#GERALT IS THE WIFE NOW

[vvitchering]

Din’s new Nevarro neighbors realizing pretty quickly that the new guy will help you with anything if you ask him nicely. Got a leaky roof? He’ll climb up there and patch it and clean out the gutters while he’s at it. Old and need someone to run into town and pick up some groceries for you? How many potatoes do you need, ma’am? Some creep keeps harassing you? Don’t worry about it, it’s taken care of.

Din has all the thank-you pies, cakes, and pastries he and Grogu can eat.

[roughentumble]

wait oh my god! thinking about a modern pretend marriage au but Geralt has to pretend he and Yen are still married because Ciri got into a really good school but it's very old fashioned so Geralt's hiding the fact he's remarried to Jaskier and shenanigans ensue, esp if Jaskier starts calling Yen and himself sister wives bc it always makes Geralt go

YEEEEEEESSSSSSS

YYYEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 132

Geralt is walking through a town when he senses something off. He glances up right as he watches a man leap out a window on the third floor. Geralt effortlessly catches him, holding him in a bridal carry. "Oh! My hero!" The man says to Geralt, looking at him with awe. "YOU FUCKER! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET DOWN THERE!" Another man screams from the window. "What's going on?" Geralt asks, and the man in his arm flushes. "Fucked his wife." "That'll do it." "Indeed." Geralt sets the man down, and watches him get a headstart running from the husband. It isn't until later that night that Geralt realizes the man he caught didn't mention anything about Geralt being a witcher. Perhaps it was the shock and adrenaline. Perhaps he didn't even fully see Geralt, his mind was too focused on surviving. Months later, Geralt is tacking up Roach to leave town when a familiar blur busts into the stables, and leaps into a pile of hay nearby. A man enters after a minute, raving mad, holding a bottle. "Where is he!?" "Where is who?" Geralt asks, coolly, and watches the man's temper fizzle out into apprehension. "N- Nobody. Sorry for bothering you, mister witcher." and the man scurries off. Geralt turns to the haystack and watches as his acquaintance in bright clothing crawls out, hay still stuck in the creases of his clothes and the strands of his hair. "His wife, too?" "His son, actually." "Mm." "Thank you for helping me again." "I didn't do much." Still, the colorful man flicks a coin to Geralt, and then races out. Huh. The man recognized him. And the other man, the one who chased him, had even called Geralt a witcher. And yet the man was still not scared. He even thanked Geralt. Nobody ever thanks Geralt. Another few months later, Geralt is setting up camp when he senses something in the trees. He readies to fling a knife up there, only to see- The man again. He starts very awkwardly trying to climb down, before falling flat on his ass on the ground. "...Hello again." "Hello, my dear witcher!" "Why were you in the tree?" "Oh, I was chased here-" "Of course you were." "Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?" "I've only met you a few times, but every time I have, you're running from a man who is a relative of someone you've fucked. Out with it, what was it this time? Daughter? Husband?" "Mother." "I can s-" "And his father." "..." "They were a very adventurous couple." And despite it all, Geralt laughs. He throws his head back and cackles. He's never laughed so hard in his life. "I'm Jaskier." The man - Jaskier - introduces himself as he wipes dust and leaves off of his doublet. "I'm Geralt." "Would you mind if I stay with you for the night, Geralt?" "I'm a witcher." "I'm a bard! Glad we're past that." "Of course you're a bard." "Of course you're a witcher." "You already knew I was a witcher." "Then why bring it up when I said I wanted to stay?" "Nobody wants to stay with a witcher." "Well then I suppose I am no longer Jaskier, and my name is now Nobody, dear friend." Jaskier confuses Geralt, but it's not like he'll stay forever, right? Right?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure. 

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey. 

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words. 

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar. 

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed? 

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.” 

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--” 

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.” 

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him. 

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through. 

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within. 

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further. 

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin. 

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--” 

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.” 

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists. 

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths. 

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee. 

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.” 

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--” 

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.” 

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--” 

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.” 

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.” 

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.” 

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.” 

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.” 

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--” 

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--” 

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up. 

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips. 

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.” 

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?” 

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance. 

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.” 

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly. 

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues. 

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--” 

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!” 

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you. 

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents. 

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him. 

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue. 

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid. 

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving. 

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him. 

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides. 

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly. 

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps. 

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?” 

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.  

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt. 

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?” 

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you. 

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath. 

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber. 

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy. 

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall. 

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze. 

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.” 

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.” 

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts. 

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes. 

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.” 

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.” 

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead. 

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses. 

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.” 

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold. 

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.” 

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.” 

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine. 

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind. 

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no. 

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise. 

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose. 

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.” 

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.” 

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!” 

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says. 

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.  

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair. 

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.” 

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.” 

“Let the maid go,” the king grits. 

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.” 

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.” 

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.” 

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks. 

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly. 

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.” 

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples. 

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises. 

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.” 

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself. 

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?” 

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?” 

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

[thedemonofcat]

Geralt is caught off guard when he receives a summons to Lettenhove. Since parting ways with Jaskier on the mountain, Lettenhove had hardly crossed his mind. Yet now, Viscountess Pankratz was officially requesting his presence.

Relief washes over Geralt when he learns the Viscountess is Jaskier’s sister, not his wife. Unfortunately, she had called him because her brother is missing. According to her, Jaskier returned home in a distressed state a few weeks ago. Then, one night, he disappeared, leaving all his belongings behind.

Geralt agrees to track Jaskier down, and in turn, the Viscountess insists on joining him so he can find her as well. Geralt can't help but notice how strikingly similar she is to her brother, not just in appearance but in certain aspects of her personality, too.

After a late night of drinking, they discuss possible leads on Jaskier’s whereabouts. In a moment of unexpected tension, Geralt and the Viscountess kiss—only for her to pull back and ask, "Are you kissing me, or my brother?"

[thebadboyfanclub]

Master list

I want to preface this by saying I’m sorry for forcing y’all to having to scroll to find my imagines this took like two days to make, also I hope you were not expecting some fancy and beautiful list I am not that talented but this will do the trick.

Also everybody needs to thank @pearlstiare cause she quite literally took me by the hand and walked me through the entire process out of the goodness of their heart, so thank you for being such a wonderful person. Without further or due, enjoy!

Part two of the masterlist

Full list of the characters I write for

Aemond Targaryen

You Are No Dragon

All For The Motherland

My Little Sea Snake

The Apple Of His Eye

Do You Love Me?

‘Till The Seven Rings Of Hell

Take Care Of Me, My Love

I Would Be Honored

Grow Forever, Never Yield

I Will Do It

Lead The Way

Lady Wife Falling Asleep Headcanon

Aegon Targaryen

The Man You Deserve

I Spill My Blood For You

What’s Your Name?

I Want To Try

After You Little Pet

Queen Of My Life

Lady Wife Falling Asleep Headcanon

Jacaerys Velaryon

Do You Want this?

Part One

Part Two

Lady Wife Falling Asleep Headcanon

Cregan Stark

My hearts soldier

My Beloved Wife

Daemon Targaryen

My Moonlight

You Bled For Them, You Decide

Part One

Part Two

An Eye For An Eye

Your Sweet Princess

Are You Mad?

The Death Of Me

She Has Your Eyes

Left Or Right?

It Is Time

What Are You Waiting For Then?

My Turn

We’ll Finish This Later

The Sunflower Of Highgarden

A Risk Taker

Gods Have Mercy

My Dragon

Lady Wife Falling Asleep Headcanon

Tywin Lannister

I Got You, Little Wolf

The Bloody Princess

Massimo Torricelli

Fire And Flame

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Sherlock Holmes

It’s Alright Darling

You Are Family Now

Napoleon Solo

I Got You

Henry Cavill

The Lady Of The House

Part one

Part two

Let Me Have This

Geralt Of Rivia

Protect The Queen

Part one

Part two

There’s Nothing Wrong With Submission

The Dream

Part one

Part two

You Are My Home

Rio

You Can Do Better

A Boy, A Girl And A Game

You Are My Light

She Will Learn

Pete Davidson

The Sun And Moon

Dating Pete Davidson (Spiritual Edition)

Cedric Diggory

You Sneaky Little Fox

Draco Malfoy

We’ll Get Caught

Carlisle Cullen

What’s For Dinner?

Do I Have To?

One Way To Find Out

Just Like You

Of Course Precious

What’s Your Biggest Fear?

Off To Bed For You

Aro Volturi

Lamb For Slaughter

Emmett Cullen

Sir, This Is McDonald’s

That’s My Girl

Edward Cullen

Let Me Do Better

Jasper Hale

Pleasure Is All Mine

Niklaus Mikaelson

You Started This?

Part One

Part Two

My Little Cub

Our Love Is Eternal

Mess Is Mine

Sounds Like Heaven

Maybe It’s Better This Way

Elijah Mikaelson

I Quite Enjoyed It

We’ll See About That

Kai Parker

You’ll Be Fine

See You Around Honey

Excuse Me?

Ivar The Boneless

She Is A Lady

Harwin Strong

I Promise

Look At Me, Princess

I Would Like That

Khal Drogo

Stay With Me

[ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist]

Henry Cavill Masterlist

Here you will find all of my Henry Cavill works, arranged by character and type of work.

One-Shots

Forever And A Day - Explicit - Geralt x Black!OFC - Geralt and Lavinia share a passionate reunion.

Events

You're Mine | Geralt of Rivia + Female Reader + Daddy Kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic (Sweet Treats Events 2024)

Series

Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)

Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

Requests

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth - Explicit - Walter Marshall x Reader - You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Challenges

Fifteen Minutes - Explicit - Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC - What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.

Headcanons

Hobbies

Events

A Little Fresh Air | Walter Marshall + Female Reader + Public Sex + “Hmm, you’re not very patient, are you?” + Smut (Sweet Treats Event 2024)

One-Shots

Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe - Explicit - Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader - Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.

Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse - Explicit - Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader - A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Don’t Kill My Vibe - Explicit - Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader - You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Requests

Happy Birthday, Cupcake - General - Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader - Clark surprises you for your birthday.

Praise You - General - Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader - Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.

One-Shots

What Are You Doing, StepBro? - Explicit - Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader - You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.

Requests

Doing Something Unholy - Explicit - Charles Brandon x Reader - This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.

Series

Scrapbook (finished) - Side characters include Walter Marshall, Evan Marshall, Syverson, and Gus March-Phillipps

One-Shots

Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut] {DARKER FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.

Series

Love, Napoleon (ongoing)

One-Shots

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl - Explicit - Napoleon Solo x Reader - Napoleon wines and dines.

Series

Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)

One-Shots

Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut] {DARKER FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.

Treat Me Like A Slut - Explicit - August Walker x Reader - August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.

Requests

Executive Temptation - Explicit - CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader - You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?

One-Shots

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind - Explicit - Sherlock Holmes x Reader - As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Requests

The Paganini Problem - Mature - Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader - Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.

Series

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

Challenges

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - Mature - Syverson x Reader - When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.

Requests

Shape-Up - Explicit - Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) - Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.

Drabbles

My Little Strawberry - Mature - Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) - A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach. 

