#perilous tides

[validatemylife]

There's a villain kind of like this in the actual play podcast The Critshow's patreon show Hero Salad! He doesn't explode, necessarily, but he DOES hate his job and his entire thing is going in and fuckin shit up til he gets killed, then coming back a little while later All Better Now. He's one of my favorite villains.

There's also a whole faction in their patreon show Perilous Tides whose whole shit is knitting right back together immediately. One of them does routinely blow themselves up, a few of them do hate their job. It's really good. Their bonus content tier is like $5/mo but the first six episodes of Perilous Tides are on their main feed for free, I highly highly recommend giving those a listen.

Their main show is great too, as are their one-shots and shorter campaigns. They're one of the best actual play podcasts out there and overall my favorite podcast of all time (as someone who listens to 10,000 podcasts).

immortality through not being incapable of death but by coming back to life after you die no matter what is such a cool power like it’s just so fucking metal. you can rip me apart if you want, i’ll rise from my own viscera and all you’ll have done is piss me off

[earhartsplane]

Worked my way through the whole backlog of the critshow. Now the big question: should I make a Patreon account and go through Perilous Tides and Hero Salad?

[cipher-the-sidhe]

Trying to give mer-caretaker y/n in WtTK a reasonable amount of self preservation instincts but the Zoologist Enthusiasm keeps getting in the way 😔

[darkhearthorns]

"King Maverick! Please tell us about prince Oberon, who does he looks like? How is his personality? How does it feels to be a father? How is the Queen doing?" 🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️

Maverick, wearied by the events surrounding Sirena's difficult pregnancy and their son's birth, sat in the chamber, exhaustion etched on his face. As the fae attendants approached him eagerly, their curiosity brimming, they bombarded him with questions about Prince Oberon's appearance, personality, fatherhood, and Sirena's well-being.

Maverick let out a heavy sigh, his voice tinged with fatigue as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Prince Oberon... he is unlike any other. His arrival was marked by both joy and peril. He bears the horns and wings of his lineage, a testament to his unique heritage."

His voice trailed off for a moment as he tried to find the right words to describe his son's personality. "As for his personality, Oberon is still a newborn, so it's too early to tell. But I see glimpses of determination and strength even in his tiny form. There is a spark within him, an undeniable presence that demands attention."

Maverick's weariness was evident as he continued to answer their inquiries. "Being a father... it is an overwhelming mix of emotions. There is an indescribable joy in knowing that a life we created now rests in our arms. But it is also accompanied by a weight of responsibility—a duty to protect and guide him, to ensure he flourishes in this realm."

His voice softened as he spoke of Sirena. "The Queen... she has endured much during the pregnancy and birth. Her strength and resilience astound me. She is currently resting, recovering from the ordeal. I pray that she finds solace and healing in due time."

@oceansbride

[thecritshow]

[Image description: A red and white sticker with the words "HELLO THERE! ASK ME ABOUT MY PIRATE SHOW" printed on it in all caps]

actually wild that Tumblr isn't all over perilous tides yet. it has everything everyone wants, pirates, magic, weird science, weird old grandpa (affectionate), lesbians, buff women, buff lesbian women, I mean come on

[dandelionjack]

russell t slayvies cooking with gas again. taking a story from the 70s with orientalist undertones and recontextualising it to partially be about the perils of reckless colonial plunder. from the point of view of a Black Doctor.

he was a different man back then because the Doctor is synonymous with the show itself, and it was a different show back then — progressive, yes, but not exactly anti-imperialist. the narrative is no longer sympathetic to scarman the looting “archaeologist”. the Doctor’s changed faces and the tides of history have turned.

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

@ohsnapitzmarvelficrec @crypticlxrsh @louiselouve @karmaswitch @just-pure-trash @yujyujj @cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @ithilwen-blackwood @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner @wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips

[thewulf]

Beneath the Healer's Touch || Azriel

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could write an ACOTAR fic with Azriel as the reader’s mate where the reader is Madja’s apprentice, but she rarely ever asks her to personally treat their patients, like she’s just there to assist with the equipment and materials and stuff and the IC never really questioned it... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wasn't planning on putting two Az fics out in a row but I just had to write this. Love it so much, thank you for the requests :)

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Healer Reader)

Word Count: 5.6k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy), yelling

You huddle against the rough fabric of the medical tent situated perilously close to the front lines. As Madja’s apprentice your role in the Night Court has always been subdued. Your presence nearly as invisible as the shadows where you often stand. A shy but observant female fae, you’ve adapted to watching and learning. You assisted with the preparation of healing instruments and materials rather than engaging in the direct act of healing itself. Madja, the seasoned healer you serve under has never asked you to step beyond these boundaries . That was until today.

Outside of the tent the clash and clamor of war reverberate through the air. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Inside the tent the atmosphere is thick with the scent of blood and herbs being punctuated by the groans of soldiers bearing the fresh scars of battle. Each day the flow of injured warriors increases, overwhelming even Madja’s formidable skills.

Her usual calm efficiency begins to wane under the strain. Her movements growing more frantic as she tries to attend to multiple critical cases simultaneously. The limited space of the tent is filled with the wounded and the air is heavy with desperation and the iron tang of blood.

Seeing the desperation in Madja's eyes as she struggles to keep up you begin to feel the weight of every unattended soldier pressing down upon you. Your hands which were so accustomed to organizing and managing the background needs itch to do more — to heal and to help directly.

In a moment of sheer necessity Madja turns to you with a look of grave urgency. "I need you now, more than ever," she says over the din of suffering. Her voice thick with exhaustion. "You must help me heal them. We are losing too many. I have called for more help, but I need you today."

As the urgent call pierces through the chaotic sounds of the medical tent you look into Madja’s eyes feeling the weight of her plea. Your heart races but your response is calm and resolute. “I’ll do it,” you say quickly. The words almost catching in your throat.

Madja reaches out, her hand briefly squeezing yours. A gesture laden with both gratitude and apology. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she murmurs as her voice laced with regret as she glances at the wounded waiting for attention.

You shake your head dismissing her concerns with a small, reassuring smile that you hope masks your nervousness. “It’s alright, Madja. I’ll be okay,” you assure her while stepping closer to the first of many soldiers who need your help. Your voice is stronger than you feel, imbued with a determination that you muster from the depths of your commitment to heal. Despite the personal cost.

With a deep, steadying breath you prepare yourself for the task ahead knowing each healing touch will draw the pain into your own body. But in this moment of desperate need your resolve is unwavering. You are ready to face whatever comes for the sake of those who depend on you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you step forward. Your usual place behind the scenes abandoned for the harsh reality of frontline medical work. You approach the first soldier laid out before you. His injuries severe and daunting. As you extend your hands to begin the healing a part of you recoils knowing the personal cost you will soon pay. With a deep breath you brace yourself against the incoming tide of pain that will transfer to you as you heal him accepting the burden as the price of your newfound duty.

In the stifling heat of the medical tent, you move from one soldier to the next. Your hands becoming conduits of both healing and suffering. The first soldier’s injury—a deep gash across his arm—closes under the gentle press of your palms but the sharp sting of the wound sears through you as if the blade had cut into your own flesh. You stifle a gasp, biting down on your lip to keep composed as the pain lingers. It was a cruel echo of the soldier's relief.

With each healing the burden grows heavier. A fractured leg brings an ache that settles deep into your bones making you falter for a moment as you steady yourself against a tent pole. A burn from a fire spell sends waves of searing heat coursing through your skin. You struggle to maintain the calm exterior expected of a healer. Despite the agony each touch brings you press on being driven by the urgent need around you.

The soldiers were unaware of the cost you pay with each healing thank you with weak smiles and hoarse words of gratitude. You return their thanks with nods and a faint smile making sure to hide the toll their pain exacts upon you.

Throughout all of this the Inner Circle is embroiled in their own battles too consumed by strategic planning and counterattacks to notice the quiet suffering of Madja’s apprentice. They see you sometimes as a fleeting figure moving among the cots, but the depth of your sacrifice remains unseen being masked by the chaos of war and the stoic mask you wear.

The pain accumulates as a collection of injuries that are not your own yet reside within you. As the day wears on you feel yourself weakening. The physical costs of your hidden ability dragging at your limbs making each step heavier. Each breath shallower. Still, you continue, the need to help, to heal, pushing you beyond your limits. The cries of pain are a call you cannot ignore even as each healing tears a little piece from your own reserves of strength.

In the privacy of brief moments alone when you can lean against the cool canvas of the tent and close your eyes, the reality of your situation presses close, intimate, and overwhelming. How long can you sustain this? The question haunts the back of your mind, but you push it away instead focusing on the faces of those you’ve saved on the necessity of your pain for their relief. This is the path you’ve chosen. Hidden in shadows yet illuminated by the faint glow of altruism, bearing silently the scars that no one else can see.

As dusk begins to settle over the camp casting long shadows between the rows of tents Azriel returns from a skirmish. His usually composed expression tightened with discomfort. The shadows that constantly swirl around him seem agitated reflecting his unease. He carries a minor wound. A laceration on his arm that under normal circumstances would be a trivial matter for a healer of his caliber. However, this wound is tainted with faebane, a substance notorious for its ability to thwart fae healing magic.

You watch from a distance initially noticing the way he grimaces as he presses his fingers against the jagged edge of the cut attempting to coax his own magic to seal it. But the faebane embedded in the wound repels each attempt. And with each failed healing his frustration grows. An exceptionally rare crack in his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Recognizing his struggle, you approach him tentatively. The weight of the day’s healings presses heavily on you. Each step toward him a battle against the fatigue that threatens to buckle your knees. “Azriel,” you call softly not wanting to startle him.

He looks up and for a brief moment you’re caught in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes that were usually so guarded and unreadable were now openly display his vexation and pain. "It's this damned faebane," he mutters almost to himself as his hand falls away from the wound.

Stepping closer you offer a small, reassuring smile though your body screams in protest. “Let me try,” you whisper while extending your trembling hands towards his arm.

As your fingers brush against his skin a shock of connection jolts through you. Stronger and more profound than anything you've felt with the other soldiers. It’s as if his very soul resonates with yours. A hum of compatibility that whispers of a deeper bond. Your heart stutters in your chest but you focus on the task at hand pushing away the implications of what this connection might mean.

You press your palms to the laceration and immediately a sharp pain slices through your own arm, mirroring Azriel’s wound. You stifle a cry by biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. The sensation is intense, more so because it’s Azriel’s pain you’re sharing now. Despite the agony you pour your energy into the healing being driven by a newfound desperation.

Azriel watches you. His expression shifting from one of pain to concern. "You don’t have to do this," he starts. His voice rough with his own discomfort and the growing worry for yours.

But you shake your head pushing through the pain with a determination that frightens even you. "I can handle it," you lie. The words barely a whisper over the throbbing in your arm. As the faebane slowly loses its grip and the wound begins to close a wave of dizziness hits you. So strong that you sway on your feet.

As Azriel steadies you with his shadows curling anxiously around his form he is acutely aware of the pain coursing through his arm, mirroring the wound he just healed. As a shadowsinger he has always been attuned to the deeper often hidden emotions of those around him. He was capable of sensing the unspoken pains and secret fears that others carry silently. However, this experience is startlingly intense. A raw echo of agony that pulses through him with unusual clarity.

The pain he feels as you heal him doesn't feel like his own. It’s as if he’s tapped into a direct stream of your suffering. This connection, though new and unexplored, unnerves him. It is more profound than anything he has experienced through his shadows before. Almost as if the pain itself has a voice, whispering of shared suffering and mutual burden. He struggles with the realization that he is feeling your agony so vividly. The lines of empathy blurring into something deeper. Something he can't quite understand yet.

In this moment as the faebane's resistance fades and the laceration begins to heal, Azriel finds himself grappling with a mix of concern and a peculiar sense of protectiveness. The intensity of the connection doesn’t fit into the usual confines of his abilities or past experiences. While he doesn't comprehend the full extent of what this means—far from realizing the potential of a mate bond—he recognizes that something significant lies beneath the surface of this shared pain. This unexpected insight into your sacrifice doesn't just alarm him. It shifts something fundamental in how he perceives you. Compelling him to reassess the nature of your relationship and his instincts towards you.

His hands were gripping your shoulders with surprising gentleness. "What is this costing you?" he asks. His voice laced with a rare note of vulnerability having felt a trace of your suffering through the nascent bond neither of you yet understands.

You want to reassure him. To tell him it’s nothing but the shadows in his eyes seem to see through you, recognizing the depth of your sacrifice. In this shared moment of pain and healing the unspoken truth of your connection lingers heavily between you. A secret laid bare by the battle scars you both carry.

You meet Azriel's intense gaze seeing the concern etched in his features threatening to unravel the composure you've fought so hard to maintain. His hands on your shoulders feel both grounding and alarming. As if they're the only things keeping you from collapsing under the weight of your own sacrifices. "I need to keep going," you manage to say. Your voice a strained whisper that barely conceals the weariness lacing each syllable. "There are others who need me."

Trying to inject a note of reassurance into your tone you add quickly, "It's part of healing, Azriel. I'll be okay." Even as you speak the words you feel the hollowness behind them. A contrast to the truth of your pain. But you're determined not to let him see just how much it's affecting you not wanting to add to his burdens.

With a gentle but firm push against his hands you step back pulling away from his comforting grasp. "I have to go," you insist, turning towards the next cot where another soldier lies moaning in pain. You don't look back almost afraid that if you do your resolve will crumble under the weight of his worry and the unspoken connection that you both feel but don't yet understand. You move forward, each step fueled by a mix of duty and the urgent need to escape the intensity of his scrutiny and the complicated emotions it stirs within you.

Azriel was still visibly troubled by the earlier interaction. With your evident strain he insists on accompanying you as you move from one wounded soldier to another. His presence is a silent, watchful shadow that lingers just at the edge of your vision. While the others of the Inner Circle are engaged in the throes of battle, Azriel has chosen to remain by your side. A decision that speaks more of his concern than any words could.

As you press on each healing session takes more from you. Draining your energy, drawing more of your strength. Azriel observes closely noting the increasing pallor of your skin and the subtle tremors in your hands each time you withdraw them from a wound. Despite your attempts to mask your pain, each expression, each falter does not escape his vigilant gaze.

As you lean over a severely wounded soldier focusing intently on sealing a deep, life-threatening laceration the accumulated pain from your healings surges like a tide, overwhelming and relentless. The sharp and unyielding agony lashes through you, blurring your vision and weakening your knees. You feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your consciousness threatening to pull you under.

In a desperate bid to maintain control you reach out not for Azriel but for the tent’s support pole—a futile attempt to steady yourself. Yet, your hands grasp only air as your strength finally fails. Before you can process the fall Azriel’s arms are around you. His reaction swift and sure. He pulls you gently against him cushioning your collapse as he lowers both of you smoothly to the floor of the tent.

In this moment your pride battles with the undeniable relief of his support. You hadn't called for him. You hadn't wanted to admit that he might have been right about the danger of your condition, yet here he is, the one catching you as you fall. His presence is both a comfort and a confrontation. A not-so-subtle reminder of your own vulnerability.

Azriel cradles you against his chest. His expression a mask of concern etched deep with the lines of fear for your well-being. He doesn’t speak immediately instead opting to brush a gentle hand across your forehead, pushing away strands of hair matted with sweat. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s both trying to comfort you and reassure himself of your presence.

Around you the battle's distant roars continue but within the tent a quiet bubble of stillness envelops you both punctuated only by your labored breaths. Azriel’s gaze is locked on your face searching for any sign of recovery. Looking for any indication that you might overcome this bout of weakness.

In his eyes there is a flicker of something more—something beyond mere concern. It's a profound realization of your sacrifice. Of the silent suffering you've endured to heal others. And with this realization comes a fierce protectiveness. A vow forming in the depths of his being. He holds you closer, a silent promise cradled in the curve of his arms, that from this moment forward he will do whatever it takes to protect you. To ensure that this burden of pain is no longer yours to bear alone. The bond between you seemingly mysterious and undefined becomes his anchor. The thing he clings to as he silently pledges to be the safeguard you might not admit you need but he knows you deserve.

The pain you've been shouldering now echoes clearly through the bond that neither of you fully understands yet. But its intensity is unmistakable. Azriel feels each pang as if it were his own. A shared torment that binds you together with an ironclad tether. His face was mere inches from yours and is etched with deep concern and something akin to fear. "Hold on," he urges. His voice a low, desperate command. "Stay with me."

As Azriel holds you in his arms feeling the distressing ebb of your consciousness his protective instincts surge into high alert. The warmth from your body seems to be fading and your breathing becomes worryingly shallow. Typical signs that your physical limits have been catastrophically breached. Panic tightens its grip on him. A vivid contrast to the usual calm demeanor of the shadowsinger.

"Madja!" he calls out desperately. His voice piercing the relative quiet of the tent with an urgency that rattles the air. The shadows around him stir reflecting his growing desperation. He needs her expertise, her understanding of your mysterious condition that now seems perilously close to claiming you.

Madja rushes through the flaps of the tent with her healer's bag clutched tightly, the sight that greets her—a formidable Azriel cradling you, pale and barely conscious—draws a sharp intake of breath from her. She kneels beside you both. Her experienced eyes quickly assessing your condition.

"What happened?" she demands. Her voice thick with worry and confusion. As she lays her hands on you seeking to gauge the extent of your depletion Azriel's gaze hardens.

"She's been healing the soldiers, taking their pain onto herself," Azriel explains. His words rushed. His tone laced with both accusation and fear. "She collapsed just now. How could you not know the toll it was taking on her?"

Madja's expression crumbles into one of profound guilt and regret. She meets Azriel's intense gaze with a resigned sorrow. "I knew," she admits. Her voice a whisper of remorse. "I knew, but I thought we could manage it—keep it under control. I feared the implications of her gift being fully exposed. I thought I was protecting her."

Azriel’s anger wanes slightly instead replaced by a sharp pang of understanding. He knows all too well the complexities of hiding one's true capabilities in a world that might not understand or might exploit them. However, his concern for your well-being remains paramount.

"She needs help now, Madja. What can we do?" he asks with his voice softening but still tinged with urgency.

Madja nods. Her focus turning entirely to you. "I can stabilize her for now, but we need to rethink how she uses her gift," she says as she begins to channel her own healing magic into you. A gentle flow designed not to heal but to sustain.

As Madja works Azriel holds you closer. His thoughts racing with concern and resolve. He watches the slight return of warmth to your cheeks under Madja’s skilled care, feeling a blend of relief and determination surge through him. A promise forms in his heart. Not merely to protect you but to truly understand and support your unique gift, no matter the cost.

However, the demands of the ongoing battle pull at him. Madja noticed the conflict in his expression speaks with a calm authority. "She must rest now, Azriel," she advises with her voice steady. "And they need you. The battle isn't over yet."

Reluctantly Azriel nods. The weight of his responsibilities clear on his face. He leans down with his lips brushing your forehead in a gentle kiss. His assurance of returning to you. "I'll be back soon," he promises. His voice a whisper meant only for you. With one last lingering look that conveys all his worry and care he stands and leaves the tent. His figure soon disappearing into the fray.

The war rages on demanding every ounce of Azriel's focus and skill. Yet his thoughts frequently stray back to the medical tent, to you, lying there in recovery. Each moment he can spare he finds himself glancing towards the tent. His mind racing with scenarios of returning to you.

As the last echoes of battle fade and a weary peace begins to settle, Azriel's duties finally allow him a moment to breathe. He wastes no time. The moment he is able he rushes back to the medical tent with his steps quick with urgency and anticipation. Pushing through the tent flaps, Azriel’s eyes immediately seek you out. He finds you awake but visibly exhausted propped up against some pillows. The sight of you, alive and recovering, though still weak floods him with relief.

“I’m here,” Azriel breathes out as he quickly crosses the space to your side before kneeling beside your cot. His hand reaches out brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tenderness that belies his warrior's exterior. “How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice low and filled with concern. His eyes scanning your face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

Azriel’s presence instantly eases some of the weight pressing down on you and relief softens your features. "I'm exhausted," you admit but manage a weak smile. "But I'll be alright, just need some rest." Your eyes meet his and even in your weariness there's an undeniable relief that reflects back from his gaze. An unspoken understanding of the solace you both find in each other’s presence after the chaos of battle.

