTavish thought you were one of those rowdy restaurant girls, cosplaying as a mortuary assistant. Probably his favorite trope.

You could remember the way he hid without a car it seemed in the morgue storage. He laid down, went in and you shut it. To scare him—you suddenly spoke amongst the corpses when five minutes passed and he yelled, wanting to get out. “Lass, I swear to god next time ye’ will be in here.”

Snapping back to reality, as the wind howled like a wolf in pain--you knew that wasn’t the real you. This was. This distant, shrouded and shell of a self. You zoomed back in, the voices and vision fading away from view. You could hear him talk clearly now.

He had his hands raised as if his hands were burned, brows raised, “I willnae’.”

You awkwardly glance at him, to which he gazes at, before walking on your boots off the pavement, fishing for your car keys in your cardigan pocket. Your car beeps when you press the button and you sighed. Your silence left him stunned momentarily, and confused. The man is not sure of what to think when it came to you, your behavior. You were first a Tinkerbelle, the manic pixie that night, and now you were a closed off wall.

“Get home safe, will ye?” He hesitantly said from behind you. He watched as your hair whipped and you then gave him a weary glance before leaving in your car. You thought he muttered something along the lines of, “Can never seem to pick one up, aye?” He sighed pitifully, turning away.

In your car as you drove down the narrow highway, trees whizzed past. An eerie fog had set in and you put on your hard lights to see ahead. You then slowed down, sighing through your nose. Long morning, love drive.

[paintlavillered]

Midnight Morgue Masterlist—

summary: reader finds herself joining Price as a coroner to pursue her “career,” as a mortician. this may or may not be an excuse to explore her eerie curiosity of death, considering her painful backstory of her dead family. this story deals with explicit themes such as smut, gore, horror, alcoholism, mental health, delusions, surgical themes/terms. minors do not interact!

notes: just love the look of 2009 simon riley in this morgue AU. morgue may or may not be haunted :) ritualistic themes/cult like behavior. random sketchy ass town. Price is the supervisor. Mactavish & Garrick are small town police officers. slow burn simon x reader, enemies to lovers, simon has a huge chip on his shoulder. reader is questioning her belief in the spirit realm. feminine pronouns are used

any feedback is appreciated :) my ao3: etherealevangeline

The Morgue

[paintlavillered]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚ🩷ɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[paintlavillered]

Summer Berry Mix 🍓🫐 ♡⊹˚₊

[paintlavillered]

waiiit i’m so into this one😭

Tea and Cigarettes

Chapter 1. Tea Party

Masterlist

Summary: Out for a late-night walk to clear his head, Simon stumbles across an open bakery. All he wants is a tea. Instead, he gets a tea party.

Warnings: mild cursing, reader doesn't do the smartest thing in this situation

It was a common thought in Simon’s head, if not the most common. He shouldn’t have survived that mission.

It’s what was engrained into his head from the very first mission he’d been a part of. It’s what he repeated to himself at the end of every mission thereafter. Lady Luck was too forgiving and magnanimous to him – he should have been killed long ago, well before he reached his thirties and climbed up the ranks to lieutenant. It’s one thing when you have something to fight for, to come home to – it’s another when you have nothing but an undecorated flat.

And, for tonight, a cup of tea.

It was another night between missions; another restless moment in time where Simon found himself walking the streets of the city, rather than trying to get some shut eye. It wouldn’t have worked anyways – it never did. His neurons were too busy firing off at every mistake, every memory, every single thing that haunts him, for him to get a restful sleep.

So that’s what brought him here: standing inside a bakery late at night, staring at the toddler behind the cashier’s counter. His overactive thoughts had certainly taken a backseat to the one, prominent question in his mind; who the hell is this kid, and where is her mother?!

“Hello.” She said, standing on her toes, already balancing herself on a small step-stool. Her head barely poked over the counter for her to look at Simon.

“… ‘ello…” he said cautiously, eyeing the girl like she was a ticking time bomb. “Where are your parents?”

“Mummy’s in the back with Sean.” She said, turning her head and pointing to the doorway to the left. Simon leaned his head over the counter to follow her line of sight – he heard the sound of some sort of machinery echoing from the kitchen-like backroom, but he didn’t see anyone.

“She’s making biscuits!” The girl said, looking back at Simon.

He was utterly baffled. Who would leave a kid at the front of a shop? After hours, with the bloody door unlocked?! “Where’s your dad?”

“He lives with Nancy!”

“Nancy?”

“Yes – she used to stay at home with us, when Mommy had to work – then she took daddy home with him!”

Oh… that’s unfortunate.

He sighed. “Sorry ‘bout-“

“Would you like tea?”

Simon stared blankly back at the girl. This is ridiculous. “D’you have black tea?”

The girl nodded. She hopped off the step stool – Simon followed her little ponytail as it barely bobbed above the surface of the countertops. She rounded the corner and headed to a small, pink play kitchen. She grabbed two cups, one pink and one a royal purple, before carrying them over to a sink back behind the counter. She placed them on the countertop, then trotted back to the cashier area to grab her stool.

“I’m sorry.” she said with a giggle.

“’S fine, take your time…” Simon mumbled, stupefied by the whole situation. He watched the girl as she dragged her stool to the sink and clamored up onto it, filling the two cups with water. This was a very… unnatural situation. He wouldn’t be entertaining it, if it wasn’t for the fact that this girl was clearly alone. He would have gone back to the kitchen to see where her mum was, but he didn’t want anyone to think he was robbing the place and pull a gun on him. If anything, the least he could do was watch over this little girl until someone came around to claim responsibility for her.

So, there he was. Five minutes later, sitting at one of the tables in the bakery with this toddler. “Eating” a fake croissant and drinking “tea” from the little plastic cup (he got pink; purple was her favorite color).

“Do you want butter?” she asked, holding him a plastic plate and knife, with a plastic slab of butter on it.

“Yea, why not.” He replied. He picked up the tiny knife and pretended to slather butter over the one half of his croissant (it intrigued him that the manufacturer of the toy had thought to make the damn thing dividable into two pieces). “Ya got a name, kid?”

“Mummy says I can’t tell strangers my name.” she replied, looking at him with the same stern expression her mother had most likely given when telling her the same thing.

Simon nodded. “Your mum’s smart.” He said, taking a sip of his tea.

“You can call me Pony Princess!” she offered instead, biting into her croissant rather realistically.