Events

Say It Again | Captain Syverson + Female Reader + Phone Sex + “Hmm, you’re not very patient, are you?” + Smut (Sweet Treats Event 2024)

One-Shots

Nothing More Than An Animal - Explicit - Henry!Wolverine (Cavillrine) x Female!Reader - After entering a dangerous biker bar alone, you’re almost assaulted. You are saved by a mutant with metal claws who might be more animal than man.

Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)

Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)

Clark Kent (Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League)

Humphrey (Stardust)

Charles Brandon (The Tudors)

Mike (Hellraiser: Hellworld)

Napoleon Solo (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.)

August Walker (Mission: Impossible - Fallout)

Gus March-Phillips (The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare)

Will Shaw (The Cold Light of Day)

Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes films)

Captain Syverson (Sand Castle)

Evan Marshall (Blood Creek)

Melot (Tristan and Isolde)

Thomas Apreas (Hotel Laguna)

Chas Quilter (The Inspector Lyndley Mysteries)

Stephen Colley (I Capture the Castle)

Henry!Wolvie AKA The Cavillrine (Deadpool & Wolverine)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY

[pirateprincessblog]

Cry For Me 》 P. Seonghwa

I make these to help you visualise! But you are free to imagine whatever you like :)

NEW! Read the ongoing full version on Wattpad!

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔:

One

Two

Three (in progress...)

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you promised your friend. you asked for forgiveness and gave a promise that you wouldn't even look her father's way. it isn't your fault that you suck at keeping promises. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: psh x reader x khj 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: best friend's father seonghwa, seonghwa's business partner hongjoong, smut, angst, bits of fluff 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, nsfw scenes, unprotected sex, voyeurism, dacryphilia 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: had to include both of my biases :D

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

༻♡༺

The pastry shop was flooded with people. It was Monday, which meant new specials were added to the menu. Your special Butcher of Blaviken piece of cake was long forgotten. You didn't even get a chance to taste the inviting red frosting. Oh, to be in the Witcher world now instead of being lectured by your friend. Henry Cavill would understand.

"You didn't think about it affecting us? You didn't fear about losing me as you did it?"

You're numb to the words. Her father fucked the thoughts out of you and you couldn't seem to feel any guilt in you. Yet, you didn't want to lose her. She was the only one who could keep up with your mood swings and random obsessions with movies and books that come and go. She was the only one that returned the energy you'd give her.

"Damn it, answer me! What the fuck were you thinking? How the fuck did you even manage to do it? He doesn't fuck anyone since mom left!"

People are staring, those sitting getting their chairs closer. Your friend is giving them a free show and they're willing to take it.

"I swear to God-"

"I wasn't thinking." You say, looking directly into her eyes.

"What?"

"I was not," you get closer, making sure not to break eye contact, "thinking."

"How the fuck did it happen? How did you convince him?"

The amount of the word fuck would even impress Geralt- well, you get it. I have an obsession with Henry Cavill. Little fourth wall break here. Okay, let's continue. No more, I promise.

Your calmness is angering her even more. She doesn't seem to understand how unaffected by all of this you are. You don't feel guilt simply because Mr Park agreed to all of it. In fact, you had already given up on your plan. He came to you and started it all over again.

"I was snooping around his library and he came, we hit it off and that's all you need to know."

"He came to you?" She laughs in disbelief.

"He came to the library, not me."

Frustrated, she groans and drops her head on the table. You glance at the cake, the chocolate Wolven sword on top of it as inviting as Mr Park in his unbuttoned shirt.

"Listen, I cannot undo what happened. Truthfully speaking, I wouldn't even if I could."

The girl raises her head, her angered look changing into the one of disappointment. You try putting yourself into her situation. You'd feel hurt, sure. But as long as it is a one-time thing, you're sure you'd get over it. It's not like Mr Park will declare his love to you and make you his new wife and her step mother. And that's what you tell her, causing her to calm down a bit.

"Didn't you make similar comments about Wren's dad? That you'd give him anything he'd ask for, if only he approached you?"

She seems offended that you remembered and mentioned that. Still, she remains calm. Her eyes are fixed behind you, concentrating on the moving line of people that are no longer interested in your conversation.

"It was just a one-time thing. It won't happen-"

"I miss mom."

And just like that, she breaks down. Your heart shatters when the first tear rolls down her cheek. After all, she is still her dad's little girl. And no matter what Mrs Park did, she was still her mother.

"Hey-"

"Just let me do what I need to do." She says, her voice trembling as words left her mouth. "I just need to let it out."

"You sure you want to do that here?" You ask, careful not to make her angry again.

She sits silent for a few moments. Her eyes are fixed on the traffic outside, a tear rolling down her cheeks every other moment. You've never seen her so helpless and vulnerable. She is always collected, calm, and usually the one to cheer people up. Now, when it's your turn, you don't know what to do.

"I could do it in a dressing room at Zara." She laughs, then sniffs. "Want to join me?"

And just how can you say no to her?

It is noon when you enter her house. Both of you are drowning in various bags full of clothes. She is an entirely different person than she was this morning. As if it didn't happen at all. You're watching her as she skillfully carries all her bags up the stairs and into her room. You almost trip and fall multiple times, yet you are determined to get there on your own, without any help. She laughs at you from the top of the stairs, then announces that she is going to take a shower.

You balance the bags in your hands, eyes glued to the marble stairs which shined brighter than diamonds under the expensive chandelier. Once you reach the top of the stairs, you put the items on the floor so you can correct your posture and crack your back. You hear a thump, then shuffling. With horror, you watch as two bags start rolling down the stairs. All of its contents are spilling on the way down, and all you can do is watch and hope they'll stop at some point.

But when they do, they stop in front of a pair of polished black shoes. Your eyes stay fixed on the Victoria's Secret pink bag, somehow hoping that if you're not looking at him, he will disappear. Pale slender fingers come into sight, the pointer finger hooked under the handle of the bag. Your eyes follow as he raises it to his head level.

"I think you might've dropped something." He speaks first.

You're not sure what to say. Or do. So you continue to stand like a deer on a highway, your feet refusing to move. Since you're already staring, you take a few more moments to admire the changes on him. His hair is darker than the last time, and not as fluffy. His lips have a red tint, and you notice a slight shadow at the corners of his eyes. He is wearing a black turtleneck, paired with perfectly ironed pants and a belt. He is effortlessly perfect.

He chuckles, then bends over to pick up the items laying on the white tiles. Your legs and brain finally make a signal, and you are running down to yank the items away from him. Your movements are rushed and clumsy, and all the clothes are landing outside the bag instead of inside it. From the corner of your eyes, you realise that he has stopped helping. Instead, he is standing again, his attention now on something else.

You wish the ground could swallow you. A piece of fabric lays on his delicate fingers, thumb caressing the lace as a smirk forms on his tinted lips. He is holding your newest holiday edition lingerie set. It is as red as your cheeks right now, and if you didn't look away, you're sure your head would've exploded from embarrassment.

"Good deal on the set?"

You're not sure if he is trying to lighten the obviously awkward situation, or if he is making fun of you. After all, he is standing there, dripping in designer clothes and looking classier than you. Yet you're standing there, dripping in clumsy and tacky.

"I would never buy something so ugly for a full price." You manage to mumble, then reach for the fabric.

"Ugly? I don't think it's ugly." He pulls his hand away, "It's very... Well, it screams Christmas. And only ten dollars for a full set?"

Unable to read his expression and tone, you stay frozen. You feel so small in front of him. The tone is tugging towards mockery more than towards harmless joking, and you're not feeling comfortable. Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, your lip slightly trembling. You're a mess, standing in your scattered lingerie and paper bags, in front of your friend's hot father who isn't making you feel as good as last time you saw him.

"Can I please have my things back?" You manage to ask, voice cracking at the end.

His smile drops. The man takes a few moments to examine your body language, and once he realises what he has done, he puts the items in the bags. He takes his time to pick them up one by one, not once looking up at you.

Your sniffles echo through the room, and you're trying your best not to let the tears smear this little makeup you have left on your face. You still have to look a bit decent. Park Seonghwa is now holding the bags in front of you, patiently waiting for you to take them. You carefully soak in the tears with the sleeve of your top. Your eyes avoid his as you reach out to take your belongings. The slight brush of his cold fingers against yours has your stomach going on a rollercoaster. You remember how they felt against your lips as he touched you. You manage to look into his eyes, this time not looking away immediately. You wish to repeat the guilty pleasure. The way he looks down at you makes you want to drop on your knees and give him just what he deserves.

"That look is going to get us both into trouble again, kitten." He whispers.

Still focused on trying not to cry, you don't realise that you are pouting and looking at him through wet eyelashes. He gulps, then glances behind you. He then steps towards you, until you can feel his comforting warm breath on your face.

"That smeared mascara is giving me deja vu."

You immediately remember what he is referring to.

"Will you let me smear that pretty makeup of yours?"

So he gets off to smeared makeup. Ironic, since he always looks so neat and fresh. Not only him, but every area around him too. Your breath hitches as he brings his hand to your cheek, thumb ever so lightly grazing the skin where your tear had started the journey. He wipes it, then brings it over to his mouth. He closes his lips around the thumb, and you see his tongue peeking out a bit to lick the salty liquid off the tip. You are too taken aback by his action, and now you are the one to get a deja vu.

You stood like this in front of him the last time too, only this time, his fingers aren't in your mouth, but in his.

Maybe you spoke to soon, maybe he could read minds. You didn't know. You could only watch as he brings his thumb to caress your bottom lip, as if asking permission for entrance. You grant it to him, ready to give him anything he asks for.

Your core throbs at the way he sensualy massages your tongue with the finger. You allow yourself to get confident, swirling your tongue around it. He lets out a groan, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

"Don't give me that look, kitten. We can't."

You pull away from his hand, a string of saliva connecting your body parts making both of you feel dazed.

"Then stop fingerfucking my mouth, Sir." You say as politely as you can, tone low with lust.

Before you know it, Mr Park has you slammed against the wall, hands pressed firmly on your waist. You whimper when your back collides with the cold wall, but his actions are quick to distract you. His knee parts your legs, rising a little so that it makes contact with your crotch. You let out a sigh into his mouth, ready to give yourself to him. His fingers press into your cheeks, cupping your jaw so that you can't avoid his gaze. He is looking at you so intensely that you could cum right there on his thigh and knee. The smell of sandalwood and jasmine coming from his neck and chest area is not helping at all. It is inviting, and you don't want to be rude and decline an invitation.

"As much as I'd love nothing more than to fill you up with my cock against this wall right now, until you're staining my wall with your arousal, I'm going to need you to stay away from me."

The tower of fantasies you've slowly started to build suddenly crumbled down under his words. Emotions are erupting inside of you, lust and disappointment merging into each other and creating frustration and sadness. You are sexually frustrated, and this man has done nothing but worsen the situation.

"You'll leave me like this, Mr Park?"

He looks down on your lips, eyebrows furrowed as if thinking about which wire to cut.

Red — the powerful lust growing inside of him. The desire to have you crying under his touch from immense pleasure. The urge to abuse your clit with his tongue until he has you shaking in his arms.

Blue — the fragile relationship with his daughter. He just won her back, and making a fatal mistake like this could mean losing her forever.

Green — harmless flirting and teasing. Messing around and seeing you blush is something he just might get used to.