"You had us worried for a while there," Azriel says. His voice a mix of relief and mild reprimand. His eyes scan your face still searching for signs of pain or lingering fatigue. His concern palpable but not overwhelming. "Madja told me you'd recover but seeing it for myself makes all the difference."

Your smile deepens slightly at his words. You were grateful for his concern and the straightforward honesty that always marked your interactions. "I'll be fine, Azriel. Really," you assure him with your tone aiming to put him at ease. "It's good to have you back though."

In the days following the battle, as the camp slowly transitions from a place of urgent healing back to routine operations, your strength begins to return. With each passing day the pain and exhaustion that had once clouded your vision start to fade instead replaced by a growing vigor that Madja assures you is a good sign of recovery. Azriel, true to his word, visits often. His presence a constant reassurance as the camp breaks down around you. The war finally declared over.

Once you're deemed well enough to travel Azriel accompanies you back to Velaris. The journey was facilitated by the magic of winnowing is quick but disorienting. A dramatic shift from the dusty tents and the sharp smells of medicine to the lush, serene beauty of the Night Court. Back in Velaris the city seems to embrace you both with open arms. The familiar sights and sounds of the vibrant city life, the cobblestone streets lit by lanterns and the murmur of the Sidra River, provide a comforting backdrop to your continued recovery.

A few nights after your return, once you feel stronger and more like yourself, Azriel invites you to join him on a balcony overlooking Velaris. The balcony was part of a high vantage point in the House of Wind and offers a breathtaking view of the city spread out beneath a canopy of stars. The transition from the harsh realities of war to this peaceful setting marks a significant shift in your healing process—both physical and emotional.

Seated together on the balcony the atmosphere between you is one of tentative peace. A reprieve from the chaos of the battlefield. The evening air is cool and carrying the gentle scent of night-blooming flowers. There’s a quiet that allows for softer, more intimate conversation. Here with the distance from the front lines you both find the space to reflect on the recent events and the impact they’ve had on each of you discussing thoughts and feelings that the war left little room to explore.

This tranquil setting in Velaris which was far removed from the demands of war allows you both to see each other in a new light. Appreciating the resilience and strength each has shown, and perhaps, beginning to understand the deeper bond that seems to have formed in the crucible of conflict.

Azriel breaks the silence between you with a gentle voice reflecting the calm of the night. "I've been thinking about your healing abilities. About your gift," he says before pausing as if searching for the right way to broach the subject without overstepping. "It's a heavy burden you've carried… taking on others' pain."

You nod appreciating his careful approach. "It can be overwhelming," you admit. Your voice low. Sharing this truth with him feels both vulnerable and relieving. "Especially knowing that each time I heal, I take a little bit of that pain into myself."

The softness of his gaze as he looks at you speaks volumes, and he shifts slightly closer. "Perhaps we can find a way to ease that burden," he suggests. "Explore methods to shield you or at least to share the load." The idea of sharing this part of your life with Azriel, having him understand and perhaps help carry the weight, brings a warmth to your heart. It’s a tentative step towards deeper connection and you find yourself hoping for more.

"And how about us?" Azriel adds after a moment, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread. "These past weeks, feeling everything that you have felt... it’s made me realize how deeply connected I am to you. More than I anticipated." The admission hangs in the air and is charged with an unspoken depth of emotion. You felt it too. The inexplicable pull towards him. Something beyond mere friendship.

You smile a soft, genuine expression that lights up your eyes. "I feel it too," you confess. "It's like there’s something between us, something... more."

The conversation flows more freely now, the initial hesitance giving way to a hopeful exploration of what might be. Neither of you mentions the word 'mates,' still dancing around the full depth of your bond, but there’s an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of your connection.

As the night deepens between you, you and Azriel make promises. Not grand declarations but quiet vows to support each other. To explore the depth of your bond and understand the extent of your powers together. It's a mutual commitment filled with the promise of discovering not just the mysteries of your abilities but also the potential of what you could be to each other.

With the city of Velaris sparkling below and the tranquil night wrapping around you there’s a sense of beginning. Of possibilities waiting to be explored. Together you watch the stars comforted by the presence of each other and hopeful for the future.

In the quiet of the pre-dawn, you and Azriel linger on the balcony ensconced in the gentle embrace of Velaris' early morning serenity. The sky is a tapestry of deep blues and purples and begins to lighten at the horizon, heralding the dawn. The air around you is charged with the quiet anticipation of the world waking up. A fitting backdrop for the profound moment unfolding between you.

Azriel's gaze remains fixed on the horizon, but his mind is clearly elsewhere—on the revelations of the night, on the words that now hover on the edge of being spoken. Finally, he turns to you with his expression open. He was vulnerable in a way that you've seldom seen from the reserved shadowsinger. "There's something undeniable about the connection between us," he begins. His voice soft, reverent almost. "It goes beyond what we’ve had. Beyond friendship.” You meet his gaze feeling the truth of his words resonate within you. It's a truth you've sensed but haven't dared to define until this moment.

Finally finding the courage to speak what he’s discovered he steps closer making sure to bridge the gap between you. His presence enveloping you in warmth. "I've felt every echo of your pain, every ripple of your joy as if they were my own. It's more than just empathy… it's a bond, a deep, unbreakable bond." His hands find yours. His touch gentle but firm. "I believe we're mates," he says. The words charged with emotion and an unspoken plea for you to feel the same.

Your heart leaps. The simplicity and sincerity of his admission cutting through any lingering doubts. You smile, not just with your lips but with your entire being, accepting the truth of his words and the bond they confirm. "Azriel, I've sensed it as well," you reply with your voice soft yet filled with wonder. "It’s as if there’s been a song woven into the fabric of our days, subtle yet persistent, waiting for us to finally hear it and understand its tune."

Azriel's smile in response is a thing of quiet joy. A uniquely rare and tender sight that stirs something deep within you. He pulls you gently closer and you find yourself wrapped in his embrace. The city around you awakening as the first light of dawn spills over the edges of the world.

In the tranquil embrace of dawn Azriel holds you close. His heart beating a tentative rhythm against yours. His voice carries a rare vulnerability that makes the air around you thrum with the weight of his words. “Do you want that?" he asks softly. His breath warm against your hair. "To always be there for each other. To face whatever this world throws at us, together, as one?"

He pulls back slightly as his hands were still gently cradling your face. His eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. This question isn't merely rhetorical. It's a genuine, open-ended inquiry into your desires. A request for your heart's agreement with his. Azriel's usual certainty is replaced by an endearing, hopeful uncertainty. Highlighting how deeply he values your consent and participation in this burgeoning bond.

You look into his eyes. Into those deep pools of night that have seen so much sorrow and solitude, now laced with tender hope. The dawn casts its first gentle rays illuminating the sincerity and slight apprehension on his face. This moment, this question, isn't just about confirming a bond. It's about choosing to build a future together.

"Yes, Azriel," you respond. Your voice steady and sure, a soft yet resolute affirmation that echoes the depth of your own feelings. "I want that more than anything."

Azriel's response is immediate. His eyes reflecting a profound relief and joy that seem to brighten the very air around him. A broad, genuine smile spreads across his face transforming his usually stoic expression into one of pure elation.

"You've just made me the happiest male in all of Prythian," he breathes out as his voice is rich with emotion. The sincerity in his words resonates deeply echoing the significance of your acceptance.

His arms pull you closer. The warmth of his embrace enveloping you as he whispers, "We'll face everything together, side by side. No matter what comes we won't face it alone."

"Always," you echo back, your voice a soft yet resolute affirmation. The certainty in your agreement strengthens the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and mutual understanding setting a path forward together in the intertwining dance of your shared lives.

Azriel’s smile deepens at your words. His relief and joy palpable. The certainty of your mutual promise solidifies the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and understanding. His hands that still cradling your face shift slightly and his fingers brush tenderly across your lips. A touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine.

The intimate gesture holds a world of meaning. As he gazes into your eyes the warmth and intensity of his emotions are clear. He leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. Then with a tenderness that quickly deepens into something more he pulls you in for a kiss.

What starts as a gentle meeting of lips soon transforms into a kiss filled with passion and longing. As if all the emotions and realizations of the past days and weeks are being poured into this single, breathtaking moment. Azriel’s kiss is both a promise and a declaration, sealing the bond between you with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

Your arms wrap around him pulling him closer responding to the depth of his kiss with equal intensity. The world around you fades away leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment that transcends everything else. As the kiss lingers it becomes clear that this is not just a bond forged in the fires of battle but a connection that will shape your future, side by side, whatever may come.

ACOTAR Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lilah-asteria @fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139

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[validatemylife]

Tired of PCs acting like total assholes in your actual play podcasts? Ready for a team of people who trust each other, work together, and interact with the world like people instead of dunking on every other NPC, PC, plant animal and fungus? Try: The Critshow, where the players act like they actually want to be around each other in real life AND in the game!

Rich worldbuilding and good characters and excellent acting yeah yeah but the VIBES are IMMACULATE. You can have drama and intrigue and hard choices and bad choices and loss without filling your world and party with unapologetic grossnasty bullies with no redeeming qualities who are unpleasant to be around or talk to or think about at all times with no breaks

Queer Rep in The Critshow

Title: The Critshow: An Actual Play Podcast

    Status: Ongoing

    Cast: Jake, Megan, Tass, Teej, Rev

    Queer Creators: Unknown

    Accessibility: No content warnings, official transcripts in progress here.

Summary: A group of friends have their lives turned upside down when they find themselves placed as the last line of defense between the everyday world and the things that go bump in the night. 

This actual play podcast uses Monster of the Week and other Powered by the Apocalypse games, all within the same dimension hopping narrative, to follow the Indiana Paranormal Task-force (IPT) as they are thrust into the front lines of a battle they didn’t know existed.

The Other Side of the Coin (main campaign, ongoing)

Tags: Unknown

This entry could especially use clarification about whether this podcast is made by queer people, or has queer content.

Check out our other lists here.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 26

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: Monday's are for pain.

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. 💖

"More wine," Queen Jazlene demands. 

You stand at her shoulder, awaiting her every command. The familiarity of your duty feels safe though you cannot deny the peril all around. You move forward cautiously, sending a glance to king. 

King Geralt has not said or done much. He's hardly even touched his plate. For the first time that night, to your surprise as much as your relief, he looks at you. You pause, hand hovering before the ewer. 

"Another cup won't fare you well on the morrow," he girds. 

Jazlene huffs, "what else am I to do in this dull place but drink?" 

His lashes lower and he sits back. He props his elbow on the straight arm of the chair and gazes out at the boards full of bawdy voices and steps. He tilts his head as his pale sight skewers the chamber. 

"It is a banquet," he utters flatly. You remain close to Jazlene but retract your hand. 

"It is, husband, what do you propose?" She's breathy, almost hopeful. She peers out across the plucking of strings, "a dance?" 

"I know some steps," he extends his fingers, "suppose... there won't be much dancing on the road and Lord Vesemir did go to all this effort." 

"Truly? A dance?" She squals and grabs his forearm, "husband, is this not some cruel jape?" 

His jaw squares and he looks at her without humour, "only a suggestion. We are... married. The people should like to see king and queen together." 

You step back, as surprised as the daughter of Debray. The king himself hardly seems eager but he is ever aloof. You wonder if it is genuine. His refusal to look at you has you uncertain. Does he regret his missteps or are you once assuming too kindly of him? He has taught you those last few days to be skeptical. You are less than grateful for the lesson.  

"I would very much love to dance," Jazlene seizes his large hand and he winces, "thank you, thank you, thank you." She chants in excitement as she rises and the king steels himself as he does the same.  You're not so sure her glee is specific to her partner, but rather the act.

You can’t help but pity the queen. It’s clear she’s desperate for excitement. It would explain her flirtations and her tantrums and all her behaviour. Still, the isn’t the little girl flitting around her father’s castle anymore; she is the queen and her misdeeds will have consequences should she carry on. 

Your eyes drift out as a lull ripples over the chamber followed quickly by a tide of murmurs. The king and queen emerge from behind the royal table as curiosity thrums all around. The troupe continues to strum as Jazlene can hardly contain her elation despite the king’s stoic propriety. They begin the steps; hers jouncy, his flat and formal. She hardly notices her partner’s nonchalance. 

The other partners give breadth to the royal couple as others pause to watch. Whispers and cheers, some whistles encourage the king and queen. It is the first that any have seen the royal couple as one. 

You watch but hardly take in the scene. Your mind wanders to the chamber in the tower, then to the queen’s rooms; you hear only Geralt’s gritting frustration and the queen’s shrill defiance. They play their parts but you are not convinced. 

You peer around and your eyes catch on a shock of rusty orange. Gilles stands by the doors, amid as cluster of other guards. Where his fellow soldiers drink ale and grumble, he stares at the royal pair, bound by the sight of the queen on the king’s arm.  

You follow his gaze and meet King Geralt’s golden irises. His brow twitches and he quickly draws his attention back to his queen. You are confounded by him. You cannot figure if he truly has reconsidered his intent or he is merely hiding. He’s shown you before that he can feign whatever role suits his means; gallant king, pensive man, troubled soul. In the end, his only concern is his own will. 

Your chest rents deeper amidst your doom-laden thoughts. When did you grow so cynical? It’s these Hinterlands; their chill invades even the soul. Your lips tug down and you put your eyes to the stone wall. You need only see the night through. The road will keep all too busy for recklessness. 

As you stand there, you sense a shift, and turn to look over your shoulder. Lord Vesemir waves in your direction, bidding you to him with a pointed finger. You squint and peer back at the queen and king. You cannot disobey the host even if you are bound to a higher title. 

You sidle along behind the tables and stop behind the white-haired lord. He pushes his chair out, leaning into the straight wooden back. He looks up at you, cheeks ruddy with drink. 

“Little dove,” he grits, “how amusing, isn’t it, to see the king afoot on the boards.” 

“My lord,” you agree evenly. 

“I must say he never took so happily to the dance lessons as he did the sword,” Vesemir chuckles, “though he is graceful in both. My own feet do not listen to each other.” 

You bow your head, signaling your attention. You tilt your ear to him and stare at the table. 

“If any knew to watch for it, they would see he does prefer another partner,” the lord sighs, “alas, it would not be wise, as I’ve told him. A king cannot so quickly descend into folly. How many times did I say the same to his own father?” 

You lower your lashes.  

“I believe he has heeded my foreboding,” Vesemir reaches for his goblet and grunts as he finds it empty, tilting it to show his disappointment. You move forward to grab the jug of ale and pour him a new cup. He thanks you as he watches you. “And you. You had a restful night? You were provided the promised chamber? A bed?” 

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” you say, “it is rather much for a maid.” 

“We both know you are not any maid,” he pauses to gulp, “tell me, dove, do you find my halls too cold?” 

You set the jug down and step back on your heels. You fold your hands and consider his question as a riddle. You know not how to untangle the words of nobles so you will not try. 

“Cold, yes, but not intolerable, my lord,” you answer. 

“Hm, yes, but you may line your wool a bit thicker,” he reaches to pinch the cuff of your sleeve, “you would not shiver so much.” He rescinds his touch and looks into his cup, swirling the ale, “and your former castle, what was that like? Suppose the Duke of Debray is a rather busy lord, the way he scurries around like rat.” 

You hesitate. You cannot tell if he refers to Lord Dustan’s betrayal. 

“There’s always work for servants in a castle,” you say, “summer or winter. We were kept busy though not many ventured to Debray. It was always the lord that traveled.” 

“Mm, yes, you would not guess it but this vulture’s nest is rarely so lively as this. You’ve only seen it invaded by the king and his horde. When the winter is falling, it is so quiet. The snows drown out the noise below and the ice sparkles as diamonds...” he describes dreamily, “it is calm, peaceful. Not as life is at court. I prefer it. I was never one for that farce.” 

You look at him, listening intently. You think of the cave, of the moths, the desolation nestled within those icy walls. This place is beautiful despite its frosted bite. You might’ve seen clearer sooner were it not for the shroud cast on it by crowded halls. 

“It is safer here,” he continues, “and even as peace is declared, times will grow no less turbulent. Wars do not end so cleanly.” 

You furrow your brow and watch the lord, trying to unfold his words into their true meaning. He chuckles and empties his goblet once more. He sets it down and stands. 

“Perhaps this old man does ramble in his cups,” he shakes his head, “I thank you, dove, for your ear. Loyal as you are, gentle too. You could not know what spell you cast.” 

You retreat as Lord Vesemir angles his broad figure around his chair. He beckons as he turns and for a moment, you think he gestures at you. Instead, the maid, Ezme, appears from the shadows and meets him at the end of the table. He speaks to her as you back up against the wall. He walks with her from the hall as you stare after them. 

His words echo in your head.

What did he mean to say all he did? Another warning of what you already dread? A suggestion that you simply could never heed? Does he suggest escape even as he denotes your futility? Or does he simple speak for nothing more than his own voice? 

You look back to the king and queen. A new pitch picks up as the music swells with the stomping feet on the boards and the japes and jeers. Amid the revelry, the king remains as staunch as always, and once more, your eyes meet. 

Lord Vesemir is not mistaken. There is only turmoil ahead. 

⚔️

The night ends in a march along the corridors. You keep a distance from the king and queen as they walk ahead. Jazlene leans on her husband as she drunkenly babbles. Despite his discouragement, she kept to her wine. Ahead, Gilles walks with his hand on his sword. 

The guard opens the queen’s doors and the king escorts his wife through. You tarry in the archway as the ginger-headed man takes his post but cannot restrain from peeking within. Jazlene falls onto her mattress and sighs, giggling into a chattering shiver. 

“Oh, it is so cold,” she hugs herself, rubbing her arms. 

“You should not wear satin,” the king remands. 

“Rats to that!” She sneers and pushes herself up on her elbows, “I was plenty warm on the boards...” she looks at him coyly and grins, “with you, husband.” 

“And the wine in your belly does convince you of warmth,” he tuts. “I’ve known many men who drank themselves to death thinking it could cure the cold.” 

“Ugh, you are so dour,” she chides shrilly and sits up, reaching for him, “husband, we have a long road ahead. Will you not make use of our last night in the castle?” 

He huffs, “you are drunk and I must see Lord Vesemir about our travel-” 

“It is late. You might see to it in the morn,” she whines. 

He exhales again. He looks down at his boots and tilts his head to his side, but does not raises his eyes. He flicks his fingers in your direction, “close the door. I will see my wife abed.” 

Jazlene falls back and purrs. You can tell by the loll in her head that the wine will see her unconscious shortly. The king puts his hands to his hips and watches her as you back out and Gilles pulls shut the doors, not without undue force. 

“Go then, maid,” he snarls as he steps back against the wall. 

You obey. You are not certain whether to return to the chamber you shared with Ezme or to search out the servants’ quarters. You make no determination before you’re stopped the same slender shadow as the night previous. 

It is Ezme, as if she was summoned by the very thought of her. She is silent as she nods and turns to lead you onward. You follow without bidding. Your stomach churns as you already know she is not taking you to sleep. Something is amiss. 

You stop before a set of doors marked by iron vultures’ heads. She knocks and enters, letting you in after her. Within, Lord Vesemir sits before a fire, the glow flickering over him as he watches the flame. His shirt is untucked, his jacket disposed, and his hair hangs around his bullish face. 

“Dove, your wings cannot weather these winter winds,” he declares sonorously. 

You’re silent. Ezme closes the doors as you remain close to them. You peer around warily. She goes to the lord of the castle and he reaches to squeeze her hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. You blink as you stare at them. They are... 

“Please, sit down,” Vesemir insists, “I suppose we will be waiting some time for our king.” 

You don’t understand. Lord Vesemir and Ezme? A noble and a servant. Yet he warns King Geralt against the same with you. It is their manner, you suppose, to do what they would tell others not to. 

You don’t move. You crane to look at the doors then back to the maid and her master. It seems both Geralt and Vesemir agreed upon his attendance there that night but what place do you have there? You are not so brazen as to ask. 