Simon held back a laugh. “Pony Princess it is, then.” He said, clinking his cup against hers when she held it up for a toast.

You sighed, shoving the third and final tray of biscuits into the commercial oven. It was hot and humid in the kitchen, and you were thankful that the most toiling part of the batch was over. Glancing at your watch made you grimace at how late it was – Christopher was for sure going to complain about how late you had him stay, especially past closing. You knew he was most likely out for a smoke, but you didn’t have the energy to reprimand him tonight. As long as the doors were locked behind him and the front lights were off, you didn’t care. No one would be trying to enter a bakery this late at night.

You looked to your left, fanning the heat from your flushed face. Sean was fast asleep in his carrier, his little mouth open and fingers twitching as he dreamed. You gently scooped him into your arms and wiped his nose clean with your apron, before maneuvering your way through the kitchen to the front. It had been a while since Christopher came to nag you about hurrying up, and you wondered how long he’d been out smoking – or if he’d come back at all. Ellie wasn’t in her usual spot, coloring in the office chair in front of the computer… you frowned a bit, speed walking into the café as an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

“Christpher, are you in here?” you called, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Ellie? Where are-“

You audibly gasped when you walked into the seating area. A man, a brutish man, was seated at one of your tables, after closing. He was dressed in all black, with a black surgical mask dangling from one ear, and his hood up. He stared back at you with a shocked expression on his face, holding an absurdly tiny, pink plastic cup in his hand, and a toy croissant on the table in front of him. Right across from him was your daughter, Ellie, with an aloof grin on her face.

“Hi Mummy!” she exclaimed. “We’re having a tea party!”

A million questions were running through your head. Where the fuck is Christopher? Who is this man? Is he robbing you? Is he trying to steal your child?!

“Ellie…” you said, a slight waiver in your voice. “Sweetheart, come here please.”

“But I’m having tea with him!”

You sent another fearful glance to the behemoth of a man at the table. He looked back at you, seemingly just as taken aback by the situation as you were. He looked back down at the table and cleared his throat, taking a tiny sip from the hot pink plastic cup.

Your daughter was having tea and crumpets with a fucking burglar.

“Ellie. Now, please.” You repeated sternly, holding your free arm out to her.

She reluctantly slid down from her chair and padded over to you. As soon as she was within arm’s length, you grabbed her tiny hand and dragged her into the back kitchen.

“Ellie, what are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled, kneeling down to her level and looking into her eyes. You tried to stress the importance of the situation. “Who is that man?!”

“He’s a customer, Mummy!” she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

“What did he want from you?!”

“He wanted tea.”

“What else? Did he ask for your name?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She said, resolve thick in her tone. “Just like you told me not to.”

You sighed frustratedly, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Where is Christopher?”

“He went outside.”

Un-fuckin-believable.

You pulled her close to you and planted a kiss to her forehead, then looked her in the eyes once more. “Listen to me, sweetie. Go to the desk and color for now, ok? I’m gonna talk to the man. I’ll be right back. And if you hear Mommy yelling or crying-“

“- use the phone and call 9-9-9.” She said.

“Good girl – now go on.” You ushered her further into the kitchen, then stood upright. With Sean still sound asleep, cradled tightly into your side, you grabbed the phone from the wall mount and slowly tiptoed back into the café.

Simon was still at the table, except now both of his palms were flat against the wooden surface. He watched as you emerged back into the lobby; maybe it was an inappropriate time to admire someone, but he couldn’t help himself.

You. Fierce you, you mustering the angriest face you could make (it was quite cute, by the way – you really need to work on it if you’re trying to intimidate anyone). You with your hair hastily pulled back into a messy updo, you with that baby boy on your hip, you with batter on your face that Simon was just dying to lick up. You stayed behind the counter

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“Simon.” He answered. He could tell you were a bit disappointed in that response, given you didn’t know who the hell Simon was. “Not a burglar.” He added after a few seconds.

You pouted even more. “Why are you in here? How did you get in here? We’re closed.”

Simon looked towards the blinking “open” sign by the front door. “Well… mam, the sign says otherwise. And the doors were unlocked.”

You looked at the sign and cursed internally, taking another peek into the back kitchen. Ellie was still back there. Good. Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Fuck.

“I’m sorry about the confusion…” you said, looking back at Simon and adjusting Sean on your hip, “but we’re closed. My clerk should’ve turned that sign off hours ago, and locked the door behind him. In fact, when he gets in here, I’m about to give him a piece of my-“

“Mam, please-“ Simon said, starting to stand up. Your eyes widened a bit and you took a step back; he held his hands up as a peace offering, before stretching up to his full height. You gulped – you’d never seen anyone so large before. How did he fit through the damn door?

“I didn’t mean t’ cause any fuss.” He spoke quietly, slowly approaching the counter you stood behind. “I really am sorry – I thought th’ place was open, n’ I was out lookin’ for a tea. ‘Lil squirt back there was very hospitable. I jus’ stuck around to see where ‘er mum was.”

He pulled his hood down to seem more approachable, and lord, was he. You couldn’t fight the way you were immediately attracted to the cropped, blonde hair, the strong jaw, the few scars that marked up his face… fuck, the way he could’ve been a building next to you, with how much he shaded you from the light…

Didn’t you think this man was a burglar not five minutes ago? You thought. You quickly forgave yourself, once you remembered how long it had been since you were with a man.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, I just- you know, with two kids, you freak out about everything-“

“Perfectly understandable.” He interjected. “But I’ve caused enough trouble for one night. ‘ll be out of your hair-“

“Could I at least get you a tea?” you asked. “Since you’re here.”

“You really don’t need-“

“No, I insist- just, give me a moment-“ frazzled, you disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind you.

Simon exhaled heavily, clearing his throat. He tried to recuperate himself – he couldn’t be falling for the woman he nearly frightened to death, let alone a woman he’d never met before. You were probably scared shitless of him. The way your wide, glossy eyes had stared at him, those pouting lips… and Christ, the way that baby boy fit perfectly on your hips. He imagined his hands tracing over them –

He huffed, glancing around the café to distract himself. Should’ve listened to Price and gotten a hobby-

You came back out, baby-free, and snagged a paper cup off of a stack near the drip machine. “Just had to put him back with Ellie. Don’t like them being near the- the urns, and such-“ you fumbled, looking for a cup sleeve, before sliding it on and reaching for the tea cabinet. “Black or green?”