Park Seonghwa was also very sexually frustrated. But he was also a man with a reputation and half a family. He cannot bring himself to ruin either of the two.

"I want you on your best behaviour, kitten."

You look at him through your lashes again, this time on purpose. His fingers then pull at your hair, exposing your neck to him and causing you to whimper. He looks down at you, and you see yourself in his dilated pupils, drowning in the dark pools of lust.

"I mean it." He says, lips grazing your jaw as he speaks. "Be good for me."

And with that, he steps away from you, giving you one last head to toe checkup. He then turns around and makes his way to the library, leaving you flushed and a mess against the wall. You watch his back as he walks, noticing how huge his shoulders are and how slim his waist is. The things you'd do just to bite into any of those things. If you only had the courage and confidence to seduce him. You can only watch from afar, wishing that he would drop his guard and come to you.

It feels like that evening all over again; him making you yearn for him, then leaving you and disappearing into his space. The promises you gave to your friend are pushed back, and your brain has opened the path doe the thoughts you shouldn't be having. Yet, it's not breaking a promise if he is the one to come to you, is it?

You pick up the bags, this time not letting go of them until you've reached the room. You drop on the bed, face buried into the softest blankets you've ever touched in your life. Your clit is almost pulsating and burning from being all worked up. Touching yourself won't help. It's not the same. You've gotten a taste once, you'll never be able to do it the old way. Park Seonghwa is the only one who can help.

How dare he get so close to you, get you all worked up like that, then tell you to stay away? What kind of sick teasing and torture kinks is he into? Whatever it is, you have already fallen into his trap. You crave him, your body yearns to be touched by his fingers again. Every place on your body he touched on the stairs burns with sensation. You can only let out a frustrated groan before getting up and fixing your hair.

Your eyes examine the abnormally red cheeks and smeared mascara. You looked like you were fucked senseless, not just cornered by your friend's hot father. Although you wish he did the first.

"Professor Gellert gave me this stupid project that needs to be done by tomorrow. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to— damn. Are you okay?"

The girl comes in while drying her hair with a towel, eyebrows scrunched with worry as she looks at your reflection in the mirror. Your back is turned towards her, and you're having a hard time looking into her eyes. How can you, when in your mind you're picturing Mr Park forcing your head onto his cock as tears run down your cheeks, just how he likes it?

"Are you sick?"

"The stairs killed me." You laugh it off, pointing at the bags.

"Oh, right." She brushes it off, then throws the wet towel into the basket near the bed. "Do you have a dress for the college celebration next week?"

"I'm not going." You say, remembering how many familiar people will show up.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to have a stomachache then."

You don't even have to look up to know that she is killing you with her stare. Both of you know that you will end up going, you just choose to throw a little tantrum before giving in.

"Your dance partner is so excited for you though."

"I forgot whose name I even pulled. Mind reminding me?"

To avoid having people without a pair, all people were supposed to pull out names. You know you weren't too thrilled about it, but you still can't remember who it was.

"Avan? No, he is with Vic. Oh, Joseph!"

"The Catholic boy?" You ask, now realising why you were so unimpressed.

"No, no, the hot Catholic boy. His hair grew since last summer and his teeth are like, super straight and white. He became the hottest thing to ever walk at that college."

A sigh leaves your lips at the realisation that more money will be reduced from your bank account. You can't go looking basic nor weird. People there aren't the nicest little dandelions, and you are very fragile when it comes to real life. You will need a proper dress, proper heels and equally good makeup. Luckily, you know just the person who will help.

Hours of goofing around, working on the project, and a warning to quiet down from Mr Park due to his business video chat, both of you are asleep. You'd lie if you were to say his stern voice didn't do things to you. He was so good at giving orders, and you are willing to take all of them. Both of you were in your matching satin sleeping dresses, laying on your stomach and watching funny moments of your favorite groups, laughing your heads off and making weird noises on purpose. It was a competition, each of you making a weirder and louder noise than the other. A few screams and laughing fits later, Mr Park Seonghwa knocked on the door. He came in calmly, eyeing up both of you.

"Girls, I have an important meeting and I'm trying to win an opportunity to keep our lives the way they are and not lose everything. Yet, here you are, sounding as if I've kidnapped you and am boiling you alive."

Your smile drops, but your friend remains the same. This tells you that him coming in to intervenire happens more often than you'd think. His usually soft and sparkly eyes are now sharp and serious, his eyebrow raised and his tinted lips going slightly downwards. He is still wearing the turtleneck, only this time he has added a grey coat resting on his shoulders.

"Sorry, dad."

His eyes shift to you, and silence swallows the room. You are taken aback by the intense gaze, and your friend nudges you with her elbow.

"S-sorry, da- Mr Park." You stutter, and your face heats up as soon as you finish the sentence. You wish to crawl out the window and disappear in the bushes. Maybe even cry yourself to sleep there.

Your mission is to seduce him, yet how can you succeed when all you do is embarrass yourself in front of him? He must've lost interest. You are convinced that he is your fantasy come to life, and you simply can't let go. You don't want to let go. Not until you get at least one more taste.

To your surprise, he only hums, then exits the room. You hear his footsteps in the distance, then a door being shut louder than usual.

"He's a real dick sometimes."

In the morning, you are awoken by your friend's raspy voice asking for period cramp pills. It takes you a few moments to adjust your eyes to the morning light.

"Where are they?" You mumble, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Your favorite place in this house." She laughs.

You peek outside the little bathroom to ask why she is laughing and what does she mean by that.

"Dad's office."

You roll your eyes, then return to brushing your teeth. Once you make sure to pick on your skin a little, then put on foundation so that your friend doesn't give you a lesson about it, you head outside.

"You'll see a few drawers below his fantasy section. There's all kinds of pills, just bring me the ones we usually use in these days of suffering."

As you approach the room of your favorite memories and dirty pleasures, you hear his voice coming from inside. It sounds lower than usual, and he sounds very professional. He is saying words even you've never heard of. In conclusion, he even talks expensive and sexy.

"Hongjoong, my marketing team is suffering because they took the most important elements from them. Half of the team quit when they heard who is trying to get involved."

You don't want to interrupt, but if you don't get those pills, you're going to be the first victim of the Hormonal Queen Park. You knock lightly, then slowly open the door.

You swear that if your toes didn't hit the wooden door frame as you tried going inside, you'd let out a moan. Mr Park is sitting in his usual chair, wearing a white shirt. It is halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You see a thin gold chain decorating his sun kissed skin on his neck. His lips are reddish as usual, and his hair isn't as neat as it was yesterday. His jaw rests in his hand, while his other hand is scribbling something on the papers at the corner of his desk.

He doesn't speak. Instead, he raises an eyebrow towards you. You point towards the drawer, then try showing him that you're looking for pills with your hands. He scoffs, then returns to his conversation. Still sleepy, you forget that you are still only wearing the satin lavender dress. It is when the morning cold breeze hits your legs that you realise. You're already here, there's no point in being embarrassed anymore.

Your eyes read the signs at the top of the bookcase. Adult fiction, Criminal, Erotica, Fiction, Horror... and Fantasy! Right behind his back.

Fuck.

Having no other choice, you get down on all four, and start crawling towards the drawers. Mr Park hasn't yet noticed your little mission. He is too frustrated with his ongoing problem to notice a half naked girl crawling on his office floor. You cheer inside your head as you successfully reach the drawers. You pull at the handle, but it doesn't budge.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You sigh, trying with all your strength. The drawer stays closed, and you're already ready to go home.

The only thing left to do is ask Mr Park, but you wouldn't dare to interrupt. Instead, you crawl to his side, careful not to be seen on camera. You're sitting near his leg, looking up at him while figuring out how to ask. You opt for the quietest solution, and you'll see where it gets you. With a quiet gulp and a sigh, you finally reach out towards him. Instead of quietly calling him like you intended, you gently poke his leg under the desk.

The man looks down, eyebrows scrunched with confusion. He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees you, then redirects his attention at the screen.

"Mr Park," you whisper.

"Hongjoong, I'm gonna have to pause the video for a second."

"That's fine, I'll just go through the mails one more time."

You hear a click, then silence. Mr Park grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You look like a treat, waiting to be picked up and consumed by him. The way your knees have a slight red tint have his mind racing with thoughts.

"Are you crazy?" His tone is calm and low. The grip on your jaw is firm, his fingers pressing into your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout.

He can't get over how big your pupils have gotten, and how well he can see your cleavage from that position. The sight of your breasts squished together by the shiny satin fabric combined with your pouty stare from the bottom aren't helping his situation at all. How can he hold back when you're sitting there like a present, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed? He had countless comparisons, and hundreds of ways he could take care of you. If only he could.

"I just need some pills," you whisper, too mesmerised by his intense gaze to speak in normal voice.

"So you decide to crawl under my desk to ask for it?"

"I'm not—"

"Right, still nothing. I guess we really lost the proof."

The voice is coming from the screen again. A flash of disappointment crosses Park Seonghwa's face. Still, he leans back into his chair, hand still holding your jaw. His grip softens, and he proceeds to caress your cheek with his thumb. The simple action makes you almost purr. You don't remember the last time you got this kind of affection.

With your eyes closed, your body relaxes into his touch. Nothing exists anymore, except Mr Park, his scent and touch. You allow yourself a few moments of silence. The men's voices are becoming distant, and you swear that you could fall asleep just like this. You feel the slight roughness of his fingers, a sign that he aged like fine wine. You remember your father's hands being all rough and dark due to working hard jobs all these years. Seonghwa must've inherited family business. Or he knows how to take care of himself.

You look up at him, chin now resting on his knee. You aren't sure if you want to climb into his lap and take in all the affection he is willing to give you, or get down further under the desk and make him squirm in your hands. Deciding to test the waters, you drag your fingers up his leg, resting them just near his crotch. Mr Park wets his lips, glancing at you for a second. When you see no signs of complaining, you move over so that you're sitting comfortably between his legs. Your hands continue the journey to his belt, excitement rushing through your veins and into your heart as you feel the cold leather underneath your fingertips. You take your time to play with the buckle, just like you read in one of your favorite books.

Just like the man on the worn out pages of your book, Park Seonghwa gulps when you pull the zipper down, just enough to graze him with your nails. You're overflowing with confidence, and you're a little impatient too. But you want to take your time to take care of him. Make him yearn for you just like he did to you. As quietly as possible, you undo his pants, and are delighted when you find out he is wearing no underwear. You reach inside with your tongue, just enough to touch him and make him adjust in his chair.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Mr Park moves your hands, then pulls his cock out for you. One of his hands is holding onto your hair, gently pushing your head towards it. You don't have time to admire the size or all the little details you wanted. Your lips are pressing against his tip, the taste of precum sweet and salty at the same time.

He is impatient, and in desperate need to feel your hot mouth around him. You obey, finally taking him in and making sure to press your tongue flat against him. Unable to control it, he releases a groan.

"Hwa, you sure you're good?"

"I'm good, I just —" he pauses, looking down at you. How does he tell his business partner and best friend that his daughter's friend looks too good with her mouth stuffed like that? With her tits almost falling out and her pupils so big he just wants to slam his cock into her pussy and fuck her into oblivion?

"Just...? If you're not feeling good, we can continue later. I get this must be very hard for you, but —"

Just when you think you've won, Mr Park shakes his head. "No, no. That's fine. Remember how I told you my daughter wanted a kitten? Well, she's not letting me work in peace."