You relent and come further into the chamber. You sit upon the wooden stool close to the wall as Ezme lights another lamp and sets it on the table. You wring your hands in your lap as you wait in silence. The lord lowers his head, patient as he closes his eyes. Or perhaps, fatigued as you are. 

Time sifts through the air like sand through a sieve. Slow and grinding. You stare at your skirts as the other maid drifts like a wraith and the lord sits as a statue. The longer you wait, the deeper the pit grows in your gut. You are owed no explanation but you long for one. 

Finally, there is a tap at the doors. Just the one. Hard but not violent. Ezme moves to open the door. You stand out of habit and a large shadow enters. It is the king. His golden eyes catch the lantern light as he sees the Lord sat before his hearth. 

“Vesemir, I have much to do before the sun.” 

“Aye, don’t I know,” the lord says calmly, “so you best listen and not waste time or breath.” 

The king angles his head, both curious and skeptical. You shift on your feet and the movement draws his attention. He winces as he sees you and his shoulders tense. He peers back at the lord in the light of the fire. He clears his throat. 

“Vesemir, what is your meaning here?” The king demands. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

[pathetic-gamer]

Can you say more on The Burning Wheel? The information on the site doesn’t distinguish it much from other TTRPGs that I can tell, aside from being a D6 system. What makes it unique and worth playing? (You don’t have to provide a huge rundown haha I’m just curious!)

Sure! I tried to keep this short and failed miserably, but I'd be happy to expound even more upon specific things later, if people want more :)

(Please note that, as with any ttrpg, it would be hard to claim any of the things mentioned here are wholly original to The Burning Wheel. It would be even harder to claim that no other systems have used these mechanics or philosophies in the 20 years since The Burning Wheel came out. I am not going to claim either of those things - its the combination of them and the play experience they have resulted in for me that make it unique, so that's the angle from which I'm writing this post.)

So. why is it worth playing? How is it different?

I could talk about the skill learning system, the war rules codex, the whole concept of versus tests vs bloody versus tests. But to me, there are two main ways that it stands out from other systems: its treatment of role-play as a mechanism, and the overall philosophy behind the game's design, including the concept of setting clear expectations.

(using section headers to break up the text lol)

How it uses role-play:

The most obvious thing to point out is that there's a whole set of encounter mechanics for social situations or debates (Circles checks, Duel of Wits, etc.) - sort of the epitome of crunchy role play. But thats not what I'm getting at! What I'm getting is the fact that good role play is integral to the way the game functions.

Let's go back, all the way to character creation: When you're burning a character, you selecting life paths (page to squire to knight, etc.) with their associated skills and traits, then tie them in a pretty bow with beliefs and instincts to guide the character's actions. All of these things feed into each other to make a complete character. Easy! Familiar! We all know how to make a character, even if the numbers and labels are different!

What really matters to this engine once you're playing is whether the character you're acting as matches what you built. If it doesn't, the rules nudge you to redefine your character until it does through systems of rewards, penalties, and consequences. You are rewarded for sticking to and acting on your traits, beliefs, and instincts through different types of points distributed and voted on by fellow players, which can be used to alter the course of events or turn the tide of a bad situation later on. If you're not living up to a trait, on the other hand, you can lose it and all its benefits. (Took the fortitude trait, but ran from trouble one too many times? tough luck! the other players voted to take away that trait and now you can't call on it in moments of peril.) The beliefs and traits of a single character can end up at odds with each other, resulting in characters having to make choices that in other systems might seem insignificant or carry few lasting consequences, but here may alter the function of your character.

It's not all punitive measures, btw! One of my characters caused problems for everyone else by refusing to put away a weapon when someone else was in danger, playing off of an instinct that states he draws his weapon whenever his master does. After the session, another player suggested everyone consider nominating the Brave trait for him the next time we update them. As a character-type trait, it has no effect when rolling dice but does mean that henceforth and forevermore, anyone who interacts with him will notice a sense of bravery. Delightful!!

Also, the beliefs of different characters are practically guaranteed to stray from one another at some point, which is the primary source of inter-PC conflict. Because the mechanics of the game encourage and reward sticking to your beliefs or following your stated instincts even when it makes things significantly harder or causes problems, you're much more inclined to do it. As someone who is terrible at not slipping back into the same kind of character over and over again, I think this fucking rules.

I'm playing with a group of people I've been gaming with for almost five years, and this has opened the way for much richer dynamics between our characters than any of the other systems we've played, in part because as players we're less interested in acting on concensus to drive the plot forward. Working as one unit simply isn't the goal, and if it was, we would play a different system that encourages and rewards that.

the game's philosophy, aka setting intentions and also reading rules:

Now we're starting to get at the philosophy behind the game's design: It believes you have to know why you're playing burning wheel instead of literally any other game. This isn't a system you play on accident. It's admittedly a complicated game with a LOT of rules. It asks for a huge amount of engagement from all of the players, not just the GM - something like inter-PC conflict can only work well if everyone is on the same page (figuratively, but also literally lol) and ready to help adjudicate rules, ask for tests, discuss intentions, etc. Dream scenario for a chronic rules lawyer lol.

Obviously any game will be more fun if everyone has actually learned the rules before they start playing, but this is one where it's extremely difficult (if not impossible) to play if most players haven't learned them, and deeply rewarding if they have. It really operates on the expectation that everyone is putting in work, and everyone has respect for the time and effort the others are bringing to the table.

It's hard to put a finger on how this all impacts play other than the obvious elegence of People Knowing What Theyre Doing, but on a purely emotional and meta level, knowing that everyone is investing so much time and effort to play a game with you is just.. idk, it feels special and makes the time itself feel even more valuable. In that sense, the satisfaction of playing the game isn't coming from the game itself, but is still shaped by it.

(In my mind, this is the #1 reason to try the game, but as @thydungeongal alluded to yesterday, finding people willing and able to do it is also the #1 hurdle to, like, actually having a good time. it would be completely miserable otherwise.)

Also, for a game that does not boast a collaborative nature the way some others do, it is honestly pretty fuckin collaborative lol. I don't know that this was Luke Crane's intention in designing the game, but closing out sessions by going through and grading everyone's work and giving each other glorified gold stars, you will inevitably end up discussing and dissecting things, learning from people's character work, and seeing where and how you can improve individually and as a group. It creates a table culture that values honest expressions of discomfort or dissatisfaction, and also of appreciation and celebration. It's after-care. It leads naturally into setting intentions and expectations for the next session. It just feels really nice!!!

That's obviously a table culture that can be cultivated anyway, and it's a practice my group has learned to be very intentional about facilitating, but it's just interesting how The Burning Wheel of all systems manages to support that. I think that's what the website means when it says playing this changes how you play other rpgs lol

So yeah, idk how much more to say and also I'm sooooooo so eepy and was like an hour late for work, so its a weird brain day. but there you go lol

[validatemylife]

Someone else PLEASE listen to The Critshow I am begging you

I've binged 4 season of the critshow in like a week and I dread the moment I don't have any backlog left because I've never been in a fandom with so little content on Tumblr and AO3.

[littlefireball]

can a yeosang x reader be requested? Where she's been active long before meeting Yeosang but she's never been eaten out or had someone the size of Yeosang so she asks about what each feels like to him and offers to show her instead. After he eats her out he starts to f**k her and makes her squirter. Which she didn't even know what it was or what happened etc

I combined yours with another request as i think they can be merged as a one shot (but i changed the setting a little bit)

Another request: yeosang being obsessed with breeding reader especially the sight of him cum oozing out of her hole.

ʏꜱ|ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ (ᴍ)

ᴅᴏʙᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ꜱᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ��ɪɴᴋ|ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.3ᴋ

Masterlist

Yeosang and his companion took refuge against the formidable outer wall of the stronghold, their weapons poised in perfect synchrony, anticipating commands. Just yesterday, they had been informed of the human trafficking syndicate's stronghold nestled in the distant west, prompting their swift arrival at the scene. This nefarious organization had been abducting adult female Hybrids, ruthlessly exploiting them for illicit reproductive endeavors. 

The captain signaled with his hands, expertly guiding his team into their designated positions. Despite the gas mask obscuring Yeosang's face, he could still detect a subtle, lingering fragrance in the air. 

Because the stronghold was now teeming with hybrids in heat. 

The criminals had administered powerful substances engineered to trigger estrus, paving the way for effortless conception. This operation was perilously risky; should they inadvertently enter a state of heat, the repercussions would be catastrophic.

The mission teams were distinctly categorized into those composed of women and those of men. The women's teams were tasked with rescuing victims, while the men focused on apprehending the nefarious criminals. 

Everything was meticulously prepared. With a decisive motion, the captain raised his left hand, executing a downward slash, and the entire unit surged into the stronghold in perfect synchrony, igniting a fierce gunfight with the gangsters. The tide quickly turned against the criminals, who fell one by one, leaving behind a grim tableau of lifeless bodies strewn across the hall.

"Find the victims!" The captain's commands were heeded without question as each member dispersed throughout the stronghold in search of their targets. Intense gunfire erupted, yet the gangsters were swiftly overpowered. 

Yeosang ascended to the pinnacle of the stronghold, proceeding with utmost caution. The only sound that pierced the silence was the soft rhythm of moaning emanating from a nearby chamber. A wave of embarrassment washed over him, yet he maintained his composure as he approached the room slowly.

As the door slowly creaked ajar, Yeosang's eyes fell upon the sight of you, bare upon the bed, breathless and alluring. Instinctively, he averted his gaze, scanning the room for any signs of danger. In an instant, a werewolf lunged at him from the shadows, its claws raking fiercely. The unexpected assault left Yeosang no time to evade, and the gas mask he wore was violently shattered in the chaos.

"Fuck!" The intoxicating aroma poured into him, shattering his composure in an instant. Your fragrance was far more potent than that of ordinary hybrids. Perhaps the werewolf's drug had intensified your scent. Yeosang battled fiercely against the werewolf, likely driven by the fervor of his own instincts, as their strikes were directed with lethal intent. Yet, it was clear that the werewolf stood no chance against Yeosang's prowess.

"Go back to hell." With a strong punch on the werewolf's face, Yeosang sent him flying to the wooden table which was broken because of the huge impact. He died, with no doubts. But, it was not over. Yeosang's sanity has faded away since this battle for spouse. And now, it's time to claim you as his. 

He knew he couldn't but there was no way to stop. 

"Goodness, you're beautiful." He discarded his weapon before bending toward you, his face burying itself in the curve of your neck, tasting your skin as if he were a famished man. You found yourself utterly powerless to resist, your body succumbing to a delicious weakness. Any attempt to resist only served to stoke the fire of his insatiable longing. 

He let out a deep, wild growl as his lips moved down to your breast, sucking your left nipple while caressing the other. The struggle no longer existed and you found yourself enjoying the pleasure he brought you. You whimpered when he gave you a hard press on your nipple, making him suck harder. Clear red marks were left on every part of your skin as his lips trailed down from your chest to your stomach, making you hiss when your nipples were exposed to the cold air. 

You couldn't help but tremble when he dropped a kiss on your clit. The sensation was amazing even though that was only a simple kiss. You have never felt this before. You needed more, not just a kiss, but his tongue, his lips, just everything. 

"Please, please. Kiss me one more time." Yeosang lifted up his gaze to meet yours, feeling confused. "You want this?" He once again kissed and licked your clit, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips when you threw your head against the pillow. "Please, ahh, fuck!" "As you wish, girl." 

His face dived into your thighs, his hot breath landed on your clit making your hands fly to his hair to pull him closer. "Be patient, girl." Before he finished his words, his tongue met your fold, licking from the bottom to the top. "God!" "How sweet you are." Shutting your eyes, you gripped the sheet tightly when he sucked hard on your bud. Everything was overwhelming and your chest tightened, leaving you breathless. You could feel something was about to burst out but not sure what that was. 

He pushed your thighs to either side for better licking and sucking, totally lost in your sweetness. "Hm…I'm gonna…" You cried because it was uncomfortable that needed to be released. "Cum, girl. I want to taste you." "Fuck!" You tried to push him away but he gripped your thighs to pull you closer, his tongue was deep inside you. Sucking hard, you couldn't help but cum on his face, dripping onto the sheet. 

"That's the sweetest I ever tasted." A smirk played on his lips as he stood up straight, removing his armor and pants just enough to pull out his cock. You have never seen that size before, making you curious how it felt when he entered you. This erotic fantasy raced your heartbeat, blush creeping up your cheek. "Haven't take this size before?" You shook your head. "Wanna try?Huh?Tell me, little girl." "I want to feel that, please." "Oh gosh, your voice is beautiful. Beg me again, I love it." Yeosang climbed over you while guiding his member to your soaked hole. 

Had he regained his clarity, he would find it utterly inconceivable that he could utter such words or act in this manner towards you. Yet, in that moment, he was powerless to restrain himself. The instant your intoxicating scent reached him, all rational thought vanished, leaving only the untamed and primal yearnings that lay dormant within his soul.

"Please, I want you deep inside me." You too, couldn't believe you begging a stranger to satisfy you. Yet, the substances coursing through your veins continually ignite your longing, plunging you into despair. You crave his presence, yearning for him to satiate the void within you.

Your begging soon died out as he rubbed his tip against you, moving up and down on your clit before eased into you. His size was overwhelming, causing you to throw your head at the pillow and your mouth to form a perfect 'O' shape. "Take it so well, honey." Your cunt squeezed his member from time to time to better adjust. He rolled his hips against you slowly, trying to find out where your sensitive spot was. 

"I may not last long, shit!" Intertwining with your fingers, he tightened the grip and thrusted at a faster pace. His cock rubbed against your velvet wall deliciously, hitting your sweet spot. "Gosh!" You moaned out, the numbness he gave you caused a pleasure to run through your body. 

"You like it?" Again, he collided with your g spot dead on. "Oh, please." He aimed at the same spot and hit it over and over again, the skin slapping sound echoed in the room, combined with your soft whimpers and moans, just like a beautiful melody rang in Yeosang's ears. 

Pushing your thighs to either side once again, he pinned your ankles against the sheet, thrusting so deep and so fast. You have never felt such pleasure during sex, no one could satisfy you but only the man above you—even though you didn't know his name. "You're so deep."  A flush crept across your cheeks, as if an unseen force had seized your throat, rendering you momentarily breathless. 

He lowered himself, guiding your hands to your head, moving in a deliberate rhythm that was both steady and exquisite. Nestling his face into the curve of your neck, he savored your intoxicating fragrance with an insatiable hunger. He could hardly believe how he could lose himself in your scent for an eternity while fucking you. "I'm so close…" he gasped, his breath hitching as his movements grew erratic, a symphony of moans and curses escaping his lips. 

"That feeling…again…" You sobbed, your stomach tightened again but it was stronger than last time. There was something that burst out. Shutting your eyes, your nail dug into his skin and the pain brought him to the peak. "Fuck!!" He hissed at the pain and the pleasure, thrusting so fast without caring about your begging. "Stop…stop!!Ah!" You squirted with a loud, high-pitched moan, wetting his thighs and cock. The warmth and the wetness broke his limit and he came all in your cunt. 

"Goodnes…" He was  supposed to calm down from the heat after withdrawing from you…No, he couldn't. His cum filled you literally, even oozing from your hole. The way of your lower core squeezed for nothing but to suck his cum drove him insane. The most primitive desires in his body once again dominated his thoughts. "You need more, honey. Your pussy is made for breeding, you know?" He left a kiss on your clit, causing you to whine at overstimulation. 

"No…no…I can't take it anymore." Tears welled up in your eyes, head spinned. "You can, just one more time. Take all my cum and breed for me, girl." He slammed back into you again, making you sit up straight and wrap your arms around his neck. "Let my cum be the only thing in your cunt, puppy." Pressing his lips against yours, he pushed upward to make your body move up and down from his movement. 

"Be mine, puppy." 

—----

He came twice more before he calmed down and drifted to a quick nap. After some time, he stirred from a haze of pain, only to find himself and you entwined in a state of undress upon the bed. You had succumbed to slumber long ago, your exhaustion evident.

"What..." Confusion washed over him, but as memories surged forth like a torrential wave, his astonishment rendered him speechless. A profound guilt enveloped his heart, leaving him to ponder how he could be any different from those he despised. His hands trembled, regret gnawing at him for the choices he had made. Yet, he resolved to take responsibility for you. Should you desire him to face the law or meet a more dire fate, he would embrace it without hesitation.

"hehemon…over….Can you hear us?" In that moment, the urgent calls of his comrades echoed from the pager resting on the ground, shattering Yeosang's contemplations and rousing you from your slumber. "Over," he responded, his tone laced with a hint of remorse. "Where have you disappeared to? We are unable to locate you." His gaze fell upon the splintered remnants of the door that obstructed their path. Perhaps this was the reason for their inability to find him. "I am in the attic. I sustained injuries during a confrontation with the enemy moments ago, but I have now regained my mobility..." "That's good to hear. Please come back to the team." "Yes,sir." 

As the last remnants of the calls faded into the ether, he turned to confront you. "Are…are you here to save me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a fragile hope. "I…" he stammered, caught in the web of his own guilt. Yes, he was meant to be your protector, yet the shadows of his actions haunted him. He had indulged in his desires at your expense. 

"I deeply regret my actions. I did something terrible to you, and I know that an apology cannot suffice. I am prepared to do anything you wish, even if it means laying down my life for you." He insisted. Upon absorbing his words, your mind became a tempest of confusion, a cacophony of opposing thoughts swirling within. You ought to despise him, akin to the disdain you hold for those thugs; yet, curiously, you find no animosity towards him at all. Maybe it's because he knot you… Wait…he knot you? 

"Do you want to be irresponsible?" You met his confused gaze and you continued. "You know you knot me…" He took a deep breath, wearing a serious look. "No, I'll take responsibility. I can do anything for you to make up, no matter what. I'm truly sorry." "Then can you bring me to leave this place?" "Of course." He grabbed a blanket to cover your body and dressed himself up. 

"Can you walk?" He asked you softly and you shook your head slightly. Your limbs were still weak, let alone to stand up and walk out yourself. 

"Come." He turned around and knelt down, facing you with his back, posturing his hand to let you climb on him. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you." 

You were a little hesitant at first, but you climbed on top of him after a while so he could carry you down the stairs. After all, he was the only man here. 

"All the criminals died. Don't worry." He comforted you, his voice softened. You nodded and whispered in his ears. "What's your name anyway? "Yeosang." "I'm Y/N." "Y/N…" He murmured your name under his breath but you could hear it clearly. To be honest, you liked how he called you so softly. 

"Yeosang." 

Hm?" 

"Would you do anything for me?" 

"Yes, I will." 

"Then can you stay with me after we go back to your camp? I'm scared…" You buried your face in his neck, murmuring. 

"Sure. I'm here for you." 

"No regret?" 

"No regret." 

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

The Boogeyman (Alfie Solomons x Reader) 🎃Halloween Special🎃 ONESHOT

(UNEDITED) Pairing: Monster!Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 21,697

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, dry humping, forest sex, oral!fem receiving), age gap, child murders, eating children, Dark!Alfie, obsessive!Alfie, controlling Summary: "Do not misbehave, be a good girl. And no matter what. Never! enter the woods. He will get you." In a small village plagued by the ominous presence of the Boogeyman, you, a young and curious woman, find your world forever altered when you cross paths with Alfie Solomons, an enigmatic and older man. Instantly captivated by his mystique, you're drawn into his intriguing world, but as your connection deepens, you can't help but wonder if your newfound association with him will lead to unforeseen danger and consequences. A/N: This is an AU is set back in time with no real timeline and more than likely not in London. And literally after writing this out, I realised that this story would have been way better for Eddie Brock and Venom but...too late! It's also a bit fast paced but I got a lot to fit into a one shot so...it is what it is. This is also written in second person.

⛓🥀⛓ "Do not misbehave, be a good girl. And no matter what. Never! enter the woods. He will get you."

Parents would solemnly caution the young ones throughout the quiet village each and every night, their voices laden with apprehension.

"Don't be fooled," Mama repeated, her voice like a broken record.