“Black’s fine – please and thank you.” Simon grunted out. He shoved his fidgety hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, watching as you grabbed a tea back and dropped it into his cup.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“None, thanks.”

“Do you always roam around this late at night?” you asked, pouring the water into the travel cup. Steam billowed up and in front of your face, and you scrunched your nose from the heat. “None of the shops are open this late – tea shops, I mean. Or, they shouldn’t be, but most of them have a clerk who knows how to turn off the “open” sign and lock the damn doors.”

Simon huffed. “Figured something was off. I jus’ couldn’t sleep.” He said, accepting the cup as you handed it to him. “Never can get much after comin’ home. Takes a while t’ get used to civilian life.”

“Military?” You asked, placing a hand on your hip as Simon nodded. “I get that. Nick used to have the same problem.”

“Nick?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, an embarrassed flush on your face. “Nothing. Ex-husband. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Simon mumbled, taking a sip of the tea. Don’t be sorry at all…

The two of you stood there a moment, a bit of awkward silence hanging in between you like a thick wall of glass. You cleared your throat – Simon saw the time on the clock hanging on the wall behind you, and decided he had taken up enough of your time.

“Well” – he said, fishing in to his pocket.

You smiled. “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to. I’m paying you back for assuming you were a burglar – and for watching my daughter. Which, honestly, I really do appreciate.”

“Nonsense.” He said, pulling out a waded up bill. “’S what any good man should do. And I insist – if anything, give it t’ the little squirt for the excellent customer service.”

You chuckled, smiling as he handed the bill to you. “I can’t thank you eno-“ you stopped, glancing at the two £50’s he’d just given you. Words failed to come to you, your tongue tripping over itself as you tried to get past the initial shock.

“Th- I- wait, Simon!” you called, swinging around the edge of the counter – but he was already at the door. “I can’t accept this!”

He held up a hand. “’M not takin’ it back. And it’s not for you – give it to Ellie.”

You huffed. “What’s a five-year-old going to do with one hundred pounds?!”

He shrugged. “Start a college fund. Or get herself a handful of biscuits from the store.”

A chuckle escaped your lips – the sound warmed Simon’s soul. “Yeah, sure. When she’s got plenty of biscuits here. I don’t-“

You stopped, just as the bell above the door chimed. Simon followed your narrowed, angry gaze to the bloke who had just entered. He was tying an apron around his middle, reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor. He jumped when his eyes landed on Simon – he could see the gears turning in the man’s head as his face suddenly fell, right before he turned to you. Simon read the name on the tag pinned to the man’s apron.

Christopher.

A deep, throaty laugh escaped his throat as he clapped the man on the shoulder. “You’re in trouble, mate. ‘N lock the door behind ya.” He then exited the café, sipping his tea and shoving a hand into his pocket, chuckling as your angry voice echoed through the doors.

Thankfully, the nagging voices in his head didn’t return that night.

[paintlavillered]

sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

--

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

--

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

[paintlavillered]

i will never NOT be obsessed with this 😭

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you. 

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away. 

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders. 

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness. 

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know. 

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him. 

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence. 

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts. 

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go. 

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you." 

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?” 

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves. 

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right." 

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had. 

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear. 

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes. 

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table. 

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died. 

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him. 

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet." 

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain. 

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him. 

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source. 

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up. 

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it. 

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him. 

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned. 

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that. 

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you. 

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. 

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection. 

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time. 

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body. 

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head. 

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body.  You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you. 

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock. 

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you. 

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible. 

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles. 

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips. 

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him. 

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move. 

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole." 

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock." 

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it." 

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit. 

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had. 

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you." 

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved. 

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you. 

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms. 

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

[paintlavillered]

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you. 

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away. 

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders. 

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness. 

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know. 

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him. 

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence. 

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts. 

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go. 

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you." 

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?” 

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves. 

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right." 

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had. 

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear. 

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes. 

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table. 

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died. 

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him. 

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet." 

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain. 

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him. 

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source. 

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up. 

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it. 

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him. 

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned. 

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that. 

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you. 

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. 

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection. 

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time. 

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body. 

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head. 

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body.  You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you. 

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock. 

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you. 

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible. 

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles. 

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips. 

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him. 

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move. 

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole." 

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock." 

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it." 

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit. 

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had. 

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you." 

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved. 

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you. 

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms. 

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

[paintlavillered]

Police au! Simon Riley x morgue worker! Reader

Police officer! Simon Riley who needs the state of a dead body to write in his report. He’s used to seeing the usual morgue worker, a tall man with shortly cropped hair and a scar jutting over his lip. What he isn’t used to seeing is you, a woman much shorter than him, with blue gloves on and poking a body like you’re bored.

He faintly remembers being told there would be a new worker in the morgue but he always assumed it would be another man. He isn’t frowning upon it, though, he respects women in male dominated fields. Even if said field involves looking at dead bodies all day.

“Hey, Officer Riley, right?” You notice him first out of the corner of your eye. You smile, “This your guy?”

“Yeah. Found him on the ground. Was already dead by then. Think he jumped.” Simon replies in a thick British accent as he slowly takes a step forward.

“Okay, well, he’s an interesting case. He’s got acid burns on the sides of his arms. They can’t be older than a week. There’s really not much to take from it… considering his body is all over the place from the impact. He was stabbed pretty brutally so my guess is he was dead before hitting the ground. So, we can rule out suicide. I’d say it was homicide and someone tossed the body over the edge of a building. Doesn’t explain the acid burns, though.”

“Torture perhaps?” Simon suggests.

“Possible. It’s been hard to ID him because his fingerprints were burned off and his face isn’t in the best shape. Might take a while, that alright with you?

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll come back after my shift…” He trailed off, realizing he had yet to know your name.

“Y/N.” You clarify, “Y/N L/N. I know you guys do the last name thing around here but you know, usually handsome cops call me by my first name.”

Simon suppressed a grin but you wouldn’t be able to see it behind his mask anyway. “Right. I’ll be back, Y/N. How long do you usually take to ID guys like this?”

You shrug. “A few hours at most. I’m very good at my job, Officer Riley. You can expect an update in two hours.”

“You seem very confident.” Simon raises an eyebrow, “What if you don’t find anything new in two hours?”

“That’s not possible. I succeed where most people fail.”