"Oh, that's adorable. Give her a few pets from me."

Park Seonghwa smirks, then looks down at you. His fingers caress your cheeks, and you melt at the touch. It is a motivation to take him in all the way, slamming the tip against the back of your throat.

"She's a very naughty kitten. I can't seem to get rid of her."

"See, no matter what they do, I'll never be a dog person. I love them so much. Just the sight of one makes me feel all fuzzy."

"Oh, just wait until you see this one."

You freeze in your spot. Seonghwa pulls your head away with a loud pop, and shoves his desk away to expose you. His thumb wipes your drool and his precum from your lips, then proceeds to pull you into his lap so that you're facing the screen. The man on the screen is as frozen as you, and as handsome and Mr Park. His gaze drops on your now exposed breasts, and you see his chest slowing down as he tries to breath normally again.

"A unique one, isn't she?" Seonghwa speaks first, holding your head in place by pulling your hair. You're forced to look at the man, and instead of feeling ashamed, you are only feeling more worked up. "I've never been a cat person, but this one is just so obedient I might actually keep her."

"Well, fuck me. That is one hell of a kitten."

"Come on, love. Why don't we show Hongjoong all the tricks I have taught you?"

You aren't sure what he means, until he lays you on his chest and spreads your legs. Your panties are so drenched, they're almost see through. The man on the screen is devouring you with his stare. Something about both of their gazes and confidence has lit a fire inside of you that cannot be put out. In the corner of the screen, you see your exposed and messy figure spread out on Mr Park's lap, and it only adds up to the atmosphere you are so enjoying.

"Actually, since Hongjoong has more experience with cats, how about he shows us how to perform a some tricks?"

You know he isn't asking, just giving you a trailer of what awaits you. A chuckle comes from the screen, and the man flashes his pearly white teeth at you through a smirk.

"First, you might want to tie her up. You don't want her running away, do you?"

Without hesitation, the man yanks his belt from his pants, and secures it around neck. You are having a hard time breathing. Not because of the belt, but because of the overwhelming feelings mixing inside of you. You've never been manhandled like this, and you are afraid that you might get too used to the feeling of Park Seonghwa doing this to you.

"You still have that wand?"

"Sure do."

Confusion takes over your features, and you can't help but wonder why Hongjoong knew that. Do they do this often? If so, are you just another toy Mr Park is going to play with and leave?

"Relax, kitten." Mr Park seems to notice your sudden discomfort. "Spread your legs for me."

And just like that night, your legs are over the armrests, the wand dangerously close to your clit.

"Having a good view, Kim?"

"A gorgeous one, Park."

Mr Kim leans back on his chair, hands working on his belt but not yet doing anything. It seems he enjoys watching more than doing anything. A sweet vibrating sensation spreads all over your folds, and you cannot help but buck your hips into the toy.

"Make your screen bigger, Seonghwa. So that she can see just how pretty she looks."

The man doesn't pull the gadget away as he changes the screen size, making Hongjoong's the one in the corner and yours taking over the screen. Now you can clearly see yourself; spread on Mr Park's lap, his chin resting on your shoulder, dark eyes looking at you through the camera. His ringed fingers are skillfully moving the toy up and down your clit, while his other hand holds onto the belt, lightly choking you.

"Doesn't moan easily, huh? Try circles."

Mr Park listens, circling the swollen bud with consistent vibrations. You feel like you're going to cum any second, and you don't want to do that so soon.

"Feel good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, holding onto the fabric of his pants as you try your best not to go over the edge.

"Then let us hear it, doll."

No matter how good it felt, it wasn't enough to draw moans from you. "You have to try better than that, then."

A scoff leaves his tinted lips. He brings them close to your neck, just enough to lick a stripe up to your jaw.

"Use your other hand, too."

Mr Kim is so skilled with giving orders. And Mr Park is so good at listening to him. His fingers, which are the prettiest ones you've ever seen in your life, move your panties aside just to slowly thrust between your walls. He explores, wiggling his two fingers inside until he curls them up. With the elbow of the hand which holds the toy, he presses into your lower stomach, making the feeling more intense than ever. He starts pumping into you slow, matching the rhythm of the vibrations.

"I've never seen such an obedient kitten. Look how good she is doing."

"Indeed, she is doing so well. Now, if she could orgasm on my fingers, she would be the best."

"Ngh—" you groan, chasing the orgasm just like he asked you to. You know you can't handle two, but you're willing to try for him. Well, them.

"Come on, pretty girl."

"S-sir—" you cry out, ready to spill over, "I can't—"

"Can't what?" He slows down, moving the wand away for a moment. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You feel all wet and sticky, but look hotter than ever. You're still unused by him, yet you looked like he has ravished you twice today.

"If I cum now, it'll be too much." You admit, pupils big as you look at him. "I want to cum when you fuck me."

"Spoke too soon about obedience, huh?"

The wicked smirk on the screen lets you know that they won't let you off so easily. Mr Park then slams his lips onto yours, sucking and licking at the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he brings the wand back to your clit. You shake in his lap, feeling a tad bit overstimulated. His other hand holds your thighs separated, but you still try to close them. The warm muscle of his tongue massages yours, and for a moment, you forget about Mr Kim. You forget about your best friend. You wish to wake up like this every day, admired, praised and consumed by him. Your hands reach into his hair, grabbing at the fluffy strands and anything else they can reach.

"That's so fucking hot. I didn't know how sexy you make out, Hwa."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and in that moment, you wished to experience it every day. You wished this wasn't just messing around with your friend's dad. Your feelings for him are growing, and you know them well it's forbidden. But how to tell a heart no?

"You're welcome to come over and try these days," he winks at the screen, then shifts his attention back to you. "And just what do we do with you now? Do I make you cum and stop the fun?"

His thumb caresses your flushed cheek. You have a hard time forming a sentence, and all you can do is breathe into his mouth and look at him. His tongue peeks to wet his lips, doing the same to yours in the process.

"You'd rather shamelessly drip all over my pants like this? You just want my daughter to find out?"

Come to think of it, it's weird that she didn't notice your absence. Maybe she gave up. Maybe she went back to sleep. Whatever it is, you've made it clear to her that this is nothing more than just messing around. No romance involved. Even though your heart feels tight at the last sentence, you pretend like it's nothing. All those things you've thought about while touching yourself late at night are coming to life, and you won't try to stop that in any way.

"Mr Park?"

He hums, fingers fixing your hair and eyes scanning your face with adoration. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Please fuck me."

"When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?" He says with a chuckle, then glances at the screen.

Mr Kim is sat still, looking at everything unfolding in front of him as if he's watching a movie. Or a porn video. His attention is fixed on your breasts, and you allow yourself another moment of confidence. You cup them, rubbing your nipples and squeezing the soft flesh while throwing your head back.

Mr Kim clicks his tongue, then gets closer to the screen. He rests his elbows on the desk, and his head on his hands. "Hwa, give her a little treat from me."

The older man doesn't waste a single second before licking a stripe over your breast. He wraps his lips around your bud of nerves, then proceeds to work his tongue around it. You're squirming in his lap, accidentally stroking him while doing so. He hums into you, the vibrations making you let out the first moan.

"There it is."

You feel so close, but you're too far. Your body is limp, and he hasn't even had you the way he promised yet. As if he could hear your thoughts, Mr Park hooks his fingers under your panties. He grazes over your clit, then pulls the panties down your legs.

"Let's pull a real trick now, kitten."

The man adjusts your body on his lap with ease, and you're too mesmerised by his strength to notice that his cock is at your entrance. It is when he lightly slaps your clit and pulls the belt on your neck that you give him attention.

"Eyes on Hongjoong."

You try to protest, but he grabs your jaw and inserts a finger into your mouth. Your head is now stuck in one position, and you can't avoid Mr Kim's gaze. He has a wicked grin on his face again, and just when you're about to make a stupid remark, Park Seonghwa slowly lifts his hips to enter you. He deliciously fills you up, leaving no space at all. His hot skin is grazing your walls just right, but not yet hitting the spot you need the most.

"Fuck—" he hisses, keeping the slow motions going.

You glance at the corner of the screen, seeing Mr Kim now palming himself through his pants. "You've gotta tell me where you buy these kittens, man."

The man behind you laughs between the moans, but doesn't say anything. He enjoys it as much as you, and isn't bothered to keep any conversations or teasing going. At least you hope so.

He lifts your body up, then moves his hips upwards so that he can move faster. Watching yourself get fucked on the screen by a man your dad's age, while another one watches wasn't quite in your fantasy list. But fuck, you're so happy that it's happening. Your eyes follow Mr Park's cock as it smoothly disappears inside of you, causing you to whine and moan in his arms.

"Think you've teased her enough?"

"Just a bit more." The man whispers, head falling back on the chair and his moves getting sloppy. "Fuck, love, you're gonna make me cum so quick."

You feel like you're dripping all over the place. His cock is soaking up your juices, making wet noises in the process. That, along with his skin hitting yours as he reaches the deepest ends of you, is what will keep you fueled for months. You glance at him through the screen, and you almost cream right there on his cock. Something about fucking in clothes is a huge turn on for you, and seeing Park Seonghwa sprawled out on his chair, with his unbuttoned white shirt and pretty gold jewellery, with his head resting back and eyes rolling from pleasure, with his fingers digging into your skin and hair sticking to his forehead, makes your head spin. You wish to take a picture, and look at it every night just to admire him. His sun kissed chest is exposed more than when you entered the room, and you wish to mark him up so bad. Hopefully, next time.

His hips are going at a slow pace, but deeper than last time. He reaches to all the places inside of you, stroking them all just right. He lifts your body, just to slam it down on his cock and hit your most sensitive spot. A loud moan is halfway out your lips, but he is quick to pull the belt to keep you quiet. He repeats the movements, this time faster and harder.

"Oh, baby," he almost growls under his breath, "making daddy feel so good."

Then, as if something has snapped inside of him, he pushes the chair back and lets it fall back with a thud. His hands push your body down onto the desk, and he grabs your waist like his life depends on it. He adjusts the camera so that Mr Kim can get a clear view of your drooling and flushed face, along with Mr Park's lower body continuously slamming into you. You feel so sensitive, and you haven't orgasmed once yet. Tears form at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You're not sure if you're crying from pleasure or pain, but you didn't want either to stop.

And Park Seonghwa fucking adored it. He adored your face decorated with tears as he took you from behind, forcing you to watch yourself on camera while another stranger is watching you.

"Wish you could see how well you're taking me." He groans. "So fucking good for me."

"Is she taking it like a good girl, Hwa?"

"Oh, she's doing such a good job. Aren't you, love?" He says with a smirk, knowing that you're incapable of speaking.

Your eyes roll back, and you feel like you're going to evaporate. His consistent thrusts are helping you build up the orgasm, and you just know that you're going to cum harder than ever.

"You're fucking her dumb."

"I know. Look at her." Mr Park pulls the belt so that you can lift your head from the desk. Your lips are dry, and you can barely see anymore. Everything is blurry, and you feel nothing but endless pleasure. "Loves being thrown around and used until she cries. Don't you?"