The Boogeyman, that dreaded spectre that parents invoked to instil discipline, was a shadowy legend, perpetually elusive yet steadfastly believed. Has anyone ever truly encountered this enigmatic figure? The resounding answer was no, rendering him nothing more than a tale spun to terrify. 

But, oh, how parents revealed such a lie! In our village, renowned for its disquieting history of frequent child disappearances, this sinister persona took root. The lore declared that the Boogeyman would " abduct children and consume them," using his uncanny abilities to manipulate young minds, often infiltrating their dreams. This malevolent entity remained shrouded in darkness, dwelling deep within the heart of the forbidding forest, where the realms of reality and nightmare intertwined.

As you reclined in my bed, your gaze fixed on the window, the ethereal moonlight casting eerie shadows of leaves that relentlessly scraped against the glass, you couldn't help but wonder about the secrets concealed within those unfathomable woods. The nights blurred into years, and the elusive forest seemed to guard its enigmas ever more jealousy.

Clusters of trees interwoven like an impenetrable tapestry obscured any glimpse of what lay beyond. What mysteries lurked in the depths of the woods, where no child from our village was ever meant to tread? 

The yearning to explore that forbidden forest gnawed at you like an insatiable hunger. Just one opportunity to venture into the forest, to unravel its mysteries, was all you wished for. Yet, you were all too aware of Mama's unwavering resolve. She would never permit such a reckless escapade. You understood that desiring something as audacious as this was a perilous secret to harbour, for if word got out, the entire village would erupt in frenzy.

But what if there was something more to the forest, something beyond the tales of the Boogeyman? The adults, you reasoned, were only trying to protect the kids. Still, the allure of the unknown tugged at my curiosity like a relentless tide. It whispered promises of discovery and adventure, an escape from the mundane routine of our sheltered lives. And so, as you lay there, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the forest beckoned with its tantalising mysteries, a riddle yet to be unravelled.

⛓🥀⛓ Morning arrived, accompanied by the gentle caress of the sun's warm tendrils sneaking through the window's gaps. Your eyes fluttered open, revealing the monotonous wooden confines of my unremarkable bedroom. Stretching one leg to touch the floor while the other dangled over the edge, you yawned and rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes. With a determined sigh, you pushed yourself upright and began the descent down the creaky staircase.

Mama's voice, as predictable as the rising sun, greeted me with a mild scolding. "It's nearly midday, Y/n. When will you learn to rise at a reasonable hour? You're 18 years old, not 80."

You met her reproach with a weary but respectful response. "I'm sorry, Mama," you replied, trudging wearily into the kitchen, where Mama was carefully slicing a fresh loaf of bread. 

Her eyes, softened by maternal concern, met yours. "We're heading to the market today, dear. Please make an effort to look presentable."

You let out a resigned sigh, feeling the weight of her expectations pressing upon my shoulders. With reluctant steps, you retreated to your room, ready to face the day and the mysteries that the forest held, if only in your imagination.

⛓🥀⛓ The clamour of people rushing about engulfed you as you navigated through the bustling town. With your head held low, you stuck close to Mama, blending into her side as though seeking refuge in her presence.

Mama, sensing the need for a change, extended a few coins in your direction, her words laden with expectation ."Go look for some better clothes that actually fit you, or maybe even some fabric," she instructed, then wandered off into the throng, leaving you to fend for yourself.

A sense of unease washed over you. Can't she come with me? The bustling market felt overwhelming, and you yearned for her reassuring presence amid the chaos.

You didn't like the idea of solitude, especially in the midst of this bustling crowd, but Mama's directives were not to be questioned. Suppressing your apprehension, you ventured forth towards the market's clothing section.

As you progressed, you couldn't help but notice the fresh additions to the heart-wrenching collection of missing children posters. They clung to tent posts and any available surface like desperate pleas for help. Your heart ached for those unfortunate souls, caught in the enigmatic grasp of the forest.

Despite the vibrant array of exotic colours adorning various articles of clothing and accessories. Among them, a couple of red skirts caught your eye, but none truly ignited your interest. With a sigh of disappointment, you turned away and continued down the bustling road.

As you wandered, you couldn't help but observe the people around you. Many seemed to adhere to a similar aesthetic – modest attire befitting the lower class, much like your own clothing. The crowd blurred into a sea of similarity, with individuals seamlessly merging into the tapestry of the town's daily life. 

However, amidst this sea of sameness, one figure stood out like an anomaly in the fabric of reality. It was a man, and although it seemed impossible, his presence had an uncanny ability to halt the world in its tracks.

He stood out to you, those grey eyes reminiscent of a universe filled with stars. A wide-brimmed pork pie hat sat atop of his brown hair, and a scruffy beard added an air of rugged refinement. His countenance bore a hardness that could easily be intimidating to those who dared to gaze upon it. In truth, you could endlessly enumerate the myriad qualities that rendered this man devilishly handsome.

Caught in his magnetic presence, you found yourself in a dreamy reverie, utterly reluctant to divert your gaze even for a fleeting moment. The world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the enigmatic stranger at the centre of your attention, a captivating mystery in the midst of the mundane.

As if on cue, his gaze locked onto yours, and you found yourself frozen in place. The sheer shock of the moment left you dumbfounded. However, he remained unruffled, and a sly smirk graced his lips. It was as though he relished the effect he had on you, causing an undeniable rush of heat to surge to your cheeks. In your flustered state, you instinctively averted your eyes to the ground, attempting to make a quick escape. Yet, your retreat was abruptly halted as you were whisked away, pinned against a nearby stall.

Your body stiffened as you looked up, meeting the intense gaze of your captor. Under his compelling presence, you couldn't help but tremble. It was the very same man who had captured your attention moments earlier with his striking charm. Now, he stood before you, effectively trapping you between him and the market stall. With a blend of sweetness and cockiness, he parted his luscious lips to speak.

"I saw you looking at me back there, what's your name?" he inquired, his cockney voice bearing a rich, raspy timbre that sent your heart into a frenzied race.

Swallowing hard, you struggled to steady your trembling nerves. "Come on, little Dove," you flinched as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Drawing even closer, he narrowed the distance between your faces. His warm breath caressed your skin as he pressed, "What's your name?"

"Y-Y/n," you managed to stutter out, your voice betraying your anxiety.

"Such a beautiful name you have," he purred, his name rolling off his tongue like a seductive melody. "Alfie."

His fingers gently caressed your cheek, coaxing your fearful gaze to meet his. "Don't be frightened, little Dove," he reassured, his words a soothing balm to your anxiety. "I won't hurt you."

Alfie continued to stroke his thumb against your flushed cheeks, a gesture that sent a shiver down your spine. Just as he was on the verge of speaking again, the sound of your mama's voice suddenly shattered the moment, putting a halt to his words.

"I hope to see you again," he whispered, his words carrying a weight of longing, before gracefully retreating from your alarmed presence and blending once more into the bustling crowd.

Exhaling deeply, you realised you had been subconsciously holding your breath during this intense encounter. Slowly, you managed to pull yourself together and step back onto the bustling street. With a quivering breath, you looked up and spotted Mama approaching, carrying two bags filled with provisions.

"What's left you so shaken, dear? Did you find anything at all?" Mama inquired with concern, her gaze searching your face for answers.

You shook your head, unable to articulate the unusual encounter you had just experienced. Mama let out a sigh of understanding. "Very well, let's go home now," she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and resignation, leaving the mysteries of the market behind as you both headed for the familiarity and safety of home.

The journey back home was marked by a heavy silence, your thoughts still consumed by the enigmatic man, Alfie. He had both unsettled and fascinated you in equal measure. Despite the intrigue, a part of you fervently hoped to never cross paths with him again, uncertain of how much more you could withstand.

The world outside seemed to blur into insignificance as your mind replayed the encounter with Alfie. His image and that rich, raspy voice lingered in your thoughts. 

Your home lay on the outskirts of the village, necessitating a slightly longer walk. It took at least 10 minutes to reach your dwelling from anyone else in the village. Remarkably, you and Mama had managed to reside on the very edge of the village grounds, avoiding the ominous forest that loomed nearby.

Upon your return home, you couldn't resist the impulse to retreat to your room. You sprawled on your bed, trying to shake off the lingering presence of Alfie's airy voice that seemed to echo in your ears.

"Don't be scared of me, little Dove, I won't hurt you," his soothing words replayed in your mind, causing your heart to pound like a drum.

Your hand involuntarily slapped against your chest, attempting to quell the rapid, erratic rhythm that reverberated beneath your palm. Each thud seemed to resonate with the enigmatic encounter, leaving you in a state of restless disquietude.

What is it about him that makes my heart go crazy?

Without realising it, night had descended much faster than you anticipated, and a steaming dinner awaited your ravenous appetite. Each step you took seemed to drag out, your thoughts ensnared in a web of contemplation from which you couldn't break free. You lowered yourself into a dining chair, your movements slow and deliberate, as if trapped in a dreamlike state. Mama regarded you with a perplexed expression, her muttered comment cutting through the silence.

"Bloody weirdo," she mumbled, her words just audible enough to reach your ears.

You remained silent, the weight of the encounter with the man still lingering heavily in your thoughts. Picking up your fork, you mechanically shovelled food into your mouth, then efficiently tidied up before retreating to your room. Your body felt heavy as you trudged over to your bed, succumbing to the embrace of sleep almost instantly. The mysteries of the day, the enigmatic Alfie, and the forest beyond the village faded into the recesses of your mind as dreams took over.

⛓🥀⛓ Surrounded by a vibrant sea of flowers, you found yourself enchanted by the beauty that encircled you. Each blossom held a unique allure, and you couldn't help but admire each one.

"I knew you'd like them, they're all for you," he murmured, his words sending a warm rush of happiness through your veins.

It was a feeling of being cherished, of finally holding significance in someone's life. A wide, uncontrollable grin crept across your face, illuminated by his presence.

"Is that smile for me?" He inquired with a gentle sweetness, his arms encircling your waist from behind.

His lips brushed from your shoulder to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. 

"Just remember," he whispered softly, "you are only mine and always mine."

The possessiveness in his voice was undeniable, creating an electrifying tension in the air that left you both exhilarated and apprehensive.

⛓🥀⛓ You jolted awake from your slumber, shock coursing through your body as the remnants of the dream lingered in your mind.

It was him!

Struggling to shake off the vivid images from your dream, you hauled yourself out of bed. Each step felt like a deliberate effort as you ascended the stairs.

Near the top, Mama's voice sliced through your thoughts, her tone edged with curiosity and concern. "Are you going to continue acting strange today?" she inquired, her brow arching with a mix of annoyance and worry.

"No, Mama, I'm sorry," you replied softly, feeling a twinge of guilt as you hang your head low. You grabbed a slice of bread, your appetite subdued, and retreated to the solace of your room, leaving behind a lingering sense of intrigue and unease.

Alfie, his presence, and the enigma he embodied dominated your thoughts, stubbornly refusing to yield to anything else. Every attempt to divert your mind led it inexorably back to him. 

Feeling compelled by this man who had entered your life so fleetingly, you found yourself instinctively preparing to venture out. There was no concrete reason, but an unexplainable desire drove you to wander the town for the day. Could it really be because of him? It seemed preposterous, yet undeniable.

Descending the stairs, you mulled over the notion of turning back and retreating to the solitude of your room. But before you could act on your uncertainty, Mama's voice pierced through your contemplations, pulling you back to reality.

"Where are you going?" her voice echoed in your ears, disrupting your thoughts.

"I just feel like taking a walk around town," you offered an excuse that was half-spontaneous, half-true.

"Alright," Mama replied, a hint of caution in her voice. "Make sure you're back before dark." Her concern lingered like a gentle reminder, urging you to tread carefully in this world of uncertainty.

⛓🥀⛓ The sound of leaves crinkling beneath your feet was the only audible presence in your world as your thoughts traversed distant realms. His eyes, his nose, his lips—every detail etched into your memory. You marvelled at the lingering impact he had on your mind. 

As you strolled alone through town, a mix of emotions swirled within you. You couldn't decide if it was the novelty of going to town unaccompanied or the persistent thought of him that left you stunned. His effortless elegance, combined with a dishevelled allure that defied reason, played on a loop in your mind. 

How did he manage to embody such an enigmatic blend of grace and rugged charm? The question lingered like an unsolved riddle, one that you couldn't help but ponder with each step you took through the quiet streets of the town.

What had once been a tranquil dirt road had transformed into cobblestone streets bustling with activity. Even though yesterday had been no different, the sight never ceased to amaze you. In this small village, it seemed almost impossible not to recognize every single person passing by. Yet, there was one face, one presence you desperately yearned to encounter again. 

You couldn't bring yourself to admit it, but you scanned the crowded streets, lifting your head a little higher as if it might make a difference. Deep down, you knew it was a futile endeavour. No one ventured to town twice in such quick succession, and the odds of crossing paths with him again were slim. Nevertheless, a glimmer of hope persisted within you, an ember of desire to see him once more.

Having resigned yourself to the futility of your search, hope drained from your body like water from a sieve. A heavy, defeated sigh escaped your lips, and your shoulders slumped in disappointment.

With every intention of turning around and retracing your steps homeward, you paused for a fleeting moment. It was as if the universe had conspired to hold you in place, a strange sensation that left you momentarily rooted to the spot.

And then, with sudden and unexpected intensity, a large, firm hand snaked around your waist. Its grasp was assertive yet strangely gentle, pulling you back against a solid surface that radiated warmth and strength. The abruptness of the encounter sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself held in a mysterious and electrifying moment, suspended between the anticipation of the unknown and the familiarity of desire.

Your breath hitched, and a chill coursed through your body, freezing you in place.

"Were you that desperate to see me again?" he murmured, his voice deep and tender, sending shivers down your spine. "Glad to see you too, little Dove."

In that moment, your heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. He was here.

His voice drew nearer to your ear, and he inched closer. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" he whispered, his warm breath caressing your skin.

You couldn't help but shy away from his proximity, although it felt practically impossible. His chest pressed against your back, and a low chuckle rumbled within him, sending vibrations coursing through you.

"Care to walk with me?" His voice, as soothing as a gentle breeze, whispered in your ear.

"I mustn't," you initially declined, your apprehension tugging at your better judgement.

"Come on, little Dove," he coaxed, his firm yet gentle grip pulling you closer to his broad, enigmatic figure. The heat rose in your cheeks as you felt the closeness of his presence.

Hesitatingly, you found yourself nodding your head in reluctant agreement. It was a departure from your usual assertiveness, a testament to the irresistible allure he held over you in that fleeting moment.

What is happening to me!?

A playful smile graced his features as he gently took your hand in his, coaxing you along with him. Alfie's touch was magnetic, and you found yourself willingly following his lead.

Alfie led you through the bustling streets, navigating the crowded thoroughfares with ease, until you reached a dirt road that led into the looming forest. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips, and you instinctively pulled your hand from his grasp.

I can’t go in there.

Alfie turned back to face you, his brow creased in confusion, searching your eyes for answers to the unspoken questions that hung in the air between you.

"What's wrong, little Dove?" he inquired, extending his hand toward you, only to have you stumble back, your fear palpable.

"I-I can't go in there," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

A ravishing smile graced his lips, a seductive playfulness dancing in his eyes.

"Is my poor darling scared?" he asked, his tone adopting a gentleness one might use when comforting a child.

Before you could respond, he pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your waist, and his voice dropped to a tantalising murmur as he assured you, "Don't worry. You'll be right by my side the whole time." His warm breath caressed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself irresistibly drawn into his enigmatic world.

"Y-you don't understand," you stammered, your voice quivering with unease. "Mama told me I'm not—"

"Well, Mama’s not fucking here right now, is she?" he interjected, his tone taking on an edge that felt more menacing compared to his usual joviality. "You have me, and that's enough, isn't it? Is it not?"

His abrupt shift in demeanour sent shivers down your spine, and you began to tremble under the weight of his intense gaze. The sense of foreboding that hung in the air was suffocating, and you couldn't help but fear the implications of his newfound seriousness.

"Hey, what's wrong, Little Dove?" he inquired, his voice gentler now, as he tenderly cupped your face in his hands. The sudden contact made you flinch, and you instinctively tried to step back. But he held you firmly in place, his touch both comforting and unsettling.

You closed your eyes tightly, a protective reflex kicking in. His soothing words broke through the tension. "I won't hurt you, remember that."

Slowly, you began to open your eyes once again, only to be met with his hurt expression. The realisation that your actions had inadvertently caused him pain washed over you like a wave, and you felt a pang of remorse. You hadn't meant to hurt him.

"Do you not trust me?" he asked, his tone tinged with gravity and concern.

You reached for his hands and held them firmly, your fingers intertwined with his. A rapid shake of your head followed. "No, no, I do trust you!" you reassured him with urgency, your voice filled with sincerity and desperation.

A warm smile gradually graced his features once more, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate.

"Perfect," he affirmed, the word carrying a sense of reassurance and finality, as if sealing an unspoken pact between the two of you.

Alfie tugged at your left hand, guiding you deeper into the heart of the forest. You clung onto his arm, your grip tight, your senses alert to the mysteries lurking behind each tree. His smirk hinted at a shared understanding of your vulnerability, and you found yourself relying on him for both guidance and protection.

As you ventured further into the dense woodland, you felt the enormity of the forest closing in around you. Each step drew you deeper into its mysterious embrace, and the world outside began to blur into obscurity. In this surreal wilderness, your proximity to Alfie was strikingly intimate. He held you so close that his touch on your left thigh became a grounding force, a reassuring reminder that you were not alone in the vastness of the unknown. His firm grip served as a constant, physical connection, anchoring you to the present moment as you navigated deeper into the enigmatic heart of the forest.

The air in the forest was heavy with mist, its density obscuring the path you had been following. Before you could react, it seemed to vanish into a carpet of fallen leaves and small twigs.

Raising your gaze toward the intricate tapestry of tree branches overhead, you marvelled at their intricate dance as they reached out to one another and intertwined. Each step Alfie led you deeper into the forest was like a journey from darkness to light. The once-shadowed path had transformed into a radiant garden, adorned with a kaleidoscope of plants in every imaginable shape and colour, creating an enchanting oasis within the heart of the woods.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you knelt down, gently grazing your hand against the delicate petals. The sensation of their softness against your skin sent a shiver of delight through you. You withdrew your hand, fingers tingling, and rejoined Alfie as you continued to explore the enchanting garden.

He leaned in, his lips brushing tantalisingly close to your ear, sending a thrill down your spine. "I knew you would like them," he murmured, his voice a gentle, soothing hum. "They're all for you." His words hung in the air, a sweet promise that seemed to bloom amid the garden's vibrant beauty.

Why does that sound so familiar?

You pressed your body closer to him, a hidden smile gracing your lips as you sought refuge in his comforting embrace.

"Come on, show me that beautiful fucking smile of yours," he teased, his fingers gently lifting your chin to face him.

You attempted to pull back, but his hold on you remained steadfast. The corner of his lips curved upward into a warm, open-mouthed smile, and he let out a compassionate laugh that washed over you like a gentle wave.

Though you had known Alfie for only two days, the tender affection he showered upon you felt undeniably real. In his presence, every moment felt fresh and vibrant, as if the world had been painted anew. Not for a single second did you wish for him to leave, your heart yearning to savour every precious moment with him.

"See, now if you hadn't come with me," he said brightly, his voice filled with enthusiasm, "you wouldn't have gotten to see all this. And I wouldn't want my little Dove to miss out on all the fun."

His words danced like sunlight through the leaves, infusing the moment with a sense of adventure and joy. You couldn't help but be grateful for the opportunity to explore this enchanting world with him by your side, realising that it had brought you closer to something magical and extraordinary.

You and Alfie continued your journey through the garden, passing by the vibrant flowers and circling around a mighty, ancient tree. As you ventured further, a two-story house came into view, slightly larger than your own. With a sense of wonder, you gently released yourself from Alfie's arm and approached the beautiful house.

The exterior was a tapestry of nature, with flowers and ivy adorning nearly every inch of its walls. The door, a rich dark brown, boasted an elegant golden handle—a luxury not often seen by those who weren't of royal descent.