Simon simply hummed, digging around in his pocket until he pulled out a tab of thick paper. “Here’s my card. When you have an update, give me a call.”

“Giving me your number already, Officer?” You take the card, flashing him a teasing smile as you hold it up.

“Usually I find a body and carve out their heart as a romantic gesture but we’re expecting a shortage of bodies today. So my number will have to suffice.” Most people wouldn’t get his joke due to his serious tone but you laughed, slipping his card into your pocket.

“Okay, Officer. I hope you know I’m counting on that heart.”

“Can’t promise that but I can make it up by buying you a drink.”

“I like expensive wine.”

“All women with taste do. I’ll pick you up after my shift.”

And that’s exactly how Simon Riley walked out of the morgue with a date.

[paintlavillered]

Hey, may I request a Hotch x Reader age gap story, where she's in her late 20s and not a BAU member. I think it would be a nice little twist into their dynamic, also he's such a daddy. Much appreciated and thanks in advance.

The Girl Next Door

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I had a dream about Hotch being my neighbor the other day that sort-of inspired this one! Thanks for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: Age Gap, Romantic Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Insecurities, Mentions of Canon-Typical Plot Themes

Sypnosis: When you move into your new apartment, the last thing Aaron Hotchner expects is for his quiet, orderly life to be disrupted by his intriguing new neighbor. At first glance, you seem like a contradiction—poised, accomplished, and wise beyond your years, yet far younger than anyone else in the building. As a profiler, Aaron prides himself on his ability to read people, but you defy easy categorization, stirring something in him he hasn’t felt in years.

The day you moved into your new apartment, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual polite introduction. A quick hello in the hallway, a nod of acknowledgment over packages left at the concierge desk. But when the door across from his opened, and you stood there with a warm smile and an extended hand, it was as if something jolted awake in him.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” you said, your voice confident yet gentle, the kind that demanded attention without trying. “I hope I’m not intruding. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

He shook your hand, taking note of the firm grip. His profiler’s instincts, so finely tuned, began to buzz. Your demeanor was composed, polished. You carried yourself as someone well-accustomed to holding their own in rooms filled with people twice your age. Yet, as he looked at you, he couldn’t reconcile your apparent youth with the sophisticated way you spoke or the fact that you could afford an apartment in a building like this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

Your smile widened. “Aaron. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

He would have guessed you were in your early to late twenties if not for the depth in your gaze and the way you seemed to study him, as though cataloging details in the same way he was. But still, you couldn’t be older than thirty, could you? How could someone that young afford this building? Hotch, ever practical, knew he overpaid, even with his federal paycheck. And he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because he couldn’t peg you, and as a profiler, that was frustrating.

Weeks passed, and though your paths crossed occasionally—quick hellos in the elevator or casual small talk in the lobby—Hotch found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. You were intriguing, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten when you smiled, and far too mature for him to simply brush off as someone fresh into the adult world. But he told himself it was nothing. Jack, now a teenager, occupied most of his thoughts, and the idea of pursuing a neighbor felt inappropriate. Unprofessional, even.

Still, after a grueling case that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of mortality pressing heavy on his shoulders, Hotch let Rossi convince him to grab a drink at the bar near the BAU.

It was a dimly lit, intimate place that felt quieter than most bars in the city. Rossi nursed a scotch while Hotch stared at his whiskey, his mind elsewhere. He thought of the case, the current emptiness that filled his personal life with Jack beginning to pull away into his own world, and then that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. The soft overhead light highlighted your features, and for a moment, Hotch forgot how to breathe. You seemed so at ease, lost in your book, unaware of the buzz of conversations around you.

“You’re staring,” Rossi said, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hotch blinked, dragging his gaze back to his drink. “I wasn’t staring.” He almost mumbled it under his breath, feeling like a kid caught red-handed. 

Rossi scoffed. “Sure you weren’t. Who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Hotch admitted reluctantly. “She just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, your neighbor has good taste in wine and literature,” Rossi remarked, glancing in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

Hotch shook his head, grimacing at the idea of making a move like that.. “She’s too young.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “How young are we talking?”

Hotch hesitated. “Late twenties, maybe. She looks young, but she doesn’t act it. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it would be inappropriate.”

“Why? Because she’s younger? Aaron, come on. She’s not a child.”

“I could be her father,” Hotch countered, his tone sharper than he intended; the words felt like poison on his lips. “What would she want with someone like me?”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. “You know, the younger ones have a way of keeping you young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Dave.”

Before Rossi could retort, you looked up from your book, your eyes landing on Hotch. Recognition lit up your face, and you smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. Hotch froze. The way you looked at him like you were genuinely happy to see him, made something in his chest ache.

“She’s smiling at you,” Rossi pointed out with a grin. “Now’s your chance.”

Hotch hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. What would he even say? But then you beckoned him over with a tilt of your head, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to take a leap.

Hotch lingered for a moment too long, his feet rooted to the floor as he debated whether to stay put or heed Rossi’s unsolicited advice. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, pride, or something else entirely keeping him from standing up. The thought of your smile, though—warm and inviting as it was—made the decision harder.

Rossi, ever perceptive, patted him on the back with a grin. “Go on, Aaron. I’m heading out anyway. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. Let me put it this way—don’t think about it too much. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.”

And with that, Rossi tossed back the rest of his scotch, clapped Hotch on the shoulder one more time, and left Hotch standing alone with his swirling thoughts.

He exhaled, trying to quiet the insecurities gnawing at him. What could he possibly offer someone like you? Yet the way you had smiled at him just moments ago—so genuine, so effortless—spoke to something deeper. Maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw himself: older, wearier, with too many ghosts lingering in the corners of his mind. Maybe you just saw…him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hotch pushed back from the barstool, his steps steady but deliberate as he approached you. You glanced up as he neared, your smile widening. That warmth in your eyes—it was enough to melt some of the tension in his chest.

“Hey, Aaron,” you said, your voice carrying the kind of excitement that made it seem like you’d been hoping he’d show up. You patted the empty seat next to you. “Join me?”

He hesitated briefly before sitting down, your proximity somehow calming and unnerving at once. The soft scent of your perfume wrapped around him, and he caught himself lingering too long on the way your lips curved upward when you smiled.

“Nice choice,” you said, gesturing to the glass he’d brought with him. “I’d guess it’s a single malt whiskey. Neat.”