You manage to nod, but quickly go back to moaning and almost drooling all over his desk and keyboard. His hand sneaks towards your clit, toying with it in circles until he has you screaming and almost growling. He is abusing all the sensitive buds on your body he can reach, from you G spot and your clit, to both of your nipples.

"Talk to her, Hwa. Make her speak even though she obviously can't. Make her cry and beg for you."

"Hear that, pretty one? Talk to me. Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?"

You want to kill Mr Kim for giving him the idea of making you talk. All you want to do is cum already. All this teasing is doing you no good. It's becoming addictive, and you just know this won't be the last time.

"Y-you, Sir." You choke out, body still rocking into his.

"Will you take all of my seed like a good girl you are?"

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes—"

"Will you fuck yourself on my cock until you've creamed all over it?"

"Yes, oh fuck, yes—" you groan, moving your hips back so you can fuck yourself on his cock just like he asked you to.

You look at his figure through the screen. His gaze is fixed on the way your tight walls are swallowing him up, and he seems completely mesmerised by it. You use him as you'd use one of those dildos you have saved on a Web shop, milking him just right. His moans are low and the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life. With each minute that passes, his voice becomes lower and much more of a whisper.

His eyes search for yours, and once you lock your gaze with his, you don't let go. You let him fuck you into the desk, with a whole stranger watching. Tears roll down your face, pleasure too intense to take. You groan, moan and whine at each thrust, trying your best to chase your orgasm.

Seeing that you're struggling, he picks you up, only to throw you against the bookshelf. He lifts your leg up, almost resting it on his shoulder. The new angle has you reaching new notes, and he has to stick his fingers into your mouth to keep your noises muffled.

"How cute. Fucking her against the Erotica section."

The shelves shake as Park Seonghwa slams into you, each thrust abusing your G spot so good that you're drooling around his fingers.

"Come on, kitten. Cum on daddy's cock. Milk me dry."

You moan around his fingers, and he takes that as a signal that you're close. He replaces the fingers with his lips, tongue searching for yours only to caress it in the most sensual way ever.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes—"

"Come on, just a bit more. Almost there—"

"Fuck, oh fuck, yes—" Your head falls on his shoulder, hands holding onto them for dear life.

"I'm cumming, love, I'm gonna—" his breathing is heavy, and his moans are now getting high pitched," fuck, oh God, baby—"

You squeeze around him, riding out your orgasm as he paints your walls with his seed. You're weak in his arms as he uses you until the end, making you milk him dry just like he asked. He thrusts into you a few more times, slower and more gentle than ever.

His fingers cup your jaw, lifting your head up so that he can look at you. He wipes your tears with his thumb, then inserts it into his mouth. You can't help but laugh at his wicked kink. He isn't moving away from you. Instead, his lips mold into yours softly. He caresses your cheek as he gently sucks on your lip, occasionally grazing it with his tongue.

"Ah, the aftercare. The best part, honestly."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss for the second time that day, making your heart flutter. "Liar," he mumbles.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sings of discomfort. When he sees none, he rewards you with another kiss, a kiss so light and comforting that for a second, you really thought he could want something more than just fooling around. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer towards you and deepening the kiss. You're mesmerised by the way he kisses. His scent is all over your body, and his tongue is taking care of yours in ways nobody ever knew.

This time you're the one to pull away, trying to catch some air. He rests his forehead on yours, his heavy breathing comforting on your face.

"I think I'm addicted to you."

You're taken aback by his statement. You're unable to move, or say anything. All you can do is watch as his face turns from calm and content to one of worry and fear.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Only sexually?"

Now he is the one who is taken aback. He didn't quite think about it. Sure, he can't wait to see you. He always checks if you're coming in the house with his daughter. He loves seeing you in your bubble when you eat or speak about your newest fandom.

Ah, shit.

"Let's start differently."

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. The man licks his lips, then sighs. "How does dinner this Saturday sound?"

A laugh escapes your lips, and he follows right after. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, then finally speak.

"That's quite formal for someone who is still balls deep inside of me."

A moan of surprise leaves your body as he thrusts into you, more teasingly than sexually. He then proceeds to pull out, making his seed drip down your legs and onto the carpet.

"Want me to try again now?"

"Not necessary," you finally put your leg down from his shoulder, muscles sore from the new position, "I accept the invitation, Mr Park."

He hums, not bothering to correct your addressing. You were hoping you'd get to call him by his first name. Maybe it's too early. Still, it doesn't stop you from constantly thinking about it.

Seonghwa.

How pretty.

♡

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

@scardorosht @kitty4hwa @seokjins-condoms  @variety-is-the-joy-of-life  @rkivesofmymemories @ateezzseonghwaa @bangmechann  @dandelion-aj  @rialovesyunho  @ryleleee  @anoooon13

[winter-soldier-101]

I will take what is mine! 5

(Y/N) lay in bed as Jace gives the baby to a wet nurse and leaves (Y/N).

“He’s here, he's really here?” (Y/N) asks softly.

“My Queen we must go we have to get you and the children to safety” Ser Jason tells (Y/N) as he helps her up slowly.

“No I have to go out there I have to stop him Ser Jason he’ll kill Jacaerys” (Y/N) tells Ser Jason.

“My Queen, are you sure you can stop him?” Ser Jason asks (Y/N).

“Yes I can stop him!” (Y/N) says.

(Y/N) gets out of bed and holds onto Ser Jason as they make way to the front of the Red Keep and guards are standing around Jace as Aemond lands his dragon next to them (Y/N) holds Ser Jason as they make way over to Jace.

“Stop this madness now!” (Y/N) yells out as both men look at her.

“(Y/N)” Aemond whispers as he makes his way over to her.

“No you will not touch her!” Jace yells as he pulls (Y/N) behind him.

“No she is my wife nephew and because I am still alive your marriage to her is no longer valid and the children she gave birth to are mine not yours!” Aemond yells at Jace.

“No you left her alone and I was there for her and your sons and she gave me children they are mine not yours!” Jace yells at Aemond.

“Stop this now!” (Y/N) yells out.

“You left me I thought you were dead and now you want to come back like nothing happened and I don’t know if I can forgive you Aemond but if you stand down and bend the knee to Jace I will let you see the children” (Y/N) says to Aemond.

Aemond bends down to one knee and bows down to Jace.

“Uncle I’m sorry for all the pain we’ve caused you but we are family and we must stand together and I will let you live here with us and you will still be married to (Y/N) but she will remain married to me we will both be her husbands” Jace says to Aemond.

“Thank you and I will agree if (Y/N) is okay with the situation” Aemond says to Jace as they both look at (Y/N).

“I agree to it all” (Y/N) says smiling at both Aemond and Jace.

Jace smiles at (Y/N) and hugs her as Aemond slowly holds her close. Aemond looks at Jace and hugs him as they all walk into the Red Keep and see the children all together in their chambers.

Aenys and Maegor get up and see Aemond and run over to him and hold him close as they cry together.

“Jace I need to tell you something” Aemond says to Jace as they walk out into the hallway.

“That night when Lucerys went to Storm's End and as we flew after each other I lost control of Vhagar I never meant to kill him I only meant to scare him but I lost control of her and she went after him even when I told her not to and I’m sorry” Aemond tells Jace.

“Thank you for telling me Aemond,” Jace says as they hug and walk back into the room.

(Y/N) smile at them as the two men she had grown to love are getting along and her children are happy and she is once again happy to have everyone she loves with her.

Tag-list: @solkara @hc-geralt-23 @snh96 @bunny24sstuff @aemondwhoresworld @immyowndefender @soberbabes @spacexdrago

[bomberqueen17]

liveblogging the aubreyad 1: Master & Commander

ok so. i'm going to liveblog my reread of the Patrick O'Brian Jack Aubrey series of books, in potentially more or less detail, because it's something to do and it's funny. Starting with book 1, Master & Commander, copyright date 1969, which I definitely first read in like 1991 when I was waaaaay too young to understand approximately half the references. There will be spoilers. There may or may not be an accurate representation of the entire contents of the series. We'll see how long I keep this up. I wish I could write it in the entertaining style of my Wee Precious Flower Prince Geralt Witcher 3 playthroughs of yore but those were written under 1) quarantine confinement, 2) incredible amounts of gin, 3) after collaborative sessions, and I just can't make that happen solo.

But I will do my poor, reduced, older and more sedate best. I promise that while these books are not quite as dramatically crack-addled as Witcher 3, they are weirder than you think, which is critical.

OK so. We start off swinging with the meet-ugly. In fair Port Mahon we lay our scene, in the year 1800 (or 1801?? we also start off swinging with never quite having the tiny details quite laid down), we meet our fair hero Jack Aubrey, a six-foot, well-built, yellow-haired lieutenant in the Royal Navy, a cheerful high-spirited cove who immediately pisses off the unpleasant little man sitting next to him at this chamber music concert by singing along to the music. Relatable reaction by the unpleasant little man, to be sure. Aubrey is having a bad time, though— he has not been promoted and he doesn’t have a ship so he has nothing to do but get in trouble, and his spirits are too low to get into a fight with the unpleasant little man, though he briefly considers it. We soon find out that the sole bright spot in Jack's life is that he's fucking his boss’s wife, which seems like a bad idea but who are we to judge. But lo! He gets back to the inn where he’s staying only to find a letter informing him that he has been promoted! He is now the master and commander of his very own ship, which we are informed is a sloop. Also throwing us into the deep end of Listen Baby It’s Just Vibes. The nautical language and technical shit comes fast and thick and if you just sort of roll with it you figure it out. Don’t Worry About It. There Will Be Context Clues.

Now that Jack is professionally fulfilled he is happy, and so the next morning when he happens to see his unpleasant little man from the previous night, he shows his true colors: he immediately bounds across the street and wholeheartedly, unreservedly apologizes for being a dipshit, like the golden retriever he really is at heart. The unpleasant little man is so shocked by this that he loses all his unpleasantness, has a really nice conversation with Jack, and immediately gets distracted by the sighting of a rare bird. Stephen Maturin is now successfully introduced, exactly as he means to go on as well. He is a physician, but his patient died and he's stuck without money to get home, literally sleeping rough because no one will answer his letters and he's out of cash. Jack meanwhile has a ship with no surgeon on it, and a vacancy, and they like one another, so it seems a simple solution. And so Stephen shall go to sea.

I suppose, really, that’s the genius of this series. The characters are round, complicated creatures, with obvious and consistent surface qualities but also equally consistent, apparently-contradictory, deeper qualities. Even minor characters sometimes possess this level of depth. Even the cartoony-awful little shit Harte (sometime captain, then admiral, the boss whose wife Jack has been fucking but in Jack's defense so is everybody else) has depths. Unpleasant depths, but he's got reasons and motivations and you do really believe in him; this pays off in book 8 in particular.

We meet Jack's first command, the Sophie, the loveliest tiniest little ship ever, staffed by a pack of utter weirdos. TOM PULLINGS makes his first appearance (he is my favorite supporting character throughout the series, so he will be capitalized henceforth) along with his delightful henchman (the other senior midshipman) Mowett who is James in his first and last appearances and most of the others but for some reason becomes William for a while in the middle, most notably in book 8, and has thus passed into the movie as William. Those are our master's mates, or senior midshipmen. In O'Brian's typical fashion we don't get really concrete physical descriptions of them in the normal sense, but instead get really evocative but nonspecific ones. TOM PULLINGS is "a big shy master's mate", elsewhere specified to be sort of gangly, long and thin, young, with a country accent and foremast-jack antecedents (i.e. started out as a regular sailor and was promoted, instead of the more normal approach where a family of means sends a son to sea as a midshipman), who absolutely blossoms under Jack Aubrey's leadership-by-enthusiastic-example, and we will see him through most of the rest of the series continuing on this trajectory with great competence and charming humbleness.