From behind, you felt Alfie's gradual approach, his hand settling warmly high up on your back. The touch was both reassuring and filled with an unspoken promise of the adventures yet to unfold within the walls of this enchanting place.

"Let's head inside," he whispered softly, his warm breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"This is yours?" you asked, your voice filled with shock and amazement.

With a gentle push, Alfie urged you toward the house, his hand a reassuring presence on your back, guiding you forward. You stepped through the open door, allowing you to enter first. As you crossed the threshold, you were immediately enveloped in a welcoming warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The interior of the house was even more breathtaking than the exterior, with a cosy, inviting atmosphere that made you feel instantly at home. The flickering light of a fireplace cast a warm glow over a long couch adorned with plush cushions and a beautiful red and gold rug, creating an inviting space that beckoned you to sit and relax. Shelves lined with various items, from books to potted plants, showcased a charming collection that spoke of a well-lived life. A quaint kitchenette, nestled near a staircase that led to the second floor, completed the cosy setting, and you took in the inviting atmosphere that surrounded you.

Alfie followed closely behind you, his eyes never leaving your form as you took in the surroundings. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He watched with a faint, satisfied smile as you marvelled at the interior of the house he had brought you to.

The inviting atmosphere seemed to wrap around both of you, creating a sense of intimacy and connection. The flickering firelight painted playful shadows on the walls, casting a warm and inviting ambiance throughout the room. The long couch, adorned with plush cushions, practically begged for you to sink into its comfortable embrace, and the beautiful red and gold rug added a touch of elegance to the space.

Your attention was drawn to the shelves that lined the walls, displaying an eclectic collection of items. Books of all genres stood shoulder to shoulder with potted plants, each item contributing to the overall charm of the room. The quaint kitchenette, complete with its own unique character, nestled near the staircase that led to the second floor, completed the cosy setting.

Alfie's presence beside you felt both reassuring and electrifying, like a promise of something new and exciting on the horizon. The house seemed to echo with the unspoken possibilities of what this moment could mean for both of you, and you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected journey with him would lead.

"This place is beautiful, Alfie," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation as you continued to take in the enchanting surroundings.

Alfie gave you a pleased smile in response to your compliment before guiding you to the next room. As you both approached the wooden staircase that led to the second floor, your gaze was drawn to a compact kitchenette nestled nearby. Its well-organised design fit seamlessly into the room, with charming touches that added to the overall cosiness of the house.

The kitchenette featured polished wooden countertops, adorned with small potted herbs that added a delightful burst of greenery. A quaint sink sat beneath a window that allowed natural light to flood the space, making it feel even more inviting. The shelves were stocked with a variety of dishes and cookware, while a vintage stove stood as the centrepiece, ready to whip up delicious meals.

Alfie stood by your side, watching your reactions with a sense of pride. The house was not only beautiful but also meticulously designed to create an atmosphere of comfort and tranquillity. Every corner seemed to reflect the care and thought that had been put into making it a warm and welcoming place. "Tea?" Alfie asked, his voice carrying a note of warmth and hospitality.

You nodded, the idea of a soothing cup of tea in this enchanting setting sounding like the perfect way to continue your visit. You took a seat at the dining table, which was situated near the kitchenette and surrounded by charming wooden chairs. The table itself was adorned with a delicate lace tablecloth, adding a touch of elegance to the rustic charm of the room.

As you settled into your seat, you watched with curiosity and appreciation as Alfie moved gracefully about the kitchenette. He reached for a teapot, its design matching the overall aesthetic of the house, and carefully filled it with water. The aromatic tea leaves were lovingly measured and added to the pot, creating a fragrant blend that hinted at the promise of a delightful tea time.

The sound of water boiling and the gentle clinking of teacups filled the air as Alfie prepared the tea with practised ease. The cosy atmosphere of the house seemed to enhance the simple pleasure of sharing a cup of tea with someone who had quickly become an intriguing and enigmatic presence in your life.

As he carried the steaming teapot and two cups to the dining table, you couldn't help but feel a sense of connection and curiosity growing between you and Alfie. It was as if the house itself had brought you together, and you were eager to continue exploring both the enchanting surroundings and the enigmatic man who had guided you here.

"Thank you," you said appreciatively, taking one of the cups that Alfie had prepared and bringing it to your lips. The first sip of the fragrant tea was a soothing embrace to your senses, its warmth spreading through your body and providing a moment of calm in the midst of the day's unexpected events.

As you savoured the tea's delicate flavour, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort settle over you. It was as if the house, with its cosy atmosphere and Alfie's gracious hospitality, had become a sanctuary of sorts. The worries and uncertainties that had been plaguing your mind since you first encountered Alfie began to recede, replaced by a newfound sense of tranquillity.

Alfie watched you closely, his gaze unwavering but not intrusive. There was a certain intensity in his eyes, as if he were studying your every reaction and response. It was a reminder that there was still much about him that remained a mystery, a puzzle waiting to be unravelled.

Despite the enigma that surrounded Alfie, you couldn't deny the undeniable connection that seemed to be forming between the two of you. The events of the day had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself drawn deeper into a world that was as mysterious as it was alluring.

As you continued to share tea and conversation in the charming dining area, you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected journey would lead you next and what secrets the enigmatic Alfie held within the walls of his captivating home.

"Such a cute fucking thing, you are," Alfie remarked, a hint of affection in his voice as he regarded you with a fond smile. The endearment sent a warm flutter through your chest, and you couldn't help but return his smile with a shy one of your own.

A rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, and you couldn't deny the blush that had painted your face a shade of crimson. Alfie's words and the intensity of his gaze had an undeniable effect on you, causing your heart to race and your emotions to swirl in a captivating whirlwind.

Your gaze momentarily dropped, unable to maintain eye contact with Alfie's penetrating stare. It was as if his words had unveiled a vulnerability within you, one that you hadn't been fully aware of until now. In his presence, you felt exposed, yet strangely drawn to the enigmatic charm that surrounded him.

As the blush deepened, you found yourself at a loss for words, the unspoken tension between you and Alfie growing stronger with each passing moment. It was a moment of both vulnerability and connection, as if the very air around you crackled with an unspoken promise of what could be.

The words and gestures exchanged between you and Alfie had created a unique bond, one that was both intriguing and captivating. His charm was undeniable, and the allure of his enigmatic presence had drawn you in deeper than you ever expected.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, a thoughtful expression crossing your face as you considered Alfie's question. It was a simple enough request, yet you found yourself hesitating, unsure of where to begin.

"Well," you began slowly, "I've lived in the village for as long as I can remember. My mama owns a home on the outskirts with a little garden and chickens." You paused, a wistful smile touching your lips as you recalled fond memories of your childhood.

"I would enjoy spending time in nature," you continued, your eyes meeting Alfie's. "There's something serene about the forest and the fields that has always drawn me in. But of course I’m not allowed in it. This is the first time I’ve ever stepped foot in the forest and it’s beautiful. I wished my parents weren’t so paranoid."

Alfie listened attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as he absorbed your words. His genuine interest in getting to know you better was evident, and it made you feel a connection that went beyond mere attraction.

As you spoke about your hobbies, your family, and your dreams, you couldn't help but notice how Alfie's presence seemed to put you at ease. The initial fear and uncertainty that had gripped you earlier had given way to a growing sense of comfort in his company. You were beginning to realise that there was much more to Alfie than met the eye, and you were eager to discover the layers beneath his enigmatic exterior as well.

"So...the forest is safe then?" you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. After all, Alfie lived alone in the forest, and you couldn't help but wonder if the recent disturbance meant any potential danger for the place you had grown to enjoy exploring with him.

"As long as you're with me, you're safe," Alfie answered with a reassuring smile.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you prodded further. "What's out there in the forest, Alfie?"

Alfie's gaze turned thoughtful as he considered your question. “Just fucking wild dogs. Real aggressive buggers, yeah. Why I keep a shotgun at the door, always fucking come around here.”

You couldn't help but shiver at the thought of those aggressive wild dogs roaming the nearby forest.

"But no monsters out there, Dove," Alfie reassured you, his tone lightening the mood. "None that would hurt you, at least." He punctuated his words with a playful wink, causing a small, relieved smile to tug at your lips.

Yet, beneath the surface of this newfound connection, there lingered an unspoken tension—a sense that there was more to Alfie and the world he inhabited than met the eye. It was a mystery you couldn't ignore, even as you basked in the warmth of his hospitality.

⛓🥀⛓ After that day, neither you nor Alfie could get enough of each other. It became a routine for both of you to meet up every day. Alfie would take you on leisurely walks, whether through the charming town or the mysterious depths of the forest. Each day was a new adventure, filled with laughter, shared secrets, and stolen kisses.

You had gone from initially fearing the forest to eagerly wanting to explore it further with Alfie by your side. As time passed, you found yourself falling in love with him, and each day spent together only strengthened your bond. The forest, once a place of dread, became a backdrop for your shared adventures, and you cherished every moment spent with Alfie.

Your mother, observant as always, couldn't help but notice the profound change in your daily routine. While she may not have known the specifics of your newfound friendship or the identity of the person who had captured your heart, the fact that you left the house every day, returning only when the sun dipped below the horizon, didn't escape her notice. She watched as a radiance lit up your face, and her motherly instincts told her that something special had taken root in your life, something that seemed to bring you immense happiness and fulfilment. It was a change she welcomed, even if it remained shrouded in a bit of mystery.

On this particular day, as you left the house to spend time with Alfie, your heart danced with anticipation. It had become a familiar routine – Alfie guiding you to his house, a place that now felt like a second home. Each visit held the promise of adventure, the allure of the unknown, and the comfort of his presence. As you made your way through the streets, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that you were about to embark on another unforgettable journey with the enigmatic man who had turned your world upside down.

Alfie, as always, was waiting for you at your designated meeting spot, leaning casually against a lamppost. His eyes, as they locked onto yours, sparkled with a mixture of mischief and warmth.

"You came back to me, my little Dove?" he purred, his tease sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You nodded eagerly, the air vibrating with a sense of anticipation. “You just make my day much more exciting, how could I stay away?”

With a graceful wave of his hand, Alfie beckoned you to follow, and you fell into step beside him. As you walked through the village streets, the two of you exchanged stories and laughter, your connection deepening with every shared moment.

Alfie's house came into view, and you couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable you'd grown in this once-forbidding place. Inside, the air was imbued with a blend of mysterious scents, a reflection of Alfie's captivating personality. It was a world of hidden corners and secrets, a world you were more than willing to explore.

As the hours passed, you found yourself drawn further into the web of Alfie's charm and charisma. He regaled you with tales of his own past, leaving you hanging on his every word. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the room, and the atmosphere between you grew increasingly charged.

“You’re such a pretty fucking little thing, you know that, Dove?” Alfie murmured, his gaze lingering on you.

Alfie, his voice hushed and hypnotic, shared an old folk tale he'd heard from a distant land, his words wrapping around you like a spell.

His words hung in the air like a forbidden melody, and you felt your heart race as you swallowed hard. Alfie's intense gaze bore into you, and a flush of warmth crept up your cheeks.

"I..." Words seemed to escape you, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that his compliment had stirred. You'd never felt quite like this before, a heady mix of desire and vulnerability. His proximity, the charged atmosphere, it all left you breathless.

Alfie's fingers, calloused from a life of intrigue and danger, gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was electric, sending sparks of sensation through your skin. With infinite tenderness, he cupped your chin, tilting your head upward until your eyes locked onto his.

"Dove," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "I've been waitin' for this moment."

Time seemed to stand still as Alfie leaned in, his lips a breath away from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, a tantalising promise of what was about to happen. It was a moment of perfect anticipation, the world fading into insignificance as your lips drew closer together, the magnetic pull between you impossible to resist.

You found yourself leaning closer, caught in the captivating cadence of his storytelling. In that moment, as the world outside faded away, it seemed as if time itself had paused, and you were suspended in the enchantment of the narrative. His eyes locked onto yours, and a pause lingered in the air, filled with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of the moment, a subtle tension that neither of you dared to break.

The moment stretched, time standing still as you gazed into each other's eyes. It was a dance of longing, desire, and the unspoken, a dance that had been building since the day you first met Alfie Solomons. And as you leaned closer, the world outside faded away, leaving only the promise of that moment and the anticipation of what was to come.

In that charged moment, Alfie's lips finally met yours. It was a gentle yet fervent kiss, a merging of two souls drawn together by an undeniable magnetism. His lips were soft against yours, coaxing and inviting, as if they had been designed solely to fit yours.

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you responded to his kiss, your fingers trembling slightly as they reached up to tangle in his hair. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Alfie's mouth on yours, a taste of desire and longing that left you breathless.

Alfie deepened the kiss, his passion igniting a fire within you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, until there was not an inch of space between you. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent declaration of the unspoken desires that had simmered between you since the moment you had first met.

With a soft, lingering sigh, you both slowly pulled away from each other, the warmth of the moment still radiating between you.

Alfie's eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with a mixture of emotions. His thumb gently brushed across your cheek, as if he couldn't resist the urge to touch you even for a moment longer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the depth of his feelings.

You, too, found yourself smiling, a blush rising to your cheeks as you looked down for a brief moment. The air between you was charged with unspoken words, with the knowledge that this was a turning point in your relationship.

A timid, hopeful smile played at the corners of your lips as you asked, "you...like me?"

Alfie burst into hearty laughter at your question, the sound filling the room and echoing with amusement. 

"Yeah, I fucking like you, Dove," Alfie replied with a warm smile, his eyes filled with a fondness that made your heart flutter.

As you gazed into Alfie's eyes, a mixture of emotions swirled within you. The connection between you two felt stronger than ever, yet there was an undeniable tension in the air. You couldn't help but feel the weight of the unspoken desires that hung between you like a delicate thread, waiting to be acknowledged.

Alfie's thumb gently brushed against your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes, filled with an intensity that left you breathless, slowly descended to your lips. Time seemed to stand still as he leaned in, his warm breath mingling with yours.

"I got you something," Alfie said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

Your curiosity piqued, you raised an eyebrow. His smile widened as he gracefully rose from his chair, moving to the side of the room. With deliberate care, he retrieved a bundle of rich, dark red cloth and extended it toward you. You accepted the bundle, your fingers tingling with anticipation as you gently unfolded it. Before you lay a breathtaking dark red dress, its fabric shimmering in the dim light, and you couldn't help but gasp at its sheer beauty.

"Alfie, I can't possibly accept this," you said humbly, your eyes fixed on the exquisite dress before you. The fabric alone bespoke a level of luxury you had never encountered before, and it made your heart race with both gratitude and unease.

The dress was far from cheap, that much was clear, and you struggled with the idea of accepting such an opulent gift. "Alfie, this is too much," you insisted, torn between admiration for the dress and the sense of propriety that told you it was beyond your means.

But Alfie's gaze held unwavering determination as he replied, "No, that's yours." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, and his eyes seemed to convey a deeper sentiment you couldn't quite decipher.

You offered a warm smile, genuinely grateful for his gesture, and expressed your gratitude with a heartfelt, "Thank you, Alfie."

As you rose from your seat and approached him, his smirk widened, and his eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. There was an undeniable tension in the air, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to him, leaving both of you acutely aware of the charged atmosphere between you.

Just as your lips were about to meet once more, a distant noise from the bustling village outside broke the spell. The moment was interrupted, and you both pulled away, a sense of longing and frustration in your eyes.

Alfie let out a sigh, his forehead resting against yours. "It seems some wild fucking dog has other plans for us, Dove," he said, a little irritated.

You nodded, your heart heavy with both desire and the harsh reality of the world outside. The two of you shared one last lingering look before reluctantly parting, knowing that this stolen moment was just the beginning of a deeper, more complicated connection between you.

With a swift stride, Alfie grabbed the shotgun waiting by his front door, his determined steps echoing his resolve as he left the house to confront the issue. You couldn't help but shake your head in amusement and let out a soft chuckle.

⛓🥀⛓ Over the past month, you had spent more and more time with Alfie, and you couldn't deny the growing closeness between you. There was a palpable connection, an unspoken understanding that seemed to deepen with each passing day. However, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere whenever you found yourselves in close proximity, as if the air itself crackled with unspoken desires and emotions.

Whenever Alfie playfully teased you, your cheeks would flush with warmth, and you found it increasingly difficult to hide the undeniable attraction that was blossoming between you two. The tension between you felt electric, like a charged wire ready to ignite at any moment. It was a dance of desire that neither of you could completely ignore.

You were engaged in conversation, seated together on his lounge chair. The sun bathed you both in its warm, golden light, casting long shadows that danced across the room.

The gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside, and the distant sounds of the village carried through the air. You found yourself captivated by Alfie's words, the way he spoke with a mixture of confidence and vulnerability. 

As the conversation continued, Alfie's eyes locked onto yours, and you couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull between you. His words grew softer, more intimate, and his fingers brushed against yours. The tension in the air became palpable, and it seemed as though neither of you could resist the inevitable any longer.

Alfie's fingers trailed up and down the sides of your arms, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Warm puffs of his breath teased the nape of your neck, making your skin tingle in response.

"You are so beautiful, my little Dove," he murmured, his lips pressing gently below your ear.

With a swift, almost possessive motion, he spun you around to face him. His eyes, brimming with intense desire, bore into your soul, making your heart race. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, forcing you to tilt your head back slightly. Soft, lingering kisses traced the base of your neck, slowly ascending along your jawline. Your eyelids fluttered closed as his kisses grew more demanding, your mouth falling open slightly as you released an unsteady breath.

"Just remember, you are only mine and always mine," As Alfie whispered those possessive words, they echoed through your mind, weaving a spell that bound you to him completely. Each word carried a weight of dominance, his declaration demanding your unwavering obedience.

With a nod, you acknowledged your place as his, a mix of desire and devotion swirling within you. A gentle smile graced his lips, and he guided you towards the plush furs and blankets spread invitingly in front of the dancing flames of the fireplace, an intimate sanctuary where deeper passions and pleasures awaited.

Sinking onto his lap, you found yourself straddling him, your bodies perfectly aligned in a passionate embrace. Alfie's strong hands claimed your hips, his touch grounding you and igniting a primal connection. As you leaned in, your fingertips trailed gently along his face, tracing the contours with adoration, feeling the roughness of his stubble against your delicate touch. The warmth of the fire bathed you both in an intimate glow, casting flickering shadows that danced upon your entwined forms, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between you, you leaned forward, capturing Alfie's lips in a fervent and passionate kiss. The world around you faded into a blur as the fervour of your connection intensified. Your bodies pressed together, fueling the fire of desire that blazed within you both. Time seemed to stand still as the heat of the moment enveloped you, an intoxicating blend of desire, need, and surrender.

Lost in the depths of your intense kiss, you felt Alfie's hands skillfully navigate the intricate strings of your dress, pulling them gently but deliberately. The tension released as the fabric of your dress gave way, caressing your skin as it slid down your body, revealing the curves and contours that had captured his desire. The cool air heightened your senses, contrasting with the scorching heat that enveloped you both, as the anticipation of what lay ahead hung in the air like an electrifying promise.

As Alfie's hands glided along the sides of your body, a delicious shiver coursed through you, making your skin come alive under his touch. The contrast of his rough hands against the softness of your skin heightened the sensation, igniting a hunger for more. His touch, both possessive yet tender, explored every curve and contour, unravelling the layers of desire that bound you together, until you were both consumed by an electric connection that could not be denied.

You reciprocated his actions by pushing off his vest, the fabric gliding smoothly over his shoulders and pooling on the floor. Your hands trembled with anticipation as you deftly undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing the sculpted contours of his chest. Each button released heightened your desire, revealing more of the tantalising sight that lay beneath. The shared act of undressing became a sensual dance, fueling the flames of anticipation and escalating the intensity of the moment.

Feeling an overwhelming desire to explore every inch of Alfie's impressive physique, you compelled your hands to ascend his chest, tracing the contours and definition of each sculpted muscle. The strength and power beneath your fingertips stirred a primal longing within you, as you marvelled at the testament of masculinity before you. With every touch, you revelled in the intoxicating mix of vulnerability and strength that radiated from him, forging an unbreakable bond between your souls.