Hotch tilted his head, impressed. “That’s right.”

You chuckled, holding your own glass of wine. “You don’t strike me as anything less.”

His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re precise,” you said easily, leaning slightly toward him. “Thoughtful, composed. Someone like you wouldn’t order anything overly sweet or complicated. You keep things simple, but you expect quality.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how accurately you had read him. It wasn’t often someone did that, not even outside his work at the BAU. Yet here you were, confidently pulling back the layers he thought he kept well hidden.

It also caught him off guard because here he was, someone who was taught to keep himself a mystery while reading others, but it was now the other way around. You read him like a book while he could not put his finger on what it was about you. 

“You’re observant,” he remarked, lifting his glass. “Not many people would pick up on that.”

You shrugged, your smile modest but pleased. “I like to notice things. It’s useful.”

“You could’ve been a profiler,” he said without thinking, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting a career change.”

You laughed softly, and the sound settled in his chest like warmth on a cold night. “I think I’ll stick to what I do for now.”

“And what is it you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Despite your shared moments in the hallway and now this unexpected meeting, he realized he knew so little about you beyond the fact that you were maddeningly intriguing.

“I’m in finance,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Nothing too exciting, but it’s steady, and I’m good at it.”

That explained some things—your confidence, poise, and ability to afford an apartment in his building. Still, he found himself wondering how someone your age could have such a solid footing in life.

“You’re impressive,” he said honestly, surprising himself with the admission.

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give out compliments lightly.”

He laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, covering everything from favorite books to why this particular bar was a hidden gem. You were strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was your confidence and the way you carried yourself that held his attention. Yet, as much as he enjoyed your company, that familiar self-doubt crept in whenever the age gap came to mind.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” you said, interrupting his spiral.

“Just wondering,” he began carefully, “how someone so young ended up being so…accomplished.”

Your brow lifted slightly, and then you smiled, a touch of mischief in your expression. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

Hotch cleared his throat, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “I wouldn’t ask directly.”

“Well, for the record,” you said, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken, “I’m twenty-seven. And yes, I know I look younger. But I’ve worked hard to get here, and I don’t take it for granted.”

He nodded, letting your words sink in. Twenty-seven. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the brilliance of those younger than him, he’d worked side-by-side with Reid, more years than he could count, but the gap still gave him pause. There was no denying the respect he felt for you, nor the pull that kept him rooted to your side.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful smile. “Did I pass whatever test you were giving me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You weren’t being tested.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased before lifting your glass. “To new neighbors, then?”

Hotch clinked his glass against yours, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “To new neighbors.”

As you both sipped your drinks, Hotch couldn’t help but feel that maybe Rossi was right. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy something—or someone—good for a change.

As the bartender passed by, you reached for your wallet, signaling for the check. Hotch, noticing, set his own glass down and spoke before you could finish.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

You looked up, slightly surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” he replied, already sliding his card across the counter to the bartender. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in your expression, but eventually, you smiled. “Well, thank you, Aaron. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as the bartender returned his card. It wasn’t just about paying—it was the subtle act of taking care of you. Even though he’d only known you for a short while, the protective instinct that came naturally to him was already stirring. His line of work had shown him too much about the world, and the idea of you walking alone at night didn’t sit well.

As you both stood to leave, Hotch glanced at you. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” you said, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “I take public transportation to work. I was just going to grab a cab home.”

Hotch frowned slightly. The thought of you waiting for a cab at this hour didn’t sit right with him. “That’s not necessary. We’re going to the same place anyway—I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, but there was a softness in your tone like you were touched by the offer.

“I insist,” he repeated, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

For a moment, you studied him, then gave a small, amused shake of your head. “All right, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

The two of you walked out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Hotch instinctively slowed his pace to match yours, his hand twitching briefly at his side as though tempted to offer it. When you reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you teased lightly as you slid into the seat.

Hotch smirked faintly as he closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side. “Not entirely.”

The ride started quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but after a moment, you turned to him.

“So,” you began, “do you always offer rides to your neighbors, or am I just special?”

Hotch’s lips curved in a faint smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But...I’ve seen too much in my work to feel comfortable letting you take a cab alone.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“I work for the FBI,” he said simply, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, clearly intrigued. “So you’re a profiler?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We study behavior to catch criminals. Serial offenders, mostly.”

“That explains why you’re so observant,” you said with a small smile. “And why you seem so serious all the time.”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well,” you said, your tone thoughtful, “I think it’s a good thing. That you care enough to notice things, I mean.”

He glanced at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. When Hotch pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, he turned off the engine and looked at you.

“Thank you again,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “For the ride. And the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You lingered for a moment, your hand on the door handle, before turning to him with a small smile. “You’re a good neighbor, Aaron.”

Hotch sat for a moment longer, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he watched you head toward the elevator. Something in the way you said his name lingered in his mind, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of the car. By the time he caught up to you at the elevator, you were already pressing the button for your floor.

“Thought you were going to stay in the car all night,” you teased lightly, glancing over at him as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just taking my time,” he replied, his voice steady but faintly amused as he stepped in beside you.

The elevator ride was quiet at first, the kind of comfortable silence that seemed to follow your conversations. Hotch leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while you stood with your arms crossed lightly over your chest. He caught himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the relaxed way you carried yourself despite the late hour.

When the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you both stepped out and walked down the hall side by side. The muffled hum of the building at night—the soft whir of air vents and the occasional creak of floorboards—felt strangely intimate.

“I still can’t believe we live right across the hall from each other,” you said, breaking the silence as you reached your doors. You turned to face him, your expression playful. “Guess I’ll have to start baking cookies or something neighborly like that.”

He smirked faintly, a rare softness crossing his features. “I’m not sure I’d have time to return the favor.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide,” you said with a mock sigh, your grin widening.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob to your apartment. “Thank you again, Aaron. For everything tonight.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. “It really wasn’t any trouble.”

As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you glanced back at him one last time. “Goodnight, neighbor.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, he stood there in the hallway, staring at your door. That same warmth from earlier crept through him, something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he turned and entered his own apartment, already wondering when he’d see you again.

The night you shared a ride home lingered in Aaron Hotchner’s mind longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was nothing—just neighborly kindness—but the warmth in your voice when you said his name and the way you looked at him as if he weren’t just another face in the crowd were impossible to forget. There was something about you, something that stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years.