James Mowett gets a great introduction. He's had a few lines prior to this, mostly repetitively described as (and shown to be) cheerful and generally enthusiastic about things, running around and getting to be the one to fetch Stephen from the shore, and later we find out that he is a prolific writer of somewhat-terrible poetry, which we'll get plenty of excerpts of over the course of the series. But his first real description is:

“James Mowett was a tubular young man, getting on for twenty; he was dressed in old sailcoth trousers and a striped Guernsey shirt, a knitted garment that gave him very much the look of a caterpillar."

There are also the youngsters. Meet my beloved son William Babbington, a miniature midshipman of between eleven and thirteen who has every venereal disease and gets drunk a lot. He also cries and swears a whole lot, mostly while sober. I love him immoderately and we will see him in several more of the books. He never gets much taller or less obsessed with womanizing. Adolescence was hard in the Georgian era. (Yes, this is the Georgian era; the Victorian era does not begin for another thirty years.)

“'I suppose you grow used to living here,' [Stephen] observed, rising cautiously to his feet. 'At first it must seem a little confined.' 'Oh, sir,' said Mowett, 'think not meanly of this humble seat, Whence spring the guardians 'of the British fleet! Revere the sacred spot, however low, Which formed to martial acts an Hawke! An Howe !' 'Pay no attention to him, sir,' cried Babbington, anxiously. 'He means no disrespect, I do assure you, sir. It is only his disgusting way.”

Throughout this series, O'Brian so so so vividly shows and describes the many phases of awkwardness that young men go through especially in military settings. It's incredibly vivid; the breaking voices, the smells, the idiotic capers, the weeping, the complete lack of foresight, the incredible cruelty and also loyalty and bravery, the sheer adolescent enthusiasm coupled with shocking laziness.

We also get some insight into contemporary social mores through the introduction of Marshall, the sailing master (a warrant officer)-- 1) he's gay and 2) Jack Aubrey is extremely his type. Different people's different attitudes toward this unspool throughout various points of the book, but the critical point is that Jack Aubrey himself has absolutely zero gaydar and while he has heard the rumor about Marshall's tendencies, he doesn't care about that stuff, studiously avoids enforcing any of the regulations against it, and he absolutely never at any point relates this to himself, and never ever realizes why the man is so driven to excel at his job. Not even when an injury to his head and face gives Jack a horrible haircut and worse appearance, and Marshall is horrified and dispirited about it; Jack never twigs just what's amiss.

To be fair to Jack, many many many of the men aboard also respond to him in a similar, though crucially different, way. This is a common thing in this kind of cooped-up little setting; you have a guy who's in charge and gives you positive feedback and like, immediately you'll die for that guy, which is kind of how the military works because you may in fact have to literally die for that guy and it's easier if you're intrinsically motivated in some way. And Jack is very, very good at this in most cases, at taking the measure of the people under his command and getting them to respond to him.

(We can return to Mowett for an explicit example: “'You may light up the sloop, Mr Mowett, and show her our force: I don't want her to do anything foolish, such as firing a gun - perhaps hurting some of our people. Let me know when you have laid her aboard.' With this [Jack] retired, calling for a light and something hot to drink; and from his cabin he heard Mowett's voice, cracked and squeaking with the excitement of this prodigious command (he would happily have died for Jack), as under his orders the Sophie bore up and spread her wings.”)

Anyway so back to the plot summary: a very good side plot throughout is that the ship's first lieutenant, James Dillon, is an Irishman, and he and Stephen Maturin were both involved in the Irish rebellion in 1798. When they meet, James recognizes Stephen, and cautiously sounds him out about having met before, and Stephen very coolly replies we've never met but you must be thinking of my cousin who looks just like me but uglier, *so* ugly, he has the face of an informer, and everyone hates an informer and james is like Ah. You Are Absolutely Correct Sir We Have Never Met. This subplot develops into a delicious meditation on divided loyalties and the agony of staying true to oneself while doing what one must do. Highly recommended, A++. Begins to give us some insight into the various depths of Stephen, who doesn't understand tides or wind and hasn't the sense to come in out of the rain but has a deep and complicated history and identity and above all an incredible capacity for ruthlessness, absolutely none of which Jack understands.

Stephen and James in dialogue when they're finally in privacy enough to discuss it (Stephen is the first speaker, James the second):

“I speak only for myself, mind - it is my own truth alone - but man as part of a movement or a crowd is indifferent to me. He is inhuman. And I have nothing to do with nations, or nationalism. The only feelings I have -for what they are - are for men as individuals; my loyalties, such as they may be, are to private persons alone.'' "Patriotism will not do?'' "My dear creature, I have done with all debate. But you know as well as I, patriotism is a word; and one that generally comes to mean either my country, right or wrong, which is infamous, or my country is always right, which is imbecile." ''Yet you stopped Captain Aubrey playing Croppies Lie Down the other day.” "Oh, I am not consistent, of course; particularly in little things. Who is? He did not know the meaning of the tune, you know. He has never been in Ireland at all, and he was in the West Indies at the time of the rising. [...] But as for that song, I acted as I did partly because it is disagreeable to me to listen to it and partly because there were several Irish sailors within hearing, and not one of them an Orangeman; and it would be a pity to have them hate him when nothing in the manner of insult was within his mind's reach.”

uhhhhhhh but meanwhile: Jack Aubrey and the Sophies wreak havoc in the Mediterranean and make a lot of money and enemies, to the point that the local merchants band together to commission a fairly serious ship expressly to fuck them up. They meet this ship unsuspectingly, manage just in time to disguise themselves, and Stephen hails the ship and asks them in bad Spanish if they know anything about treating the plague, could they send a doctor over, could they spare any medicine. This scares them off and they go away. But now the Sophies know what this ship looks like and what armament it has. So the next time they meet it, they fight it, and so the tiny 14-gun Sophie with 82 men and boys aboard manages to capture the 32-gun Cacafuego with 319 men aboard, and it's very gallant and dashing and probably should not have worked, but it does.

And a little later, the Sophie accidentally meets a pair of very powerful French ships and gets taken in return despite doing some really heroic evasive manoevers.

The French are super nice to them, and we meet a French ship captain named Christy-Palliere who becomes a recurring character, who has English cousins and speaks great English and is both charming and nice, saying things like gather ye rose pods while ye may and being generally gallant. Until some even more powerful English ships heave into view, and the tables turn, but even then Christy-Palliere remains gallant and well-behaved.

We end the book with the court-martial. Any officer who loses his ship for any reason has to go before a court of sea captains to ascertain whether he did everything in his power to avoid losing his ship. So all the officers of the Sophie, including the midshipmen, including the surgeon, have to testify about this. (I feel like the other warrant officers should also have had to testify? but they weren't there and i'm not sure why. TOM PULLINGS is also not mentioned in the scene which he absolutely should be present for, so it's possible that they were just omitted for time.)

“They had each received an official notification the day before, and for some reason each had brought it with him, folded or rolled. After a while Babbington and Ricketts took to changing all the words they could into obscenities, secretly in a corner, while Mowett wrote and scratched out on the back of his, counting syllables on his fingers and silently mouthing. Lucock stared straight ahead of him into vacancy.”

Spoiler: the jury decides that there's not really anything more a 14-gun sloop could have done against two French ships of the line, so they exonerate Captain Aubrey for the loss of his sloop, and thus ends the book.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 75

After being yelled at on the mountain, Jaskier stumbles and tumbles his way down the perilous path down, all the while being half-blinded by his own tears. He makes it to town and decides to wait. Geralt will realize it was all a mistake and come to find him and apologize. It'll take a few days, but Jaskier can wait. He'll play for some coin, and buy himself something nice to distract himself from the heartbreak. It's been four days. Jaskier has a room at an inn, two beds, in case Geralt doesn't want to sleep in the same bed with him like they used to. Jaskier plays every night. Everyone keeps requesting his songs about Geralt, but he redirects them easily enough. The only problem is he ran out of non-Geralt songs after the second day. Even ones that don't mention him, Jaskier can't bring himself to play, because he knows that he wrote them about Geralt. It's been a week. Jaskier has his room at the same inn. He still plays for coin, but he's been forced to play his songs about Geralt, as nobody wants to hear the same songs for a week straight, so he had to diversify. Jaskier is worried Geralt might've gotten hurt. Hopefully with his witcher healing, he'll be here in no time. It's been two weeks. Jaskier has his room at the inn. He's decided to take a break from playing for a bit, lest he get boring for the crowds. He's begun really exploring the town, and he's even met one of his frequent listeners out in town, got his name - Pietr - And was introduced to his wife as "The song guy". It was nice hearing compliments about his work from them both, even if it did remind him of the nights Geralt would talk in-depth about Jaskier's songcycles with him. He misses those nights. He hopes Geralt heals up from whatever injury he must've gotten and gets here soon so they can continue having those. It's been two months. Jaskier has changed to a one-bed room. Geralt is taking forever, he can deal with sharing a bed with Jaskier when he gets here. Jaskier plays every few nights, he has regular listeners now. He's tried writing new songs, but every time he puts quill to parchment, he starts crying. Really wish he'd stop doing that. It's been four months. Jaskier has changed his room again, now in a room with a single small bed, just for one person. It'd be physically impossible to even attempt sharing it with Geralt, unless they laid on top of each other, and even then, Geralt's feet would poke out. Jaskier can only assume Geralt went after Yennefer before him. As always. Jaskier isn't sure why it came as a surprise when he first figured it out. Or why it still hurt enough to make him bawl into a glass of alcohol. He should've known from the beginning. At least he'll be next, he thinks moments before passing out drunk. It's been six months. Jaskier is beginning to worry Geralt may have died. Surely he would've come by now. Jaskier's head still whips around to look at the door every time it opens. He still peeks into every stable and prays he'll see Roach. He still asks the blacksmith if he's done any work with swords recently. One especially mortifying moment was the time he asked a brothel if they had seen Geralt's description, only for the women to all tut sadly and tell him that if he had to look at brothels to try and find his missing husband, he must've not been good enough for Jaskier to begin with. Jaskier leaves without even clearing up the misconception, because it was still a no. Geralt was still not here.