With a slow and deliberate movement, Alfie pressed you gently onto the inviting surface of the floor beneath you, a luxurious furs that cradled your bodies. Hovering over you, his eyes burning with desire, he claimed your lips once more in a ravenous kiss that sent sparks cascading through your veins. As his lips explored yours and his hands caressed your skin, he maintained an intoxicating rhythm of undressing, shedding his pants in a tantalising display of intimacy that left you yearning for even closer connection. The world around you faded away as you surrendered completely to the fiery passions that spiralled between you, lost in the ethereal cocoon of pleasure and desire. 

"Will you make love to me, Alfie?" you asked, your voice filled with hope and longing.

Alfie smiled and kissed you, his voice low and filled with desire, "You fucking know it."

With a gleam in his eyes, Alfie drew you closer, his touch sending shivers down your spine, before he whispered, "I'll show you just how much I fucking want you."

Alfie's nimble fingers danced across your skin, igniting trails of electric sensation that made your every nerve tingle with overwhelming pleasure. As his lips continued their fervent exploration, leaving a trail of fiery kisses on your neck, the air was thick with the intoxicating scent of desire and anticipation. Without a moment's hesitation, Alfie skillfully removed both his underwear and yours, the two of you standing there, vulnerable and exposed, consumed by an insatiable hunger for each other.

As Alfie's lips ventured further south, a wicked combination of anticipation and need coursed through your veins, rendering your body a pulsing canvas of desire. With each gentle, tantalising kiss, he moved closer to your most sensitive spot, his hot breath a delicious torment that made your hips instinctively arch towards him, desperately seeking the contact your body craved. The world ceased to exist in that moment, leaving only the electrifying connection between you and Alfie, as you surrendered completely to the intoxicating rhythm of pleasure.

Alfie's kisses trailed along the soft expanse of your thighs, his beard creating an exquisite friction against your skin that added an unexpected element of sensation. The anticipation in the air grew thicker as his hands gently but firmly pushed your legs apart, affording him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts. Your breath hitched in a mixture of anticipation and excitement, your body humming with a hunger that only he could satisfy. As he drew closer to your nether regions, a wave of yearning washed over you, making every nerve ending hyperaware and eager for his touch.

“You ready, sweetie?” Alfie asked, looking up at you. With a nod of consent, every fibre of your being alive with an intoxicating mix of anticipation and desire, Alfie wasted no time in indulging in the delicious feast that lay before him. As his skilled lips enclosed around your sensitive clit, a breathtaking surge of ecstasy rippled through you, leaving you gasping and trembling with pleasure. Every flick of his tongue and every gentle suck ignited a wildfire within, consuming your senses and heightening every sensation to a point of exquisite bliss.

As Alfie continued to work his magic with fervent dedication, his tongue expertly tracing patterns of pleasure over your throbbing, sensitive bud, your body began to dance to a symphony of pleasure. Waves of sensation crashed through you, each one more intense than the last, unravelling the very fabric of your self-control. Your fingers clawed at the fur, seeking anchor in the sea of bliss that threatened to engulf you completely. Every breath you took was a symphony of moans and gasps, an unspoken language of desire and surrender that reverberated through the room. Alfie, keenly attuned to your every reaction, accelerated his ministrations, pushing you towards the precipice of pleasure. And at the apex, as the world stood still, time suspended, you succumbed to the overwhelming ecstasy that washed over you, your body convulsing with a release that echoed with the raw intensity of passion.

A surge of newfound boldness coursed through your veins as you shakily gathered the strength to yank Alfie's head up from his expert ministrations. His lips and beard glistened with the evidence of your need, a tantalising sight that fueled your hunger for more. With a breathless command, a raspy plea that dripped with need, you revealed your deepest desire to him.

"I want to finish on your cock," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, as you locked eyes with him, a silent invitation to fulfil the craving that pulsed between you.

Alfie's sharp intake of breath, a symphony of desire, resonated through the room, kindling the fire that burned between you. Climbing back on top of you, he devotedly claimed your lips, his own still moist with the essence of your shared pleasure. The taste of intimacy lingered in the kiss, an intoxicating reminder of the depths you had explored together. As his tongue danced with yours, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in a whirlwind of passion.

“Anything for my little Dove.”

Alfie, his eyes smouldering with a mix of tenderness and sheer desire, tenderly stroked himself, relishing the sight of his throbbing length gliding along your slickness. As you tighten your grip on his broad shoulders, anticipation crackles in the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of arousal. With deliberate slowness, he pressed himself inside you, inch by glorious inch, eliciting a shuddering gasp as the exquisite fullness consumed your senses. The raw pleasure of being filled by him, the connection that surged through your intertwined bodies, was unlike anything you had experienced before. Desperation tinged Alfie's kiss, a plea for reciprocity and mutual surrender, as he began to move, a rhythm that danced between ecstasy and longing, igniting a scorching symphony of pleasure between the two of you.

“Fucking hell, Dove.” Alfie said, breathlessly.

With every deliberate thrust, Alfie stirred a tempest of pleasure within you, causing your breath to tremble and your body to respond in kind. As the initial intensity subsided, you melted into the exquisite union, drowning in waves of pleasure that consumed your very being. In a sublime symphony, your moans transformed into whimpered pleas, a symphony only Alfie could conduct. Sensing your growing comfort, Alfie shifted his attention to the sensitive side of your neck, trailing hot, passionate kisses that sent electrifying shivers down your spine, intensifying the symphony of pleasure that enveloped you both.

As the intensity of the moment cascaded over you like a tidal wave, your eyes closed, surrendering completely to the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through every fibre of your being. Sensing Alfie's own struggle to maintain control, you watched as his restraint crumbled, giving way to an unrelenting desire that fueled his increasingly frenzied thrusts. The pace quickened, a rhythm that matched the wild tempo of your racing hearts, while his lips continued their assault on the sensitive expanse of your neck, igniting a symphony of moans that harmonised with the symphony of pleasure that washed over you. With every gasping breath and the crescendo of your moans, the intensity escalated, pushing you both to the precipice of ecstasy.

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard, you hear me Dove?” As Alfie's voice, a potent mix of devotion and aggressive desire, seared into your senses, you felt a surge of primal energy surge through you.

His embrace, a possessive grip that anchored you to the moment, tightened around your body, keeping you locked in a passionate embrace. With each powerful thrust, he relentlessly drove you closer to the edge of ecstasy, your climax rising within you like a crescendo in a symphony of pleasure. The anticipation hung in the air, a taut wire stretched to its limit, ready to snap and release an explosion of rapture. A sheen of sticky sweat glistened on your entwined bodies, merging the heat and intensity of your connection.

“You’re close, aren’t you Dove? Yeah? I can feel you fucking throbbing around me.” Alfie's words, a sultry rasp in your ear, ignited an inferno of desire within you, the intensity of his presence amplifying every pulsating throb of pleasure that rippled through your core.

As the relentless rhythm of his twitching cock sent spasms of ecstasy coursing through you, your world shattered into an explosion of pleasure that consumed you wholly, surrendering all control to the intoxicating climax that washed over you like a tidal wave.

As the electric waves of your orgasm crashed over you, the sensation of your convulsing walls enveloping him sent Alfie hurtling into his own release. With a raw, guttural groan, he unleashed his hot seed deep within you, each pulse of his ecstasy an intimate testament to the depth of your connection. Time stood still in that moment, as you both surrendered to the overwhelming bliss that wrapped around you, their bodies entwined in the aftermath of a sinfully euphoric union.

As the final echoes of pleasure subsided, Alfie pressed his lips against yours in a tender, loving kiss, a gesture that embodied the lingering connection between you. With a contented sigh, he gently melted onto the plush fur blanket beside you, his embrace drawing you closer, cocooning you in a comforting warmth. Holding you tightly, his lips brushed against the top of your head, leaving a feather-light imprint of affection. In the tranquillity of the room, the only audible sounds were the synchrony of your catching breaths and the soft crackling of the fire, a backdrop to the blissful aftermath of your shared pleasure.

"That was incredible, Alfie. Seriously, wow," you said, letting out a joyous laugh and snuggling into his side.

He kissed your forehead, his voice soft and filled with admiration, "Yeah, it was. You were amazing, Dove."

You chuckled, feeling content in his arms. "I barely did anything."

He grinned and squeezed you closer. "And yet, you were fucking amazing."

Despite the sticky sweat clinging to both of you, you felt an overwhelming sense of contentment in his arms. It was as if the world outside didn't matter, and you had no desire to leave this warm, intimate embrace.

Alfie's warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered softly, "Just sleep, Dove."

You sighed, feeling both comforted and conflicted. "I can't stay the night, you know that, Alfie," you replied, your voice heavy with weariness.

His arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you closer. "I know, Dove. Just rest for now," he admitted, his voice tinged with longing.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft rhythm of your breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves outside. The bond between you and Alfie had deepened over time, but there were still boundaries that couldn't be crossed, and you both understood that all too well.

⛓🥀⛓ As you stepped into the house, the scent of your mother's cooking enveloped you, and you found her in the kitchen, deftly chopping up a chicken. Her words drifted towards you, carrying curiosity and warmth.

"You've been going out a lot lately, dear. Have you met someone?" your mama inquired, her voice filled with maternal concern.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing to find the right words. "Uh, yeah. A friend," you finally replied, trying to sound casual.

A playful glint appeared in her eyes as she continued to work with the chicken. "Just a friend?" she teased, her tone teasingly insistent.

Your cheeks reddened slightly, and you cursed yourself for stuttering. "Y-yeah," you managed to say.

A thoughtful expression crossed your mother's face as she paused in her cooking. "Will I ever get to meet him?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

You paused for a moment, weighing the idea in your mind. Alfie was undeniably much older and more intimidating than you had initially let on. The prospect of introducing him to your mom felt daunting, and you weren't sure if you were ready to take that step.

"I don't know," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

⛓🥀⛓ "Why don't we play a little game, yeah?" Alfie suggested with a sly grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Alfie and you were sitting side by side on his bed, your legs stretched out comfortably across his own. The deep crimson dress clung to your every curve, the fabric soft against your skin. You couldn't help but smile as you remembered the day Alfie had given it to you. It was a symbol of his affection, a tangible reminder of the connection that had grown between you. x

"What kind of game?" You inquired, your curiosity piqued, though a hint of apprehension crept into your voice.

"Have you ever play tag?" Alfie asked, his gaze intent, locking onto yours.

You nodded slowly, recalling the childhood game and wondering where this was leading.

"Something like that... a little game where you run and hide, and I come hunt you," Alfie explained, his eyes taking on a more ominous hue, like a predator assessing its prey.

"Hunt?" You questioned, your surprise and growing unease evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Alfie replied, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "You've gotta try not to get caught." 

The dark undertone in his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of danger.

"Well, how do I win, then? I can't just keep running forever," you chuckled nervously, attempting to ease the tension that had settled between you.

Alfie's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. "You've gotta make sure I don't catch you within an hour. If you manage that, you win."

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you teased, "And what's my prize if I win?"

Alfie's gaze deepened as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a husky murmur, "Anything you want, Dove."

Your heart raced at his enticing offer, and you couldn't resist pushing further, "And if you manage to catch me?"

Alfie's smirk grew more seductive, and he whispered with an alluring charm, "Then, my dear, I get to have my way with you until the hour's up."

A shiver ran up your spine at his suggestive words. You couldn't deny the allure of his proposal, tinged with danger and excitement. Despite the unease that still lingered in the back of your mind, you found yourself drawn to the challenge, to the thrill of the chase.

Alfie stepped back, giving you a bit of space as he added, "But don't worry, love, I'll give you a head start. You'll have five minutes to run and hide before I come after you."

Your heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation as you nodded in agreement. The game had been set, and you were determined to give him a run for his money.

"Where are we playing this?" you asked, your eagerness apparent in your voice.

"In the woods," Alfie replied with a sly grin.

The woods. His territory. Your stomach flipped, knowing that the game was about to unfold in a place where Alfie held the advantage. Still, the thrill of the chase and the chance to outsmart him drove you forward. 

You remained at Alfie's house, perched on the edge of anticipation and curiosity. The prospect of the upcoming game had your heart racing. As you glanced around the cosy interior, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The woods loomed just beyond the walls, a constant reminder of where the game would take place.

Alfie stood up, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His earlier proposition, filled with suggestive promise, hung in the air between you like an unspoken challenge. You had accepted, partly driven by a desire to win but also intrigued by the enigmatic man before you.

With a subtle nod, Alfie led you toward the door that opened up to the thick woods surrounding his house. As you stepped outside, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air felt cooler, and the sounds of nature enveloped you. The forest seemed to come alive with rustling leaves and distant chirping birds.

Alfie leaned casually against the door frame, the confident tilt of his head making him seem all the more enigmatic. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a gleaming pocket watch. With a slow, deliberate movement, he handed it over to you. The polished surface of the watch reflected the muted light filtering through the trees, and you couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship before flipping it open.

The intricate watch face displayed the time: 3:58. Your heart quickened as you observed the minutes ticking away. Alfie's voice brought you back to the present, his words dripping with both anticipation and amusement.

"When that clock hits 4, my little Dove," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur, "you have an hour to run."

With those final words, Alfie pushed away from the door frame, his eyes locked onto yours. The gravity of the challenge settled over you like a cloak, and you knew that the next hour would be a test of both your wits and your ability to evade the captivating and elusive man who had lured you into this game.

Alfie closed the door behind him, leaving you alone to contemplate the impending challenge. The quietude of the room seemed to amplify the ticking of the pocket watch in your hand. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, and you could feel the weight of the forthcoming game pressing down on you.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. The allure of the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the enigmatic Alfie waiting beyond the door all combined to create a heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. As the watch's second hand inched ever closer to the hour mark, your heart raced, and you prepared to embark on a game that would test the boundaries of your fear and desire.

Looking down at your bare feet, you briefly contemplated the idea of grabbing your shoes, only to remember that you had worn your nice ones. The elegant footwear might be fitting for a stroll in the garden but would be wholly unsuitable for the game you were about to play. You decided that going barefoot would be the better option, even if it meant navigating the forest's uneven terrain without the protection of shoes.

3:59.

Looking down at your wine-red dress, you couldn't help but curse yourself for your choice of attire. It was a beautiful garment, but utterly impractical for blending into the woods. You'd stick out like a sore thumb, and that realisation left you with no other option – running was your best bet. A tingling sensation of anticipation coursed through your body as the seconds ticked away, each moment edging closer to the start of the game.

30 seconds. 

As you stood there, the seconds on the pocket watch ticking away, your heart raced in anticipation. The last few seconds felt like an eternity. Every passing moment heightened your sense of excitement and trepidation. You could hear the faint rustling of leaves outside, a soft breeze whispering through the trees, as if nature itself were conspiring with Alfie in this exhilarating game.

With each tick of the watch, your breathing quickened, and your thoughts raced. The reality of what was about to happen washed over you. You were about to embark on a thrilling chase through the woods, pursued by the enigmatic and seductive Alfie. It was a dangerous game, but the exhilaration was undeniable.

At last, the final moments arrived. The watch's minute hand reached 12, marking the hour, and the second hand swept past 60. With a deep breath and a racing heart, you pushed yourself off the door and stepped out into the woods, ready to begin this electrifying game of cat and mouse with Alfie.

The forest seemed to close in around you as you sprinted without hesitation. Your footsteps were swift and purposeful, and although fear coursed through your veins, you couldn't deny the exhilaration that came with the adrenaline pumping through your body. Each stride you took was filled with determination, propelling you deeper into the woods.

The tangled underbrush and uneven terrain made each step a challenge, but you pushed forward, your instincts guiding you to choose the best path. The sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet echoed in the quiet forest, and your breaths came in rapid bursts, mingling with the crisp air.

Every now and then, you cast a fleeting glance over your shoulder, half expecting to see Alfie already hot on your heels. The thought of him chasing you through the woods added an extra layer of excitement to your sprint, and it was as if you were living out a thrilling fantasy.

The minutes ticked by, but you kept running, pushing your limits, determined not to be caught before the hour was up. 

As you navigated the hilly terrain, the constant ups and downs made it impossible to catch a glimpse of the house. It had disappeared from your view entirely, hidden behind the thick foliage and undulating landscape. The forest around you was a labyrinth of trees and shadows, and you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of isolation.

With each step you took, the distance between you and Alfie increased, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were truly alone in this vast, mysterious forest. The sense of freedom and exhilaration mingled with a creeping unease, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were the hunter or the hunted in this dangerous game.

Your breaths came out in heavy puffs as you gradually slowed down to a brisk walk, stealing a glance at the pocket watch clutched tightly in your hand.

4:03.

A rush of excitement coursed through your veins. In just two minutes, Alfie would be released, ready to hunt you down. With a touch of luck, you hoped he would head in the opposite direction from where you had run, giving you a precious head start in this heart-pounding game of survival. 

As you continued your brisk walk, the forest around you seemed to close in, the tangled trees forming a canopy that obscured the sky. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs made your heart race, imagining Alfie lurking behind every shadowy tree. The woods were dense, filled with hidden paths, and you hoped to lose him in the labyrinthine tangle of nature.

4:05. 

Glancing at the time on the pocket watch, you felt your heart leap into your throat. You finally stopped and crouched behind a large, gnarled oak tree, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Silence surrounded you, broken only by the sounds of your own rapid breathing. Your eyes darted to the pocket watch. Two minutes had passed, and Alfie was now unleashed.

Your ears strained for any sign of movement, any clue to Alfie's whereabouts. The anticipation was excruciating as you braced yourself for the chase that was about to begin. Time was your ally and your enemy, and you knew that the stakes were high in this game of hide and seek.

The tension in the air was palpable as you crouched behind the tree, your breaths coming in shallow, hushed gasps. Hiding had not been your initial strategy, but the weight of the game had settled on your shoulders, and you couldn't help but feel as though every tree, every rustling leaf, had eyes fixed upon you.

A sense of urgency compelled you to move, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and Alfie, but your limbs felt strangely uncooperative. Fear and excitement intermingled within you, creating a heady cocktail of emotions that made your body feel both heavy and electrified. You knew that the next hour would test not only your physical endurance but also your mental fortitude as you tried to outwit the enigmatic man who pursued you through the labyrinthine forest.

As you finally picked yourself up from the forest floor, a sense of cautious relief washed over you. The tree that had concealed you moments ago now lay behind, and a sweeping glance of your surroundings revealed no immediate sign of Alfie. You let out an unsteady breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you ventured deeper into the forest.

Each step you took was measured, your senses heightened to every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs. The woods, a place of serenity just moments before, now harboured an atmosphere of tension. With each cautious step, you crept further into the heart of the forest, your eyes scanning for any hint of movement or sound that might betray Alfie's presence. The thrill of the game coursed through your veins, mingling with your sense of unease. The forest had transformed into an enigmatic labyrinth, and you were determined to navigate its challenges, no matter what lay ahead.

4:16.

Your cautious exploration of the forest continued, each footfall echoing with your apprehension. The minutes stretched on, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Alfie could appear at any moment. Despite your determination to stay alert, your legs began to grow weary, their protest a reminder of the physical toll your fear was taking on you. 

You couldn't help but wonder why your stamina seemed to be dwindling faster than you expected. Perhaps it was the relentless anxiety that had been building since the start of this game, or the constant adrenaline coursing through your veins. Regardless, you couldn't afford to let exhaustion overtake you now. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself to push forward, determined to outlast Alfie and claim victory in this twisted game of cat and mouse.

Your gaze swept upward to the towering trees that surrounded you. The thought crossed your mind: would climbing a tree be considered cheating? It was a tempting idea, a way to gain an advantage in this high-stakes game of pursuit and evasion. But the rules of this perilous game were unclear, and you had no guarantee that Alfie wouldn't do the same. The woods were his domain, and you were merely a player in his twisted game.