But life moved on. Cases came and went, the BAU’s relentless pace leaving little room for personal indulgences. Still, when he’d return home to the quiet comfort of his apartment, he often found himself glancing at your door across the hall, wondering what you might be doing, who you might be with. He chided himself for the thoughts—he was too old, too busy, and too set in his ways to be thinking of you like this.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon off when he found himself in the building’s mailroom with Jack. The teenager was practically vibrating with anticipation, tearing through envelopes in search of one in particular.

“Anything?” Hotch asked, glancing up from his own stack of bills and promotional flyers.

“Not yet,” Jack muttered, his brow furrowed as he sorted through the last few pieces of mail. “Do you think maybe it got lost?”

Hotch shook his head with a small smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and when he looked up, there you were, a cheerful smile lighting up your face as you entered the mailroom.

“Hey, neighbor,” you greeted, your eyes flicking between him and Jack. “And who’s this?”

“This is my son, Jack,” Hotch said, stepping aside slightly so you could get a better look. “Jack, this is our neighbor, [Your Name].”

Jack looked up from his stack of envelopes, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” you said warmly. “You’re the spitting image of your dad, you know.”

Jack wrinkled his nose playfully, glancing at Hotch. “I hope not too much.”

You laughed, the sound drawing a small chuckle from Hotch as well. “What’s got you so focused on the mail today?” you asked Jack, noting his eager expression.

“I’m waiting to hear back about a summer art program I applied to,” Jack said, his tone hopeful but tinged with nervousness.

“Art? That’s fantastic!” you said, genuinely impressed. “What kind of art are you into?”

“Mostly sketching,” Jack replied, his shyness melting under your encouragement. “But I’ve been getting into painting too.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” you said sincerely. “I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled, visibly more relaxed in your presence. Hotch observed the interaction quietly, noting how effortlessly you connected with his son. It tugged at something deep in his chest, that mix of admiration and longing he was becoming all too familiar with around you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you said, turning to Hotch. “I’m throwing a little cocktail party at my place next Friday night to celebrate settling into the apartment. Nothing fancy, just a few friends and some good drinks. You and Jack should come.”

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing. A cocktail party? With your friends? He imagined himself standing awkwardly in a room full of people your age, wondering if he belonged there at all. But before he could respond, you added with a playful smile, “I really hope you’ll come. It won’t be the same without my favorite neighbor.”

The glimmer of hope in your tone, the sincerity in your smile—it made his chest tighten. Still, the self-conscious voice in his head whispered doubts. Would your friends think he was too old? Would you regret inviting him once he showed up?

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, his voice steady but uncertain. “With my schedule, it can be hard to plan ahead.”

“Well,” you said, your tone light but insistent, “I’m holding out hope. And Jack, you’re more than welcome too. I’ll make sure we have something non-alcoholic that’s party-worthy.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

Your laughter was warm, and it stayed with Hotch long after you left the mailroom, waving goodbye with a cheerful promise to see him soon. As you disappeared down the hallway, he felt that familiar tug again—part curiosity, part hope, and part fear.

Did he imagine the glimmer in your eyes the other night? The way your words seemed to linger just for him? Or was it possible—just possible—that there was something real here? Something worth risking the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself to explore.

As Jack tugged his sleeve, reminding him they still had to sort the rest of the mail, Hotch shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Whatever the answer, he couldn’t deny the pull you had on him. Maybe he’d find out next weekend.

Friday night found Aaron Hotchner in his office, the quiet hum of the BAU’s bullpen far below offering no distraction from the thoughts circling his mind. The stack of case files on his desk was unusually light for a change, and the rare lull in their schedule had granted him a night off. Yet, instead of heading home or unwinding with a book, he sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the invitation you’d extended days earlier.

Jack was spending the night at a teammate’s house for a soccer sleepover, leaving Hotch without the comfortable excuse of parenting duties. But the thought of showing up at your party, surrounded by people your age, feeling out of place—it made him hesitate.

He was still mulling it over when a knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, he found Emily Prentiss leaning against the frame, a file folder in hand.

“Final report from the Clarke case,” she said, stepping inside and placing the folder on his desk. “You’re officially done for the night.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his tone clipped but polite.

Emily tilted her head, studying him with the kind of perceptiveness he usually reserved for himself. “You look…pensive. Something on your mind?”

For a moment, Hotch considered brushing her off, offering some vague comment about work or letting the conversation drop entirely. But then he remembered how much he valued openness among his team, a quality he wished they were better about embracing. Perhaps it was time to practice what he preached.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight. My neighbor’s hosting it.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on her lips. “A cocktail party? Sounds fancy. What’s the dilemma?”

“It’s not about the party itself,” he admitted. “It’s…her.”

Her curiosity sharpened, and she took a seat across from him. “Okay, now you have my attention. Tell me more about ‘her.’”

“She’s my neighbor,” he began, his voice even but hesitant. “She’s in her late twenties, successful, confident. We’ve talked a few times, and she’s…invited me tonight.”

Emily’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral enough not to tease. “And you’re debating whether or not to go because…?”

“Because I’m twice her age,” Hotch said bluntly. “Because I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. And because I’m not sure if the interest I think I’m seeing from her is even real or if I’ve imagined it.”

Emily let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Hotch, you’re overthinking this. And so what? Age is just a number. What matters is the connection.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple. She’s…young, full of life. I’m a widower with a teenage son and a career that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“All the more reason to go,” Emily countered. “Look, you’ve spent years putting everyone else first—your son, your team, your cases. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Took a chance?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in front of him. Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

“Hotch, you’re allowed to let yourself be happy. And from the way you’re talking about her, it sounds like she could be someone worth getting to know better.”

He glanced up at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “What if it’s inappropriate?”

“Now, you’re definitely over thinking this,” Emily snorted, “You’ll handle it like you handle everything else—with class and integrity,” she said with a shrug. “But you won’t know unless you try. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s just a party, or maybe it’s the start of something more. Either way, you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Hotch let her words sink in, the weight of his own self-doubt pressing against the hope he’d buried deep. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on his lips.

“You’re relentless,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“It’s part of my charm,” Emily replied, standing and smoothing out her blazer. “Now go home, get dressed, and show up. And Hotch?”

He looked up at her, his brows lifting slightly.

“Make a move,” she added with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

As she left his office, Hotch sat for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out, the decision finally made. Tonight, he would go to your party. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out if the glimmer of hope he thought he saw in your eyes was real.