It's been eight months. Jaskier has the same room, but has begun to dwindle in popularity. At least in the "giving money to" department. He thought he could at least expect Pietr, but he ran into him in the market the other day and Pietr had no idea who he was. Jaskier must really be that forgettable, despite all his attempts his whole life to not be. Jaskier must've just overexaggerated what he meant to someone again. Jaskier has scaled the mountain again, all by himself. Either he finds signs of Geralt, dead or alive, or he dies in some rockslide accident and nobody misses him. He finds no signs of Geralt, however. Not a thing. Geralt left the mountain, that was for sure. Jaskier sat on the very same rock, and cried thinking of the very same coast, but this time he was alone. It's been ten months. Jaskier spends his days and nights either drinking or crying. He's only written one new song, one about someone's love dying before they ever get to tell them how they feel. He's never sung it, though. For a performance or in private. He's stopped playing altogether. He has no idea what to do with the rest of his life. As sad and pitiful and pathetic as he thinks himself when he says it, his life was Geralt. Following him for twenty years, writing songs about him, spreading word about him, making a name for himself as "The White Wolf's bard." It's been a year. Jaskier bought himself a small hovel in the village. He'd been there far too long to keep using the inn. He has a small flower garden. He spends most of his time tending it. Jaskier heard a villager say their penpal's village was recently saved by the White Wolf himself, and Jaskier freezes, standing still and gaping at the two women chatting. They begin to realize Jaskier's eavesdropping and move to talk inside their home. Oh. So Geralt lived. He just truly didn't come for Jaskier. Jaskier throws the last song he wrote for Geralt into the fire. Geralt isn't dead. But Geralt probably wishes Jaskier was. Jaskier stays inside his home long enough for his garden to get overrun with weeds and pests. He only leaves his home when one day, there's incessant knocking on his door. He opens it to find Yennefer. Great. She grabs his arm, summons a portal behind her, and shOVES him in. She sits him down in a chair in a kitchen, comments on how terrible he looks, and then leaves upstairs. After a few moments, Yennefer drags Geralt in, even though Geralt is clearly trying his best not to enter the room. Lovely. As if Jaskier didn't already feel like the bane of Geralt's existence. Yennefer finally sits Geralt down, and explains to them that it was just as she thought. They were bespelled. Geralt has been having lapses of memory and odd sudden urges for about a year now. He'd forget people he spoke to, towns he'd go in, and suddenly go off his routes or paths with intense need to go on a detour he could never talk himself out of. Geralt can hardly listen to her, he's just stuck staring at Jaskier with awe. Jaskier's alive. Jaskier's alive. Ever since the mountain, Geralt has been visiting the towns around the mountain, praying to find his bard again, only for everybody in the towns to not have seen anyone meeting his description. It was only two months in that he combed the entire mountain, both hoping and dreading to find Jaskier's body. He found nothing. No signs of his bard. And with nobody ever seeing him enter the village, it's almost as if he just... disappeared. Yennefer explains that anytime Geralt asked someone of Jaskier, the person would forget everything they knew about him. Any time Geralt almost made contact with Jaskier, his mind would suddenly tug him into a new direction. it seems to have been born into existence the day they had their fight on the mountain. Specifically when Geralt asked for life to take Jaskier off his hands.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 23

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I sprained my ankle.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king shifts you off of him, lifting you with him as he stands. The tension is rigid in his grip. He steadies your bodies and helps you over the edge of the tub. Another pounding sounds at the door and his name arises again. 

King Geralt follows, splashing water on the floor in his expediency. He takes a bath sheet from the wardrobe and wraps it around you, not saying a word. Your heart races as you let him move you. You’re paralysed with the embarrassment of that moment. You’re about to be caught out in a perilous position. 

He urges you towards the bed and points you onto it. You hug the sheet around you and sit near the pillows. He pulls shut the canopy around you, blocking out the room behind the drapings. You sink down, horrified. He’s hiding you. As thankful as you are for his discretion it only reminds you of your own guilt. 

He coughs and his feet slap around. You hear another rustle of linen and your ears prick as he goes to the door. He inches it open with a creak, “Vesemir,” he greets flatly. 

“Ah, the king lives,” the gritty voice is more familiar without the barrier of the wood, “ah, and look at him, in his respite, enjoying the hot waters as his wife runs amok in my castle.” 

“Wife?” Geralt repeats grimly, “what is your meaning?” 

“Do you mean to keep my out in the corridors of my own home?” The man demands and slaps the door. “Boy--” 

“Eh,” the king grunts, “mind yourself.” 

“Don’t play proper with me,” the man scoffs and the door groans, letting him in. You can see shadows through the small slot between the curtains. You shy away, hoping whoever it is won’t look back. 

“Vesemir,” the king repeats, confirming the identity, “what is my wife about?” 

“Won’t you come see?” The man challenges, “her and her soldiers are raiding my cellar. I allowed one bottle and now I will be drunk dry. I serve the kingdom but I did not swear myself to spoiled summer welps.” 

“Mm,” the king growls as he moves beyond your sight, not that you can see very much through the narrow space. “I’ll tend to her--” 

“Certainly, you will or I will march her out with my ax.” 

“You needn’t go so far,” the king girds with a sigh as you hear the stiffness of leather. 

“When you marched south, I didn’t think it would soften you,” Vesemir rebukes, “you hide in a tower, soaking in steam.” 

“It has been a long road. We won’t be long here and I thought to wash,” King Geralt sneers defensively. “Even bears like you need a good scrubbing. You more than any, I think.” 

Silence. Tense and roiling. You crawl forward to get a better view of the room. You put your eye to the slat between the curtains and nearly squeak as the older man booms with laughter and claps the younger’s bare shoulder. 

“Aye, I probably do smell like the caves,” he rumbles. “And you always did smell like a horse, Geralt.” 

The king mutters again as he pulls a tunic over his head, the wet tails of his hair leaving speckles of water across the wool. You blink as the other man shifts and you see his profile clear. You know the man. It is the cook. Rather, not a cook at all but Vesemir, the lord of the castle. You're caught in surprise, staring through at him. 

As if drawn by your gaze, he glances over and you quickly retreat from the curtain, hoping you were not spotted. His tongue makes a noise against the roof of his mouth and he huffs. His sole scuffs as the king’s laces whip against his boots. 

“Geralt,” Vesemir intones with disappointment. 

Silence and another heavy breath. You don’t know from which man. The chair scrapes as the king stands. 

“It isn’t to mind,” King Geralt insists, “I will fetch my queen and put her back in her chamber.” 

Vesemir growls, “I do wonder why she might act so, with such a loving husband.” 

“Enough. It isn’t your concern.” 

“Not as yet, but the king’s business is everyone’s concern. Especially of those who marched on his behalf for a summer’s kingdom and a summer’s queen.” 

“You did not march,” the king rebuffs. 

“Eh, do not,” Vesemir warns, “I do not lecture, I warn you. You are a king now, mm, not a boy playing at tourney knight.” 

“I am aware,” King Geralt snips, “tell me what you are aware of, hiding away in your vultures’ pit. These winter lords wanted home to their families, so I made it so. I agreed to marry that... traitor’s daughter and what have I got for it but a headache? You need not make my skull pound any harder, Vesemir.” 

“Oh yes, your father was no fan of politics either. Nor did he play them well. Perhaps you might take another lesson after him,” Vesemir rebukes, “that turncloak’s daughter will not be any more amenable should she learn of her husband’s follies.” 

“She cannot see past her own nose,” Geralt straps his sword over his back. 

“You are hard to miss,” Vesemir insists. 

“Let us go to the cellar, I tire of your reproach.” 

“Ever obstinate, my liege,” the lords tuts and shakes his head, turning for the door. 

You angle to watch them go, the door shutting heavily in their stead. You let out a breath and hug your legs to your chest. You look up at the canopy and the looming bed frame. And so it begins, you sit, trapped by the king’s deceit. 

⚔️

After some time, you dare to step beyond the canopy. You dress and sit at the table; the chamber growing still as the water cools and stagnates. The fire crackles to embers but you’re too fraught to think to feed it. You stare at the door. The longer you wait, the more your doubt threatens to consume you. 

There is no dial or no sunlight to gauge how long but it is longer than you anticipate. You grow restless and rise, pacing as you twist your palms against each other. Is it the queen the keeps the king? Or something more dire? 

When at last you hear movement on the stairs, you can’t help but hide against the wall. The footsteps hammer up and the door bursts open from the other side. At first, you fear the worst. Perhaps your mind has made it all a bit too extravagant but in a manner, you long for it to end, one way or the other. 

King Geralt storms in like a gust of wind and snow. The wood snaps against stone as he blusters across the floor and kicks a chair. It cracks against the table and the armrest splinters. You curl your fingers into your apron and sway.  

The king grabs the edge of the table and overturns it, sending the books and plates atop it to the floor. He circles like a rabid wolf, stomping and seething, growling as his anger simmers up his throat. He stops as if struck and goes to the bed, tearing back the canopy. His chest puffs as his brow furrows. 

“Treasure...” he breathes. 

You shudder, “your highness.” 

He turns and sees you, his shoulders easing. He closes his eyes and his jaw locks. He pushes his hands over his hair as he calms himself. He opens his eyes against and drops his arms. 

“Did I frighten you? I didn’t mean to,” he slowly comes closer, “you know I could never harm you.” 

“Yes, your highness, I only meant to be out of the way,” you utter. “Something is amiss?” 

“Mmm,” he hums through his nose, “that is a way to say it.” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles, “my wife has not been a very gracious guest. Lord Vesemir’s hospitality quickly wanes. The storm won’t be much longer before we can depart...” he doesn’t look happy for the fact, “and we would be best to do so quickly.” 

“Is that not good? Aren’t you happy to go home?” You ask. 

His expression softens, “little maid, of course. I cannot wait to show you it all but... I hoped we might have some more time before that. The road is not easy.” He exhales and raises your hands, kissing each, “I must let you go for now. I have acted hastily and there are still matters to attend to. The war I started still roils in the air.” He shakes his head, “I have foes to harry as yet.” 

You blink, “what do you mean?” 

“Never you worry,” he lowers your hands, “I’ve only one mission for you, little maid.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

��You will return to the queen’s service, yes? You will tend to her as you always have but you will watch and you will listen. Every lord, every lady, ever single vermin that keeps her company, I want to know of,” he sneers.  

“Your highness? Why--” 

“Do not ask why. I require it, that is all you need to know. For our safety, you must do this,” he clings to you, “treasure, I know you are a loyal creature, it is what first drew me to you, but that woman you serve wouldn’t know loyalty if it crept up her skirts.” He lets you go hesitantly, “she is still a traitor’s daughter.” 

Your lip trembles and you quickly still it. He is asking you to play spy. On Jazlene. On your queen. His very own wife. But why? She is foolish, she is a drunkard, but she is harmless. 

“You swore yourself to your duty, didn’t you?” He arches a brow. “The king comes above all. Regardless of house, of master, you serve me.” 

“I will serve as I swore,” you grit out, injured by his tone. 

That same day he was gentle and now he is steely and demanding. He toys with you. He only means to use you in whatever way the moment calls for. It is not grand revelation but no less painful. 

“Do not be sombre, treasure, in due time,” he rasps. He backs away and puts his back to you, “go, before I let my heart get the best of me. Should you stay longer, I might never let you leave.” 

“Your highness,” you bow and walk to the door. 

“The knight awaits you. He will take you to the queen.” 

“Thank you,” you stand in the doorway. 

“Wait,” he calls to you and follows after. You turn to find him with cloak in hand, “you will need this.” 

You look down at the cloak. You take it without protest. Even if it is tainted, he isn’t wrong. You will face the cold soon enough and you wouldn’t fare long in your wool and linen. You thank him and he sees you through the open door, closing it as you descend. 

As you come to the bottom, you find a shadow awaiting you. It isn’t Bryce. The figure is broader and his white hair shines in the torch light. You step off the bottom step and bend your neck. 