As you stood at the base of the towering tree, your gaze wandered up its formidable trunk, tracing the intricate network of roots that snaked across the forest floor like nature's own artwork. The bark, rough and textured beneath your fingertips, provided an unexpected comfort as you began your climb. The tree's ancient branches, strong and gnarled, offered a labyrinthine path upwards, guiding you like an old friend leading you through a secret world.

The initial ascent was a thrilling challenge, the sensation of your hands gripping bark and your feet finding purchase on the uneven surface exhilarating. Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as you ascended further into the forest canopy. Each foothold and handhold seemed to have been crafted by nature herself, and your nimble movements belied your initial hesitation.

Eventually, you reached a stable branch that cradled you like a natural throne. A dense canopy of leaves arched above, forming a verdant umbrella that concealed you from prying eyes below. It was here, perched amid the rustling leaves and filtered sunlight, that you felt a surge of triumphant relief. The forest stretched out beneath you like an unexplored realm, and for now, you were its hidden observer. A sense of victory washed over you as you caught your breath, but the game's suspense still lingered, a subtle undercurrent to your newfound sanctuary.

As you perched in your leafy hideout, the vibrant emerald foliage surrounded you, creating a natural fortress. The tree's rough bark pressed against your skin, grounding you in this newfound sanctuary. The forest below sprawled out like an endless tapestry of greens and browns, with sunlight filtering through the dense canopy, dappling the ground in shifting patterns of light and shadow.

From your lofty position, you could see the intricate dance of leaves, swaying gently in the breeze, and hear the distant murmurs of the forest's inhabitants. The woods seemed like a world of its own, a secret realm where you had temporarily taken refuge.

4:32.

Minutes passed like a languid river, each second stretching out into an eternity. The mischievous giggle that had escaped your lips earlier now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the solemn realisation that this game was far more intense than you had initially imagined. Despite the temporary respite, the thrill of the chase continued to course through your veins, and the sense of impending discovery hung heavy in the air.

You remained perched among the leaves, your breaths coming slow and measured, every rustle and creak of the forest making you jump with anticipation. The minutes dragged on, and doubt began to creep into your mind. What if I can’t get down? What if Aflie has already given up looking? Despite the uncertainty, you couldn't bring yourself to climb down just yet. The adrenaline, the fear, and the excitement had woven themselves into a complex tapestry that you couldn't easily unravel.

A bored sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head against the tree. You couldn't help but admit that your own choices had contributed to your growing boredom. Instead of actively exploring the forest and keeping up the pace, you had opted for a more passive strategy, perched up a tree like a lazy observer. 

Frustration welled up inside you as you berated yourself for not being more proactive. This game was your chance to outsmart Alfie, to prove that you could evade his pursuit, and yet here you were, feeling like you were squandering your advantage. With a renewed sense of determination, you pushed away from the tree, resolved to rejoin the hunt and claim the upper hand once more.

Your fleeting moment of bravery quickly gave way to uncertainty as you looked down from your treetop refuge. Questions flooded your mind: What if Alfie walks past while I’m climbing down? You couldn't help but curse your own hesitation and perceived cowardice.

Glancing at the nearby trees, you began to wonder about the possibilities. How close was that tree over there? The idea of moving from tree to tree might seem foolish, but in your anxious state, it also felt like a potential advantage. The forest's canopy appeared interconnected, offering the chance for you to remain hidden while on the move. With a mix of apprehension and determination, you decided to cautiously explore this daring idea, hoping it would pay off and give you an edge in the game.

Balancing on the sturdy branch, you gripped another limb for stability. With careful steps, you inched your way along the branch, approaching the intertwining branches of nearby trees.

As you moved, the leaves rustled softly beneath your feet, and a slight breeze tousled your hair. The forest around you seemed to come alive with the sounds of birds singing and leaves whispering secrets to one another. The sensation of being suspended among the trees filled you with a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. 

Reaching the second tree, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. The pocket watch Alfie had entrusted you with felt like a comforting weight in your hand. You flipped it open to check the time, the delicate ticking of its mechanism filling your ears as you saw the numbers.

4:37.

As you checked the pocket watch again, you noted with a sense of relief that not much time had passed since your last glance. The tiny, delicate hands of the watch revealed that there were only 23 more minutes left. A surge of determination coursed through you as you continued to strategize your next moves, determined to stay one step ahead of Alfie.

Your momentary celebration was cut short by a distant sound, faint yet unmistakable – footsteps. Panic surged through you, causing your breath to hitch. Clutching the tree trunk tightly, you tilted your head to the side to peer past it. There, in the dim distance, a moving silhouette came into focus – it was Alfie.

Fear coursing through your veins, you wasted no time. Quickly, you darted behind the tree for cover, your heart pounding in your chest as you hoped against hope that Alfie hadn't spotted you.

Panic surged through your mind, your thoughts racing at a frantic pace. Desperately, you clung to the tree, hugging its rough bark as if it were your only lifeline. Your silent prayer was for the leaves to be your saviours, concealing you from Alfie's searching gaze. You cursed your choice of attire, realising that your dress was making this whole ordeal much more challenging.

The deliberate and predatory sound of Alfie's footsteps grew louder with each passing moment, sending shivers of fear coursing through your body. His approaching presence felt suffocating, and the thought of him drawing closer to the very tree you were hiding in couldn't be worse luck. Your heart raced, and you pressed yourself tighter against the tree, desperately hoping that the leaves and branches would continue to shield you from his view.

With trembling hands, you quickly tucked the flowing fabric of your dress between your legs, holding it in place to prevent it from billowing out and giving away your position. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant sound of his footsteps filled the air as Alfie drew nearer, and you knew that remaining still and hidden was your only chance of evading his pursuit.

As you moved stealthily around the tree, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His predatory aura seemed to grow stronger, sending a shiver down your spine. Every step he took was calculated and deliberate, and the intensity of his presence felt suffocating. You pressed yourself tightly against the rough bark, your breath shallow and your heart pounding in your chest.

The seconds felt like hours as you watched him, hoping against hope that he would move on. The fear inside you churned, and you prayed that your hiding spot among the leaves and branches would keep you concealed. The tension in the air was palpable, and the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if aware that something pivotal was about to happen.

Your breath caught in your throat, and with legs trembling like leaves in the wind, you cautiously and silently shuffled around the thick trunk to the opposite side, all the while keeping your fearful gaze locked on him.

Your eyes remained fixated on Alfie, watching his every move with rapt attention. His actions became more intriguing by the moment. He seemed lost in deep contemplation, slowly turning in place as if searching for something. A sense of unease washed over you as you noticed his deep, deliberate breaths, drawn in through his nose. It was as though he were sniffing the air, his senses acutely attuned to the surroundings.

Dread crept over you like a shadow, and you dared not make a sound. What was he searching for? Has he caught a trace of your presence? The forest seemed to hold its breath along with you, and the suspense was almost unbearable. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you waited in fearful anticipation of his next move.

Your rational mind tried to reassure you that it was impossible for him to detect your scent from your elevated perch. Even with a hint of perfume, you were far too high above the ground, and the brisk wind that rustled the leaves masked any fragrance that might have given you away. But despite your logical reasoning, a gnawing sense of uncertainty persisted, like a seed of doubt taking root in your mind. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was a stark reminder that, in this thrilling and perilous game, anything could happen.

His frustration was palpable, etching lines of irritation onto his face. A low growl rumbled from his throat, a guttural sound that carried through the forest. The sight and sound of his growing exasperation sent a shiver down your spine, intensifying the heart-pounding fear that coursed through your veins. In that moment, you realised just how determined he was to catch you, and the danger of this deadly game became all too real.

With a simmering anger that seemed to radiate from his very being, you could see Alfie stomp off into the distance, his movements filled with frustration and pent-up aggression. It felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from your shoulders as he moved farther away, leaving you with a sense of profound relief. You silently thanked the heavens for his failure to look up, realising that you had narrowly escaped his clutches for the time being.

4:41.

After a considerable pause, you carefully decided that the best course of action was to climb down from the tree and run off in the opposite direction Alife had just gone. The rough bark scraped against your hands as you carefully manoeuvred down, your muscles tense with the anticipation of every creak and rustle of leaves underfoot. The forest seemed to hold its breath as you lowered yourself to the ground, your mind racing with thoughts of how to outwit the relentless predator who was still in the vicinity. The earth felt cool beneath your bare feet as you finally touched down, and you took a moment to survey your surroundings, keenly aware that every second counted.

4:46

As your feet touched the ground, you couldn't help but release a sigh of relief, feeling the solidity of the earth beneath your bare soles. Your steps became increasingly careless, almost triumphant, as you ventured away from the tree. In that moment, you tasted the sweet flavour of victory, knowing there were less than 15 minutes remaining before the game concluded. The thought that Alfie was likely wandering somewhere deep within the forest heightened your sense of triumph, and you walked with newfound confidence.

Oh, but how wrong you were.

"Was my little Dove hiding in the trees?" he taunted, his gaze filled with a predatory gleam that made your stomach churn with dread.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of Alfie's voice, the very voice that had once been a source of comfort and charm, now laced with a sinister edge. His sudden appearance sent a shiver down your spine as you turned to face him, your momentary triumph fading into the chilling realisation that he had found you.

Your head whipped around, and there, standing behind a tree not far from you, was Alfie. He had never left; he had been lurking in the shadows the entire time. A cocky smile played on his lips as he watched your startled reaction, revelling in the thrill of the hunt.

With a quick turn, you bolted in the opposite direction, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. It was just a game, but the thrill of being chased was undeniably exhilarating. Alfie was undoubtedly a big man and didn't hesitate to use it to his advantage. His hearty laugh echoed through the woods as he gave chase, his powerful strides closing the gap between you. The forest around you blurred as you ran, the world reduced to the sound of your rapid breaths and the pounding of your heart. 

The pounding of your heart seemed to reverberate in your ears as you sprinted through the dense woods, knowing that Alfie was hot on your tail. The fear that coursed through you was almost paralysing, and you dared not look back to see how close he was. The branches and underbrush seemed to claw at your clothes and skin as you pushed yourself to run faster, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The thrill of the chase mixed with the dread of being caught, creating a maelstrom of emotions that left you both terrified and exhilarated.

In an instant, Alfie's strong and relentless grip closed around you, and you let out a piercing scream as he tackled you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, and the forest floor pressed against your back, stealing the breath from your lungs. The fear that had been simmering just below the surface now erupted in a torrent of panic, and you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to break free.

"Now, Dove... I won. That means..." Alfie paused, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the pocket watch once more. He flipped it open and peered at the time. "I have 12 minutes to have my fun with you." His voice held a sinister edge, and a cold chill settled in the pit of your stomach as you realised the consequences of losing the game.

Your body ignited with a mixture of emotions as Alfie's words sank in. Without hesitation, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, pulling you into a fiery embrace that left you breathless and overwhelmed. As Alfie continued to kiss you passionately, his hands roamed over your body. Your initial fear and resistance began to wane, giving way to a heady mix of desire and surrender.

His lips left yours to trail a path of heated kisses along your jawline and down your neck, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but gasp in response to his skilled touch.

Alfie's voice, rough and seductive, whispered into your ear, "You belong to me, little Dove. Always have..”

Alfies predatory presence gave you an overwhelming sensation of fear and desire. Your heart raced, and your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as Alfie continued his passionate assault.

His hands, firm yet gentle, explored every curve of your body, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation in their wake. It was as though he knew every secret, every hidden desire, and he was determined to awaken them all.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and you surrendered to the intoxication of the moment. As Alfie's lips sought yours once more, your world narrowed down to the sensations he elicited, and the minutes slipped away, taking you deeper into the enticing darkness of his touch.

Alfie felt the urgency mounting as he realised that time was slipping away, and there was so much he wanted to do in this brief window. The minutes were ticking by, each one more precious than the last.

Alfie yanked up your dress, dragging the fabric past your hips, exposing your cotton underwear and bare thighs to his piercing gaze. A mix of excitement and anticipation coursed through you as you surrendered to Alfie's desires, knowing that he had only a few precious minutes left to claim you in every way he desired.

Your breath hitched as Alfie's hands roved over your exposed skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Every touch, every brush of his lips against your neck, sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. With each passing second, the urgency between the two of you escalated, driving you both to the edge of ecstasy.

You sensed the battle within Alfie, as he struggled to contain his primal desires. The intensity in his gaze grew more fervent, and you could see his self-control slowly slipping away like sand through his fingers. 

“Come on, Alfie..10 minutes.” You spoke with a whispered tease, you encouraged him to give in to his deepest cravings, to let go of restraint and unleash the passion that had been building between you.

At that moment, Alfie's restaurant shattered like fragile glass. His movements became more urgent, his grasp on your body tighter. The air crackled with anticipation as he surrendered to the raw hunger that consumed him. With a primal growl, he claimed you completely, losing himself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.

Alfie's kisses became frantic, his lips hungrily exploring every inch of your exposed skin. His hands roamed feverishly, gripping your body possessively as if he couldn't get enough. Each touch, each kiss was sloppy yet intoxicating, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. In his fervour, Alfie lost himself in the depths of raw desire, consumed by the need to indulge in the forbidden pleasure that consumed the both of you.

Senses heightened, time seemed to freeze as Alfie pressed his throbbing length against your clothed entrance. The friction ignited a blaze of desire, fueling the intensity of the moment. Your bodies moved in sync, locked in a passionate rhythm that defied all reason. The world around you faded as you surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure, consumed by the electric connection that pulsed between you.

Lost in a haze of unfathomable pleasure, the world around you blurred into obscurity. You let your head fall back on the damp leaves, busking in the pleasure Alfie was bringing you. All that mattered was the maddening sensation of Alfie's lips on your neck, sending tendrils of electric bliss coursing through your veins. As his hips moved with a desperate urgency, each motion amplified the intensity of pleasure, forging an unbreakable connection that fueled the ecstasy between you.

“My pretty little Dove likes when I play with her on the filthy ground, yeah?."

Eyes filled with an adoring passion, Alfie whispered praises against your skin, each word a testament to the power of your connection. In between gasps and moans, he exalted your beauty, your alluring presence that had mesmerised him from the very beginning. His fervent admiration fueled the fire within, intensifying the pleasure that engulfed you both, as you became lost in a world where only the two of you existed.

As the heat of desire consumed you, your legs instinctively wrapped around Alfie's hips, locking you in an intimate embrace. With each movement, clothed areas rubbed against each other, igniting waves of pleasure that surged through your bodies. The friction intensified, amplifying the sensations that coursed through every fibre of your being. In this euphoric dance, you and Alfie surrendered to the primal urges, losing yourselves in a symphony of pleasure and desire.

“You’re mine, pretty..you’re mine and I’m never gonna let you go.” he gently bit your earlobe.

Surging with an overwhelming hunger, Alfie's lips trailed down from your ear, leaving a blazing path of fiery kisses. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, marking you with his possessive desire. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your neck ignited a wildfire within, consuming your senses and leaving you yearning for more of his intoxicating touch.

As Alfie rutted into your sensitive core with a primal intensity, the ache of desire built to an unbearable peak. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, the intensity mounting with each passing moment. Your body tensed, on the precipice of release, as a symphony of pleasure reverberated through every inch of your being, ready to explode in a crescendo of ecstasy.

“A-Alfie, Alfie! I’m so fucking close,” your voice trembled with need.

The blissful torment of ecstasy radiated through your veins, intensifying with each passing second. Uncontrollable moans escaped your parted lips, mingling with the rhythm of your bodies, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you.

4:58.

Unable to resist the intoxicating sound of your voice, Alfie quickened his pace, his movements becoming more fervent as he relentlessly chased your climax. The air crackled with a palpable energy as your bodies moved in sync, a symphony of desire and pleasure.

“Come on, sweetie.” Alfie encouraged you. “You can do it. Let go.”

With a voice dripping in encouragement, Alfie's words propelled you further towards the edge of euphoria. Every syllable he uttered was laced with a magnetic force that urged you to surrender to the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. The weight of his words pushed you past your limits, releasing all inhibitions as you succumbed to the overwhelming ecstasy building within.

In a breathless moment of pure ecstasy, you shattered, your whole being consumed by an overwhelming release that left you gasping for air and utterly spent, lost in the blissful aftershocks of pleasure.

As the echoes of your climax still reverberated through your body, Alfie's relentless grinding fueled the flames of desire within you. His determination to reach his own release only intensified the raw passion between you, the friction electrifying the air. With each grinding motion, you felt the tension building, his pursuit of pleasure mirroring your own, until finally, with a guttural moan, he found his release, the intensity of his orgasm echoing the powerful connection you shared.

As the echoes of pleasure subsided, you were left throbbing with heightened sensitivity, your body pulsating with every heartbeat. Waves of pleasure coursed through your clit as it throbbed, yearning for more stimulation, while your empty hole ached, a reminder of the intense pleasure that had consumed you. The lingering sensation kept you suspended in a state of euphoria, aching for the next touch, the next moment of bliss.

Breathless and consumed by the aftermath of your passionate encounter, Alfie showered gentle kisses on your shoulders, his lips a tender caress against your heated skin. The soft touch of his affectionate gestures contrasted beautifully with the fiery intensity that had consumed you moments ago. Then, with a loving gaze, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that spoke of his adoration and desire, imprinting the moment in your memory as a testament to the deep connection you shared.

"That was certainly...different," you replied with a chuckle, still trying to catch your breath.

Alfie rose from the ground and extended a hand to help you up. He gently brushed down your skirt, getting rid of any dirt and leaves that clung to it. 

"A fucking good game, that's what I'd call it," Alfie quipped with a smirk, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Are you feeling alright?" Alfie inquired with a hint of concern. You nodded and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he led you back towards his house. The journey back was a comfortable one, filled with the shared excitement of the day's adventure and the unspoken connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

⛓🥀⛓ "Fuck, I'm knackered," you exclaimed, collapsing onto Alfie's bed.

He chuckled, joining you and settling down beside you.

Alfie looked at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, it's been quite a day, hasn't it, little Dove?"

You couldn't help but smile in response, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. "It certainly has, Alfie."

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "You know, I can't help but think we make a good fucking couple, you and I."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you found yourself drawn to him, the magnetic pull between you undeniable. "Yes, Alfie, we do."

Alfie leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. His touch sends shivers down your spine, and you find yourself yearning for more, but practicality still holds sway.

"Just sleep, okay.”

"I can't, Alfie," you whispered, your breath slightly uneven. "My mama will be waiting for me at home."

His brows furrowed at the mention of your mother, but you chose to disregard it for the moment. "Then I'll wake you in 30 minutes," he replied softly, his fingers tracing light patterns on your cheek.

You let out a small sigh, giving in to his persistence. "Alright," you said, a playful glint in your eye. "But you better make sure to wake me up."

Alfie's lips curved into a satisfied smile as you relented, and he leaned in closer, brushing a soft kiss across your forehead. "Don't you worry, Dove," he murmured. "I'll make sure you get up on time." With that, he settled beside you, and you felt a sense of warmth and security enveloping you as you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

⛓🥀⛓ You were standing alone in a dense, eerily silent forest. The towering trees loomed overhead, their branches entwined like skeletal fingers reaching out to you. The moon cast an eerie pallor on the surroundings, rendering everything in shades of grey. A cold, misty fog slithered between the trees, obscuring your vision.

As you began to walk cautiously through the forest, a feeling of foreboding settled in your chest. The ground beneath your feet felt soft and unstable, as if it could give way at any moment. You tried to call out, but your voice was muffled by the oppressive silence.

In the distance, you could hear faint, chilling whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. These whispers carried fragments of your own fears and anxieties, like a twisted chorus of your inner demons.

As you pressed on, you noticed a figure in the distance. It was obscured by the fog, but you could sense its presence, an unsettling aura that seemed to draw you closer against your will. With every step, the whispers grew louder, the forest darker, and the figure more menacing.

Finally, you reached the figure, and as the mist began to dissipate, you saw its face—distorted, shifting, and finally revealing itself as a grotesque amalgamation of all the fears and uncertainties that had been plaguing you.