Hotch stood outside your apartment door, adjusting his tie as he willed himself to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly, but something close—a self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years. The faint sound of laughter and soft music spilled out from your apartment, and for a moment, he considered turning around.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him, the hope in your voice when you’d said you really wanted him to come. That was enough to steel his resolve. He took a breath and knocked.

When you opened the door, Hotch’s breath hitched. You stood there, radiant, wearing an outfit that was the perfect balance of elegance and allure. It hugged your figure just enough to make his pulse quicken, yet the overall effect was sophisticated and tasteful. The soft light from your apartment cast a warm glow over you, highlighting every curve and detail.

“Aaron,” you said, your face lighting up with a smile that felt like it was just for him. Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, catching him completely off guard.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice steady despite the way your touch had sent a jolt of something warm through him.

“I’m so glad you made it,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting briefly on his arms. “I’ve been wondering all night if you’d show.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m glad I did.”

You beamed at that, stepping aside to let him in. As Hotch entered, he took in the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the careful details of your apartment. It was stunning—every corner thoughtfully arranged, every piece of furniture and decor intentional. The warm, inviting tones of the room mirrored his own taste, but where his home was functional, yours was artfully executed.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with titles that made him want to linger and browse. His eyes caught on a few photographs interspersed among the shelves—travel shots, candid moments, and one of you laughing with someone who looked like an older family member. The charm of it all struck him immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“You’ve done an amazing job with this place,” he said, his tone genuine.

“Thank you,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you like it. I put a lot of thought into it—wanted it to feel like home.”

“It does,” he said, glancing around again. “It suits you.”

You smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Where’s Jack?”

“He had teenage obligations,” Hotch replied, a hint of humor in his tone. “A soccer sleepover.”

You laughed softly. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you could come. I know your schedule’s crazy, so it means a lot.”

He was about to respond when you gently touched his arm, guiding him further inside. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect as you led him toward the small group gathered in your living room. But as you began introducing him, your words caught him off guard.

“This is Aaron, my favorite neighbor and new friend,” you said warmly, gesturing to him with a smile.

Favorite neighbor. New friend. The way you said it was so easy, so unselfconscious, that it disarmed him entirely.

The group—five or six people, all older than he’d expected, not just a group of twenty-something-year-olds partying like he imagined—greeted him with nods and polite smiles. It was immediately clear that you surrounded yourself with maturity and wisdom, which made sense. You were wise beyond your years, someone who fit seamlessly into this crowd despite being the youngest by far.

Hotch felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you moved gracefully between your guests, checking on everyone while still managing to include him in the conversation. It wasn’t just your decorating style that impressed him—it was the way you carried yourself, the natural elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from you.

As the evening settled into a warm rhythm, Hotch found himself standing near one of your bookshelves, thumbing through the spine of a title that caught his eye. The sound of your laughter drifted from across the room, and he couldn’t help but glance in your direction. You were chatting animatedly with one of your coworkers, your smile radiant, your presence magnetic. He marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the room, making every guest feel like they were the most important person there.

A moment later, you appeared at his side, a delicate martini glass in your hand, the liquid inside a rich, dark brown.

“For you,” you said, holding it out with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking the glass cautiously. “And what exactly is this?”

“An espresso martini,” you replied, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “My specialty. I make a mean one, and I’m certain you’ll like it.”

He regarded the drink with a playfully suspicious look, tilting the glass slightly to inspect it. 

“I know,” you said easily, gesturing toward the glass. “But I see you leaving in the mornings with your coffee cup. Think of it as adult coffee in a martini glass.”

He chuckled softly at that, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “Though, if this doesn’t suit your taste, I did pick up a whiskey I think you’ll like. It’s over by the bar.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, your smile warm. “I wanted to. Besides, I hope this isn’t the last time we spend time together, so I’m sure we’ll enjoy that whiskey at some point—even if it’s not tonight.”

Something about the way you said it—the quiet confidence, the way you looked at him like he mattered—made his chest tighten.

“Well,” he said, lifting the glass slightly, “I suppose I can’t turn down a signature drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Try it. I promise it’s good.”

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The rich, velvety flavor hit him immediately—the perfect balance of espresso, a hint of sweetness, and the warmth of vodka mingling with the coffee liqueur. He lowered the glass, nodding slightly as a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s…better than I expected,” he admitted.

“Better than expected?” you repeated, laughing softly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good. Really.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you said confidently, your eyes sparkling. “It’s got just enough sophistication to suit you.”

He chuckled again, a rare sound that felt more natural in your presence than it had in a long time. As you stood beside him, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background.

For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt like more than just a profiler, more than just a father or a leader. He felt seen. And, for once, he didn’t mind indulging in the moment.

As the evening wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Guests slowly trickled out, offering you hugs and handshakes on their way to the door. Each one left with a warm smile, a testament to your natural charm as a host. Hotch lingered, sipping the espresso martini you’d made him, more out of a desire to stay close than a need to finish the drink.

You returned from the door after bidding goodbye to the last pair of guests, finding him still standing near the bookshelf where the two of you had shared most of your conversation that night. His shoulders looked more relaxed now, the edges of his stoic demeanor softened in the warm glow of your apartment.

“Well,” you said with a soft laugh, glancing around at the aftermath of the party—empty glasses, plates, and the faint echo of laughter still hanging in the air. “That’s it. A successful cocktail party in the books.”

“You made it look effortless,” Hotch said, his voice warm. “But I know it’s anything but.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge as you started gathering a few glasses from the table.

He stepped forward, setting his now-empty glass down and reaching for a plate. “Let me help.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you said, waving him off. “You’re a guest. Go relax.”

“Consider it repayment for the drink,” he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head but relenting as he began stacking dishes with practiced ease. The two of you moved through the space in comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the night. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you both reached for something and each time, he felt a quiet thrill that he was certain he shouldn’t.

When the room was mostly back to its pristine state, you turned to him, holding a dish towel and looking a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know. But thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his tone soft but sincere. “I’m not much of a sit-back-and-relax type anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer to him.

The quiet that settled between you felt heavy in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t sure what it was about you—the way you seemed to see right through him, the way you made him feel like he could finally let his guard down—but it made him want to say something, to do something, even if it was just a small step forward.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but…it was nice.”

“I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “I was hoping you would.”

The sincerity in your voice struck him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make his heart race.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his face. “Aaron?”