“My lord,” you greet the castle lord. 

“Maid,” he returns dully, “so it is the little dove that coos as the king.” 

You keep your head down, turning it away in shame as you purse your lips. It is your first lesson in judgment but not an easy one. 

“I didn’t expect you so much as you didn’t expect me. Sir Bryce has allowed me your time but he warned me he would be back,” he explains. “I only wanted the measure of the king’s fancy. I’ve known him a very long time so it is curious to me that he has put himself in such a... circumstance.” 

“My lord,” you whisper, throat crackling. 

“Hmmm,” he gives a thoughtful hum. You languish in his silence as he looms in the flicker of lanterns. He pushes away from the wall and steps closer. “You are not offended, but guilty. There is no presumption in you, dove. You do not take insult from what I say, you only take on the onus of the king’s desire.”  

He leans in and brings his hand under your chin, forcing your head up. He looks at you, examining you like some riddle. His wrinkles deepen as the shadows make caverns of his eye sockets. 

“I see it clear,” he remarks as he pulls his hand away. “I remember the dove who treated cook no lesser than lord,” he stands straight and crosses his arms, “I see no difference between her and you. Yes, I was not mistaken before, but I believe our king is. He does not know you though he believes he does.” 

“My lord, I serve the king.” 

“You serve your queen,” he counters, “you are of the summer, just like her. So how do you choose?” 

You stare at him and your eyes sting. Can you choose? 

“It doesn’t matter which one, either would clip your wings,” he lets out a gray breath. “Dove, I will keep your peace. I hold no malice for you, no, I pity you.” He puts his hand to his chest, “while you are under my roof, you will have whatever you need. I will have that soldier find you a proper chamber. For yourself, and should you want, you will have the pick of my pantry. What little delights you might have, I would enjoy them while you can.” 

“Thank you, my Lord, but that is very much for a maid.” 

He touches your cap, his fingers lingering on the linen, “summer dove... I told you these winds were too cold for you.” 

“I must go to the queen,” you plead. 

“Yes, go,” he backs away, “I will send your soldier to you.” His lips go crooked as his eyes narrow thoughtfully, “I’ve known Sir Bryce a very long time. That man alone is the best army you could have at your back.” 

“He is kind, sir,” you say. 

“Is he now?” Lord Vesemir scoffs, “well, maybe one day, I might remember him as such. Do not let me keep you from your duty.” 

He stays by the wall and you step around him. You don’t look back as you march forward, the cryptic conversation follows you through the corridors. There was something unsaid in his voice, as if he knew something you don’t. One might take it as him making a joke of you, but you don’t see that man laughing over such grave matters. 

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hi can i request a tom hiddleston x desi actress reader where she is pregnant and already has kids who hav hindi names which r ver cute and she craves indian food in the middle of interviews and shoots

AN - back again and I have plenty of requests and if anyone wants to request something then please feel free to send me them.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Crazy Cravings

Tom Hiddleston x Desi!Reader

Summary: You are an actress but before that, you are pregnant…

Tag list: @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @lastwandastan, @eudximoniakr, @saraelizabeth26, @girlnred, @hc-geralt-23, @omgsuperstarg, @strangesthirdeye, @clea-strange-is-the-way, @lana, @kenzi-woycehoski, @nyx2021, @all-things-fandomstuck, @newt-scamander-is-hot-af, @moon-light1415, @candypurplebutterfly, @littlesatanicassholebitch, @nats-whore, @lady-athanasia, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @hyacinthus007, @shine101

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

“How are you feeling, meri jaan?” she heard the soothing voice of her husband before she felt his hand over her protruding belly. A giggle left her throat as he placed a kiss on her cheek, chuckling softly against her skin. “I feel better now,” she replies with a grin.

Tom hums, wrinkling his eyebrows as he settles down next to her on the leather couch as everyone around them worked hard to get the place ready for the interview which would start any moment now.

As actors, Tom and (Y/N) could never take a day off, especially when they were in the center of the show. And in times like this, with the lady pregnant, Tom found himself worrying more and more about her; constantly asking whether she was fine or not, if she needed something or not.

No wonder her cousins and mother started teasing him by calling him a “mother”.

“Hello, Tom and (Y/N),” greeted the lady who was supposed to take their interview. The pair smiled brightly, greeting the lady back whose name they learnt to be Bianca.

“Are we ready?” The director asked, earning a couple of nods from the crew and thumbs up from the guests. “Well then. Lights. Camera and Action.”

And then began the interview.

The beginning was always the same; introductions, their achievements, a few questions about their current show. But after that came the personal part, one that rendered the actor a bit uncomfortable as he tried to keep his life to himself.

“So, you two have a daughter together and another little Hiddleston is on the way,” the interviewer states with a smile, making the couple glance at each other with smile as (Y/N) placed a hand over her overgrown bump. “Yes.”

“And your daughter’s name is Kavya, isn’t it?” Bianca queries, struggling with the pronunciation for a while before Tom helps her. “Yes. We decided on an Indian name because they just sound so… soothing. Like hot chocolate in winters,” Tom gushed, his face reddening up as he glanced at his wife.

“Awww… that’s sweet. (Y/N), how is the pregnancy going for you?”

“Honestly, everything is fine except for the cravings,” she whined, making the Loki actor burst into a fit of laughter as he remembered the many nights when he woke up to finding his wife cooking some Indian dish or digging deep into the kitchen cabinets to find Maggi.

“What do you crave?” Bianca asks, her eyes gleaming with happiness as she watched her favourite Hollywood couple share a glance before laughing. Once the laughter dies down, Tom replies, “it can be the weirdest thing. One second she wants to have Jalebi and the next she wants to find some Namkeen.”

“I am the mix of sweet and savoury,” she argues instantly, making him smile as he nodded, leaning in to place a kiss on her temple, “meri khatti-meethi.”

(Y/N) merely gave him a side eye before returning her focus to their interviewer who had started her next question. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you were pregnant when you were about to finish shooting for this show, right?”

The couple nodded, prompting Bianca to continue, “did you crave anything on the set?” Before the misses could answer, Tom lets out a dramatic sigh before answering, “one fine morning, she comes to my trailer, donning her costume, and literally commands me ‘I want to have fish curry made by my mother, so talk to her, take the recipe and cook it.’ And leaves before I could nod. I was so bewildered and like what should I do.”

Everyone around them laughed loudly except for (Y/N) who glared daggers at her husband before leaning in to whisper softly into his ear.

“I want to eat Samosa.”

“Haye Bhagwaan!”

[trucbiduleschouettes]

He saw the girl suddenly start, run… He heard her shrill, piercing cry.

‘Geralt!’

The Witcher turned away from his horse with a swift, agile movement and ran to meet her. Yurga stared open-mouthed. He had never thought a man could move so quickly.

They came together in the centre of the farmyard. The mousy-haired girl in a grey dress. And the white-haired Witcher with a sword on his back, all dressed in black leather, gleaming with silver. The Witcher bounding softly, the girl trotting, the Witcher on his knees, the girl’s thin hands around his neck, the mousy hair on his shoulders. Goldencheeks shrieked softly. Yurga hugged his rosy-cheeked wife when she cried out softly, pulling her towards him without a word, and gathered up and hugged both boys.

‘Geralt!’ the little girl repeated, clinging to the Witcher’s chest. ‘You found me! I knew you would! I always knew! I knew you’d find me!’

‘Ciri,’ said the Witcher.

Yurga could not see his face hidden among the mousy hair. He saw hands in black gloves squeezing the girl’s back and shoulders.

‘You found me! Oh, Geralt! I was waiting all the time! For so very long… We’ll be together now, won’t we? Now we’ll be together, won’t we? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!’

‘Forever, Ciri.’

‘It’s like they said! Geralt! It’s like they said! Am I your destiny? Say it! Am I your destiny?’

Yurga saw the Witcher’s eyes. And was very astonished. He heard his wife’s soft weeping, felt the trembling of her shoulders. He looked at the Witcher and waited, tensed, for his answer. He knew he would not understand it, but he waited for it. And heard it.

‘You’re more than that, Ciri. Much more.’

---

As I said, I read the two first witcher book yesterday and I'm really enjoying it so far, so I wanted to doodle something for it!

Not my best work, but that was still fun! I'll figure out how to draw those guys eventually! [Do not use/repost]

[two-white-butterflies]

mob wife | d. targaryen

Description: Daemon comes home covered in blood. In which, you realize the kind of life you decided to enter isn't exactly kind.

(mafia au)

Rating: Teen

Author's Note: GIF for now since Canva hates me.

A small breath exits his mouth before collapsing in front of you.

"Daemon," you whisper, kneeling down beside him. He was wise enough to lose consciousness inside the house. His eyelids flutter, a humorous chuckle escapes his lips. "Not mine, I promise." he wiped the blood off his chest, spreading it on the floor.

He vowed to protect you - to never allow harm to befall his wife and daughters - he'd be damned if he let that promise slip.

"The Hightower's men, they tried to fucking ambush us in our own home." he cursed, staring deep into your eyes and letting the moment remain. There will be time to clean - but right now, his only intention was to tell you everything he knew.

"The fucking cook. The fucking cook." he repeated while unloading his gun. "Did you take care of him?" you inquire, wiping the crimson stain away from his platinum locks. "I did more than that," he joked, holding onto your shoulders while he stood up.

"Let's get you cleaned," you breathed, dusting your knees and following after him up the stairs.

Your husband and his group called themselves the 'Dragons' - reminiscent of his family's banners in the olden days. It was said that the Targaryens commanded dragons and ruled the world with an iron fist - looking at your husband, it wasn't hard to believe that.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood of white shirts?" you raise an eyebrow, scrubbing his chest with a pink loofa. "Have the maids clean it." he replied, closing his eyes and allowing your hands to provide him with the sensations that he craved.

"- but I like washing your clothes." you hummed, smiling as his eyes opened to meet yours. He raised his hand - cupping your cheeks. "I did this so those pretty little hands of yours never touch laundry again. You are too dutiful," he mumbled - in disbelief that you were married to him. "And you are too hard-headed," you answer, reaching down to drain the bath then refill it again.

Daemon was handsome and smart - an interesting paradox of a human being. He was the perfect mixture of dangerous and dedicated - and the most important thing is; he was yours.

Yours to command.

Yours to take, and yours to obey.

There was silence between the both of you - and in spite of the smile on your lips, he knew that you were unhappy. "We'll get out of this life, I promise." he comforted, feelings your hands on his back. "You're right, this isn't the kind of life that Baela and Rhaena should have." he mumbled, waiting for a reply.

You continued rubbing the blood off his fingers.

Silence was a better answer.

"Once I get rid of the Hightowers - we'll follow Rhaenyra to America. We'll build a life for ourselves. Far away from this." he promised, pressing a kiss on your bare shoulder. "And we'll buy you a house, eh?" he smiled.

"I just wish that I never worry about your safety - never think about whether or not you're dead." you confess, eyes narrowing at stains underneath his fingernails.

"Let me worry about dying, but right now you're the boss' fucking wife - you have to own it." he cursed.

He paints a small smile on your face.

@watercolorskyy @bellastwd @fan-goddess @nyctophilic0vitnir @pearlstiare @areaderinlove @hc-geralt-23 @rozendiors