⛓🥀⛓ As you stirred from your restless sleep at Alfie's house, the first glimmers of dawn painted the room in a soft, pale light. Panic gripped your heart as you realised you had slept through the night, far longer than you had ever intended. Your mother, you thought with growing anxiety, must have been frantic with worry for your safety. Guilt weighed heavy on your chest as you imagined the hours she had spent, imagining the worst. 

The room was silent, devoid of any clues about Alfie's whereabouts. You called out his name, your voice quivering with a mix of anxiety and confusion, but received no response. With every passing moment, the sense of unease deepened, leaving you with an eerie feeling that something had changed in the blink of an eye. Still, the pressing need to reassure your worried mother eclipsed any other concerns. Gathering your belongings hastily, you made your way to the door, your heart pounding as you prepared to confront whatever awaited you at home, unaware of the chilling truth that would soon shatter your world.

As you descended the creaking wooden staircase, your voice echoed through the once-familiar hallways, but there was no response, not even the faintest rustle to indicate Alfie's presence. The eerie silence seemed to have seeped into every corner of your home, casting an unsettling feeling over the place. You couldn't help but worry about your mother's reaction to your unexpected absence, especially given her concern for your safety.

"Alfie?" you called again, a touch of desperation creeping into your voice. The idea of venturing into the forest alone at night was daunting, and the thought gnawed at the edges of your resolve, making you hesitate at the threshold of the open door. The inky darkness outside seemed more menacing than ever, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

The heavy, ominous sounds from outside froze you in your tracks, anxiety clawing at your chest. Your initial fear that it might be a wild dog or some other menacing presence lingered like a shadow, preventing you from daring to venture out into the unknown. However, when the shrill, piercing scream of a little boy pierced the air, your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, and panic gripped you like a vice. Your thoughts raced, torn between fear and a growing sense of responsibility, leaving you paralyzed with uncertainty, not knowing how to react to the distressing cries echoing through the night.

The scream pierced through the night, chilling you to the bone. It was unmistakably the cry of a child, filled with terror and desperation. Panic gripped your heart as you tried to make sense of the horrifying sound. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between your fear of the unknown outside and the instinctual urge to help someone in distress.

You hesitated for only a moment before a surge of courage propelled you forward. Carefully, you inched closer to the window, peering outside into the inky blackness. Moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy of trees, casting eerie shadows that danced like spectres in the night. The forest appeared more ominous than ever, but the cries of the child pushed you to take action.

With trembling hands, you grabbed a lantern from a nearby table, lighting it with a match. The soft glow illuminated your determined face as you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. 

The heart-wrenching screams outside were impossible to ignore, tugging at your very soul. Yet, along with your concern for the helpless child, a profound sense of foreboding gripped you. The chilling possibility loomed that this horrifying ordeal might be linked to the elusive and dreaded figure the townsfolk whispered about—the so-called "boogeyman." Balancing the fear for your own safety with the moral obligation to help, you felt trapped in a nightmarish dilemma, caught between the unknown and the undeniable cries for help echoing through the forest.

Grabbing the shotgun at the front door and tightly gripping it in your trembling hands, you burst out of the house and sprinted towards the source of the child's screams. The horrifying sounds continued to reverberate in your ears until, abruptly, they ceased, plunging the night into an eerie silence. Tears brimmed your eyes. Your heart raced, and you slowed your pace, straining your senses to pick up any telltale signs. What met your ears was the gruesome, gut-wrenching sound of crunching, a sound that could only be attributed to something unspeakably dreadful happening to the poor boy. Fear and determination mingled within you as you pressed forward, ready to confront the unimaginable.

With the lantern casting flickering shadows around you, you clutched the shotgun with both hands, your fingers trembling uncontrollably. Each step you took towards the back of the house felt like an eternity, your heart pounding louder with every passing second. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, and you hesitated, torn between the compulsion to face the unknown and the instinct to flee. But you couldn't turn away; you had to know. Taking a deep breath, you inched around the corner, your body tense and ready to react.

The sight that greeted you was nothing short of nightmarish. In the dim glow of the lantern, you saw a large, grotesque creature, its form so twisted and inhuman that words failed to describe it adequately. Yet, one detail stood out starkly— it was feeding. Your blood ran cold as you witnessed the horror unfolding before you, the creature indulging in an unspeakable act that sent chills down your spine. Your grip on the shotgun tightened, your trembling hands steadying as you faced the unimaginable.

As you stood there, frozen in disbelief and fear, the impossible happened before your eyes. The grotesque creature you had confronted began to contort and shift, its body creaking and cracking as it transformed. Slowly, it shrank and twisted until it took on a more recognizable human form. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched in awe and terror, unable to comprehend the unnatural metamorphosis.

But as the figure became clearer in the dim light of the lantern around the side of the house, your breath caught in your throat. It was a person—a man. A shiver ran down your spine as you recognized the face, the eyes, and the unmistakable presence. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now bore an unsettling emptiness that sent a chill down your spine. Alfie's dishevelled appearance was a stark contrast to the man you had grown close to, and the realisation that he had been living a double life filled you with a mixture of dread and betrayal. The terror of the forest, the creature inhumanity, it had all been an act, a facade expertly maintained to conceal his true identity.

The gruesome sight before you, the blood-smeared face of Alfie, and the remnants of the innocent child left you frozen in shock. You couldn't fathom the horrors that had unfolded right in front of you, and the weight of the situation bore down on your shoulders.

"Alfie, what have you done?" Your voice quivered as you finally found the courage to speak, a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger coursing through your veins.

Alfie's expression shifted from one of cold indifference to a genuine surprise as he locked eyes with you. His blood-stained lips parted slightly, as if he was struggling to find words. For the first time since you'd met him, you had managed to catch him off guard, and the realisation that you had seen him in this monstrous form left him visibly shaken.

You could feel the tension in the air, your heart pounding as you stood there, gun trembling in your hands. Everything you thought you knew about Alfie had been shattered in an instant, and you were left with a chilling sense of dread and uncertainty.

"Dove?" Alfie's voice wavered, and he raised his hands in a mock display of innocence.

As you watched him take slow, deliberate steps towards you, fear surged through your veins. Without thinking, you turned on your heels and began to sprint. The shotgun slipped from your grasp as you bolted through the dense forest, your heart pounding with terror.

"Now, hang on just a second, Y/n," Alfie's voice quivered with desperation, each word laden with urgency, as he reached out toward your retreating form.

"Get away from me!" 

Your scream pierced through the forest, a shrill note of sheer terror that echoed among the trees. Your heart raced uncontrollably, hammering against your chest like a caged bird desperately seeking freedom. You struggled to escape Alfie's grasp, your movements fueled by a primal fear that threatened to consume you.

Blood continued to drip from Alfie's mouth, staining his lips a gruesome, unsettling crimson. His face contorted with anguish and despair, and he held his trembling hand up in a feeble attempt to appear innocent. But it was a futile gesture; you had seen the monstrous truth of what he had become.

As you darted further into the dense forest, your breath came in ragged gasps, and your surroundings seemed to blur into a frenzied collage of trees and shadows. Alfie's anguished calls reverberated through the woods, each word dripping with desperation and pleading. However, the image of his dark transformation had been etched indelibly into your mind, a horrifying revelation that she couldn't easily erase or forgive. You knew that the monstrous secret you had witnessed would forever haunt you.

Your heart raced as you stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest, your breaths ragged and your mind a chaotic whirlwind of fear and confusion. Your eyes darted frantically from one shadowy tree to the next, searching for any sign of safety or escape.

"Y/n, you're not understanding," Alfie's voice echoed through the trees, but this time, there was a sinister edge to it, a veiled threat that sent shivers down your spine.

You refused to stop, refused to listen. Your legs carried her deeper into the forest, away from the looming figure that haunted your nightmares.

But just as you thought you might escape, a sudden burst of movement from behind made you stumble forward. Strong arms encircled your waist, and you were yanked back against a solid, unyielding chest.

Alfie's grip was like iron, his fingers digging into your skin. His voice, once soothing and charming, now dripped with malevolence as he whispered into your ear, "You can't run from me, little Dove. You belong to me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled against his grasp, your terror giving you newfound strength. "Let me go!" you cried out, your voice quivering but resolute.

Alfie's laughter was a chilling sound that echoed through the forest. "You think you can escape the Boogeyman? You think you can escape me?"

Desperation fueled your fight as you continued to struggle, your mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. You knew you had to find help, someone who could protect you from the monster that had once seemed so charming and inviting. But escaping the clutches of the Boogeyman was no simple task, this was the monster that haunted the entire village.

"Please, let me go," you sobbed, your voice quivering with fear and desperation.

Tears cascaded down your face, their saltiness mingling with the perspiration that had gathered on your forehead. Alfie's unrelenting hold encircled you, his formidable arms enveloping your trembling form. A chilling shiver ran down your spine as his lips pressed forcefully against your temple, leaving a nauseating reminder of the blood that now smeared your face. His touch, once tender and affectionate, had taken on an eerie possessiveness that sent unsettling tremors through your being, a stark contradiction to the gentle demeanour he had shown mere moments before.

“You ate a child!” you cried out, your voice quivering with a mixture of shock and sorrow.

The weight of your accusation hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, a tense silence engulfed the room. Alfie's eyes, once warm and inviting, now bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The flickering firelight cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the depths of his enigmatic nature.

"I did what I had to do," Alfie finally spoke, his voice devoid of remorse, his gaze unyielding. "Survival in this world isn't fucking for the faint of heart, Y/n. You must understand that."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you grappled with the horrifying revelation. The man you had grown to care for was not just a mere stranger, but something far more sinister—a creature driven by a primal hunger and ruthless instincts. The conflict within you raged on, torn between the affection you had felt and the undeniable truth of his monstrous actions.

As the realisation settled in, a haunting question lingered in the air: How could you ever find your way back from the darkness that had ensnared you, and was there any hope for escape from the clutches of the Boogeyman?

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/n…never.” Alfie whispered in your ear. 

“B-bullshit!” you sobbed.

"Why do you think those wild fucking animals haven't laid a finger on you, eh? You reckon they're just giving you a pass? I'm the reason you're safe, Y/n, the only one who can keep you safe," Alfie hissed with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

You couldn't help but feel a chill run down your spine at Alfie's words. The warmth and safety you had associated with him moments ago now felt like an illusion, shattered by his sudden intensity. His grip on your hand tightened, and you found yourself looking at him with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"But why?" you asked, still bewildered by this revelation.

"Because they can smell me on you," Alfie explained, his voice filled with an eerie calmness. "They won't go anywhere near you." It was as if he had marked you like an animal, leaving you with a chilling sense of vulnerability and an unsettling truth about the darkness that lurked within him.

"You’re the monster in these woods..why would I ever trust you!" you cried, your voice trembling slightly. The man before you, who had been both your protector and your confidant, now seemed like an entirely different person, and you couldn't fathom the reasons behind his abrupt change in demeanour.

Alfie's eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret pass through his gaze. He took a step closer, his expression softening slightly, but the tension in the air remained palpable.

"Dove, you've got it all wrong," Alfie began, his voice carrying a mixture of desperation and frustration. "I may not be a fucking saint, and I've done things I'm not proud of, but I've always kept you safe. Those creatures in the woods, they'd tear you apart without a second thought. I've protected you from them, and I'd do anything to keep you safe."

"That's not the point! You kill and eat children! You're a monster!" you cried, your voice quivering with a mix of terror and anger as you attempted to pull away from him.

Your words struck Alfie deep in his heart, like a dagger of truth cutting through his carefully constructed facade. He winced as the weight of his dark deeds bore down upon him, realising how he must appear in your eyes.

"I love you... I mean, I really fucking love you!" Alfie's voice quivered with desperation as he shook you aggressively, trying to break through to you. His words were laced with a fervent intensity, but the darkness in his actions left you torn between fear and the conflicted emotions you had for the man who had once been your protector and confidant.

"You're not fucking leaving me!" Alfie's voice grew even lower and darker, a haunting edge in his tone. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your arms, conveying both his desperation and possessiveness. The intensity of his emotions overwhelmed you, making it difficult to think clearly in the midst of this tumultuous revelation.

"No, no, no!" you cried, terror coursing through you as you struggled to break free, but Alfie's grip was unyielding. You felt utterly helpless in the hands of this monster you had grown to trust.

Alfie's face remained hard and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the man you had known. "You need to fucking shut your mouth," he snarled, his words laced with a venomous edge you had never heard before. "I can take away your protection just like that. You're coming with me, or you're gonna fucking die." The chilling threat hung heavy in the air, leaving you with an impossible choice, torn between your love for him and the horrifying reality of what he had become.

Alfie's grip remained unyielding on your arm as he forcefully pulled you back toward his home. Your desperate squirming and resistance only seemed to fuel his determination. But after a while, he seemed to grow tired of your futile attempts to break free. With a swift and unexpected motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, leaving you no choice but to dangle helplessly as he continued his march back to his home.

As Alfie carried you, slung over his shoulder like a captured prey, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. Fear, anger, and betrayal all fought for dominance in your racing mind. You had trusted this man, grown close to him, and now, he appeared to be a different person entirely.

The dread continued to consume you as Alfie approached his house, a place that had once felt like a refuge but now seemed like a prison. Your mind raced with questions, and fear gnawed at your insides. What did Alfie have planned for you? The uncertainty of your situation weighed heavily on you, making each step toward the ominous building feel like a step into the unknown.

You couldn't help but replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of how everything had unravelled so quickly. The man who had once been your protector had become your captor, and you were left with a sinking feeling that escaping his clutches would be far from easy.

Fear and despair coursed through your veins as Alfie forcefully threw you onto his bed. Desperation gripped you, and you tried to crawl away when he turned his back, but he swiftly pushed you back down. The room seemed to close in around you, and you were paralyzed by your terror, unable to muster the strength to move.

Your sobs wracked your body, making it hard to catch your breath, as Alfie moved to a corner of the room. Dread washed over you when you saw him pull out a heavy chain, and your heart raced with panic. As he approached, you couldn't control your hysteria, and your cries grew louder, echoing through the room.

"Shush!" Alfie's voice was strained as he tried to calm you, but his actions only intensified your fear.

You fought against him, attempting to kick and scream, but his strength prevailed. With a roughness that sent shockwaves of pain through you, he forcefully attached a cuff to your ankle, rendering you powerless and captive in his grasp.

With the cold, unyielding chain now securing one of your ankles, you lay on Alfie's bed, trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. Panic gnawed at your senses as you tried to make sense of this nightmarish turn of events.

Alfie, his face a mixture of frustration and determination, took a step back, seemingly assessing the situation. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of remorse deep within his gaze. It was as if the man you once knew was battling the monstrous part of him that had emerged.

He let out a long sigh, his features softening slightly. "Dove," he began, his voice far gentler than before, "I didn't want it to come to this, but you left me no choice."

Fear still gripped you, but his change in demeanour gave you a glimmer of hope. "What do you want from me?" you choked out, your voice quivering.

"I want to keep you safe, just as I always have," he replied, his tone tinged with sadness. "But you need to understand, there are things out there that would harm you."

Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but you couldn't ignore the sincerity in his words. As much as you wanted to escape, a part of you still clung to the bond you shared with Alfie, a bond that had once made you feel secure and cherished.

Alfie moved closer, his gaze searching your eyes for any sign of understanding. "Dove, please try to see that I'm doing this to protect you. If you cooperate, I promise you'll be safe."

The room seemed to close in on you as your options dwindled. Home, your sanctuary, was now nothing but a distant memory. In the depths of despair, you understood that there was no escape from Alfie's grasp. The man who had once been your confidant had become your captor, and the realisation weighed heavily on your trembling shoulders.

A sickening realisation dawned upon you as Alfie's words hung in the air like a heavy shroud. The truth was undeniable, and it chilled you to your core: you were trapped, bound not just by physical chains but by the possessive and obsessive grip Alfie had on you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, mixing with the sobs that wracked your body. You couldn't fathom how the man you had once admired and trusted had become a terrifying stranger. The thought of never seeing your home or your loved ones again gnawed at your soul.

Alfie watched you, his expression a tumultuous mix of concern and torment. His grip on the chain tightened, and you flinched at the ominous sound of metal against metal.

"Dove," he said softly, his voice laden with sorrow, "I wish it didn't have to be this way. But you're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

In that moment, it became painfully clear that there was no escaping Alfie's possessive grasp. The forest that had once seemed full of mysteries and adventure had transformed into a prison of nightmares, and you were its unwilling captive.

As you lay there, chained and broken, the harsh reality of your fate washed over you like a suffocating wave. In the depths of the forest that had once held allure and promise, you had become a prisoner, trapped by the very man you had grown to care for. The outside world, with its warmth and freedom, felt like a distant memory, fading further with each passing moment. The forest had swallowed you whole, and in its depths, your cries for help were destined to remain unheard, forever lost to the shadows of the trees. ⛓🥀⛓ A/N: I really hoped you enjoyed this oneshot, I know I haven't posted in AGES but I've just been through a lot of stress when I last posted and ever since, I just haven't been in the mood to write anything so I'm really grateful for everyone who has supported me.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Chaos

Raphael & His Daughter

⋆˙⟡♡ Sunmary: Raphael’s daughter causes chaos through the house, much to Raphael’s dismay.

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: This is a little gift for a very lovely person, @octarinecat xoxo I hope this puts a smile on your face love and that you feel better ♡

⋆˙⟡♡ Dadphael

Prt 1. - Prt 2. - Impsy

His daughter, the heart of the house, darted through the grand halls with Impsy at her heels. As they played their little game, she collided with one of her father’s prized golden statues, a self portrait, no less.

The statue wobbled perilously before succumbing to gravity, setting off a catastrophic cascade of falling pedestals and statues, each one toppling into the next with the precision of a rehearsed performance…

Frozen in the midst of the chaos, his daughter could only muster a, "uh oh..."

Impsy quipped, "Nice knowing ya, kid. There's not enough of your mother in you to sweet talk your way out of this one..."

The ominous silence that followed was broken by the heavy footsteps of Raphael emerging from his boudoir. His eyes swept over the scene of destruction, the line of his fallen statues a testament to the chaos that had unfolded in his absence. His gaze landed on the two culprits.

With a silent accusation, she slowly extended a finger toward Impsy.

"I know you aren't pointing that little thing at me, girl."

Raphael's presence loomed over them, his composure a thin veneer over the rising tide of his displeasure. "Chaos in this house is not something I will abide, even if caused by you," his voice controlled but edged with anger.

Impsy, undeterred by the gravity of the situation, tried to interject. "Oh come now, Raph, can't you see? She did you a favor, the things were gaudy!"

Raphael's eyes narrowed, and without raising his voice, he uttered a single, resonant word, "Enough." With a snap of his fingers, Impsy vanished, banished from the scene.

Turning back to his daughter, Raphael's scowl deepened. "I've given you free will when running through this house, yet you still wish to act like a little tyrant? Your actions have consequences, and it is high time you learn what that means." The disappointment in his voice was perhaps more cutting than any punishment he could devise.

As the echoes of Raphael's condemnation faded, the silence held a weight of its own. His daughter, his little treasure, felt a pang of guilt heavier than any of the golden statues that lay in ruin around her. Her eyes, so often aglow with joy, now shimmered with the sheen of unshed tears.

"Father, I..." her voice was a mere whisper, a stark contrast to the earlier clatter of her play. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Raphael's features softened marginally as he took in the sight of his daughter's remorse. The anger that had been so near the surface was now slowly fading with her genuine regret. He knelt down to her level, the ruler of the house not too proud to meet his child eye to eye.

"Actions, my child, come with consequences," he started, his voice gentler now. "But the intention behind the action also matters. You did not mean to cause this damage, and that, at least, is a start."

He sighed, surveying the disarray before him. He often wonders if the pursuit of legacy through an heir is worth the sacrifice of peace and quiet. But then…

She wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight embrace, her small form seeking forgiveness in the only way she knew how.

Raphael felt the tension leave his body as he returned the embrace. This little child of his, though chaotic at times, was nothing but loyal to him.

And in that embrace, he found his answer.

His little treasure, his daughter… When the time came, she would help him rule well. Raphael realized that, despite the toppled statues and the occasional chaos, having an heir, having her as a loyal heir was indeed worth his time.