“I…enjoy spending time with you,” he said, his tone careful but honest. “More than I expected to.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and you stepped just a fraction closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, his voice steady now.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft light of your apartment casting gentle shadows across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but when you placed a hand lightly on his arm, your touch warm and grounding, he felt the last of his reservations slip away.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice low. “I should probably head back.”

You nodded, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. And for everything tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

As he walked back across the hall to his apartment, he felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic moment, but it was something—a step forward. And for now, that was enough.

In the day that followed, Hotch pulled his go-bag over his shoulder when he noticed something out of place under his apartment door. A small, cream-colored card peeked out from beneath the frame. He bent down, retrieving it with a curious furrow in his brow.

It was a card, handwritten in neat, elegant script.

Aaron,

Thank you for coming last night. It was wonderful having you there—it made the evening that much more special.

If you ever feel like sharing that whiskey, or even just enjoying each other’s company (with or without alcohol involved, haha), give me a call. I’d like that.

Hotch stood there for a moment, the weight of his bag forgotten. He read the note twice, his eyes lingering on the small smiley face you’d drawn next to your name. It was a simple gesture, but it left him feeling both surprised and oddly warm.

He slipped the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, shaking his head with the faintest smile. The timing couldn’t have been worse—he had a flight to catch and a case that demanded his full attention—but for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave. 

Duty called, and as the jet soared through the sky, Hotch pulled the card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the textured surface. He wasn’t a man who took chances lightly, and his initial instinct was to keep the card tucked away to avoid what could become a complication in his carefully constructed life.

But then he thought of you—the way your smile had lit up the room last night, the effortless warmth in your voice, and the quiet confidence in the note you’d left. You weren’t pushing; you were simply opening a door, one he realized he wanted to step through.

He stared at the number on the card, debating. Finally, he reached for his phone, texting you something simple but deliberate.

Aaron: Thank you for the note. I’m currently out of state on a case, but when I’m back, I’d like to meet for coffee.

He stared at the message for a moment, wondering if it felt too casual or too formal. But then he thought of you—your easy smile, your genuine warmth—and decided that simplicity was best. He pressed send before he could overthink it.

For the rest of the flight, his mind kept circling back to the text. He wasn’t sure if you’d respond right away, or at all, but the act of reaching out was enough to stir something unfamiliar in him. A quiet kind of hope.

You: Coffee sounds perfect. Just let me know when you're back, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear. Be safe out there, Aaron.

When he read your reply, a small smile tugged at his lips. He slid the phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his seat. The case ahead loomed large in his mind, but for the first time in a while, there was something waiting for him on the other side of it. And for now, that was enough.

The case continued far too long, but Hotch finally stepped off the BAU jet just as the first rays of morning light broke over the tarmac. The case had been grueling—long nights, dead ends, and the weight of too many lives disrupted. But they’d managed to close it, and now all he could think about was the coffee date waiting for him. 

The team moved silently, exhaustion etched into their faces as they grabbed their bags and headed for the SUVs waiting nearby. Emily caught his eye as they walked toward the cars.

“Plans for the morning, Hotch?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Just coffee,” he replied simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Emily’s brow quirked, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. She knew it wasn’t like Hotch to not go settle back into the constraints of his desk, post-case. She had hoped he’d taken her advice when it came to you. 

“Coffee, huh? Well, enjoy.”

Hotch gave her a faint smirk in response but said nothing more. He loaded his bag into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV, his mind already shifting to you.

He hadn’t told you the details of the case, of course, but he’d sent you a text two nights ago letting you know he’d be back this morning and suggesting the café. 

He arrived at the café with minutes to spare, parking his SUV and grabbing a quick look in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—there was no denying that—but he decided against going home to change first. Something about coming straight here felt more honest, like he wasn’t trying to put on a front. Besides, he doubted you’d mind.

When he stepped inside the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, chasing away some of the lingering fatigue. He chose a table near the back, where the noise of the bustling morning crowd was muted. As he sat down, he checked his phone, confirming the time.

You’d be here any minute.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself anticipating something outside of work. And as he waited, he allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something he hadn’t dared to imagine for years.

The sun cast a warm glow over the café, soft light filtering through the wide windows. Hotch had chosen a quiet table near the back, away from the bustling chatter of patrons. He arrived a little early, a habit born of years of precision and punctuality, and ordered a simple black coffee while he waited.

His gaze drifted toward the door as he wondered what to say to you. He’d thought about this meeting—about you—more than he cared to admit during the case. And now, with the moment so close, he wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions that came with it.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and there you were, stepping inside with an easy smile. You spotted him quickly and made your way over, looking effortlessly put together in a way that still felt warm and approachable.

“Hi,” you said, your smile widening as you reached the table.

“Hi,” Hotch replied, standing instinctively to greet you.

You set your bag down, glancing at his coffee. “Already ahead of me, I see. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Just black,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Classic,” you said approvingly. “Let me grab something, and I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped away to order, Hotch took a steadying breath. It was strange how easily you disarmed him with just your presence. When you returned with a latte, he stood again, waiting until you were seated before sitting himself.

“So,” you began, wrapping your hands around your cup. “How was the case?”

“Challenging,” he admitted. “But we managed to resolve it.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I imagine they’re all challenging in their own ways. I don’t know how you do it.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what I’m trained for. Though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take its toll.”

“I can imagine,” you said softly. “It’s why I was surprised you even had the energy to come to my party last week.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It was a good distraction. I’m glad I went.”

Your smile softened. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the two of you sipped your drinks in companionable silence. The warm atmosphere of the café seemed to cocoon you from the outside world, giving Hotch a rare sense of ease. But the weight of unspoken words pressed against him, and he knew he couldn’t leave without saying something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You looked up, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh?”

“More than I probably should,” he admitted, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I try not to let my personal life interfere with my work—or vice versa—but…you’ve been on my mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss for words. “Aaron…”

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued, his tone careful but sincere. “I don’t know where this is going or what it means, but I do know that I enjoy spending time with you. More than I expected to.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

That admission caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He felt a quiet relief, a sense of validation for the risk he’d taken in being honest.

“Well,” you said, leaning slightly forward, your tone playful yet soft. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t sure where this is going. But I think I’d like to find out.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “So would I.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily as it always seemed to. For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more—and for once, he wasn’t afraid of what that might mean.

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