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ro-is-struggling · 5 months ago

Text

His || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Geralt takes pity on a family of farmers in an isolated village surrounded by misfortune. After saving them from the clutches of a beast, the head of the family proposes to pay the witcher for his services by offering him the hand of his only daughter in marriage. He does not want to accept it at first —the life of a witcher was incompatible with the concept of marriage—, but after getting to know the young lady better and understanding the cruel fate that awaited her if he did not intervene, Geralt feels the need to protect her

Warnings: fem!reader, arranged marriage (kinda), protective and possessive Geralt (let’s gooo), a bit of angst, mentions of scars (both Geralt’s and the reader’s), fluff, SMUT MINORS DNI, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (not realistic), porn with feelings (or at least I tried), porn with plot, penetrative sex, possessive Geralt (yes, again), size kink, fingering, creampie, my obsession with Geralt’s thighs, pet names (dove), let me know if a forgot anything!!

English is not my first language

Word count: 23.200 (I had fun, okay?)

Note: this fic is probably very inaccurate regarding the life of a farmer and the traditions of marriage in the witcher universe/medieval times, but if I researched that in depth this fic would never have seen the light of day lol I hope you don't mind.

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Geralt of Rivia was not known for working for free. Like all witchers, he made a living using the skills that had been instilled in him, killing monsters for a price and ridding the continent of evil beings. It was a noble cause, a tough job that someone had to do to ensure the welfare of the population. But that was all it was, just a job. He had learned the hard way that he was no hero or knight in shining armor. People didn't see him that way anyway, so it was stupid of him to try to be something he was not. His skills were not to be wasted on saving helpless women on the side of the road or on charity work, that much was clear to him. The people he saved were not going to give him recognition. They were not going to shower him with gifts and sing songs about his heroic deeds as they did with knights returning from battle because he was not a hero. People tended to see witchers as mutated freaks, but they recognized that, from time to time, they had a use for them. So he —and all of his kind— had to make sure to charge well for his services since that was the only thing people were willing to give him in return for his efforts. So Geralt did not work for free.

That's why when the residents of a small town he was passing through approached him for help he had to turn them down. They were troubled by disappearances and strange, brutal deaths that they could not explain. Some swore they saw a creature prowling in the night, growling and howling as it searched for its next victim, but no one knew what it was. However, the small town of farmers and craftsmen was not going through a good time financially speaking. A combination of bad weather and a plague had ruined the crops, so they didn't have much money to spend.

“If you want gold you should go talk to Lord Veldren, he's taking from us what little we have,” was the answer Geralt was usually given when the subject of payment came up in conversation. It was nothing he had not heard before, nobles who did not tighten the pockets of their people were few. But there was a pain in the eyes of the villagers, an anger in their voices as they spoke, that caught Geralt's attention. He wondered what kind of things this Lord Veldren would do to evoke such a reaction in the people.

There was one particular family of farmers that caught his attention. A weeping woman begged for the life of her eldest son who had been taken by the beast. According to her tales, the people, tired of being harassed and intimidated by the creature, organized to do the work that their Lord refused to do. The bravest and most skilled men of all the families went out to hunt it under the light of the full moon and that was the last time they were seen alive. Parts of the remains were still turning up around the village and discovered lost among the crops, although damaged beyond recognition. Many of the families did not have a body to bury and that was part of the reason they were all so shaken. They had lost husbands, sons, friends and protectors that night and it had all been for nothing.

The woman wept in the arms of her husband who did his best to contain her, but even he was unable to hide the sadness that overwhelmed him. There was something in her grief that struck a chord deep inside Geralt. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't feel right going through town and leaving them behind with their suffering. So, as they had no money to pay for his services, he took the villagers' concerns directly to Lord Veldren. They had told him that he was aware of the problem, but had no desire to do anything about it. But maybe things would be different now that Geralt was there. Maybe the Lord's whole problem was that he didn't want to get his hands dirty and would rather let his people die than risk his own skin. But now that the witcher was there to do his dirty work for him maybe his predisposition would be different.

No one in the village had much faith that it would work, but they showed Geralt how to get to him. Some even walked with him, taking advantage of the moment to tell him as much detail as they could about the danger they were in. Some of their stories the witcher could attribute to the collective panic that had taken hold of the town since some of them were things that he, in all his years of experience, had never heard of. But others helped him compile a list of possible responsible creatures, which grew smaller and smaller with each story he heard.

When he reached his destination, Geralt wished he had listened to the villagers' warnings. He knew his share of rude and unwise nobles, but none compared to Lord Veldren. He barely looked at him for the entirety of their meeting —which was not long— as if to lay eyes on him was a privilege the witcher did not deserve. Nor did he let him speak for long, barely getting as far as presenting the problem before Lord Veldren was shooing him away with an expression of disinterest on his face.

“It's interesting that you're the one presenting the problem,” he said in an accusatory tone when Geralt insisted on the danger to the villagers. “You're a witcher who kills beasts for a living. All you want is to fill your pockets with MY riches.”

“You, my Lord, surely must know that this problem has existed long before I passed through your lands.” Geralt spat through gritted teeth, clinging to what little thread of patience he had left. “You must have noticed that your people are dying at an alarmingly rapid rate.”

“There have been pests affecting the crops, probably bringing disease. It's being taken care of, not that I owe you any kind of explanation.” The disdain in Veldren's voice was evident which made Geralt's blood boil.

“It's a werewolf. And it's not going to stop until someone makes it stop. If you don't do something, your people will keep dying.”

“Why don't you let me worry about my people, witcher. You go find some other fool to steal their riches from. My people are fine.”

“That's not what the corpses piling up next to the dead crops say.”

“There are always more people. Nothing is lost that can't be replaced. Now you get out of here and don't come back or you'll regret the consequences.”

Geralt didn't stay to argue with Lord Veldren for another second, he knew it was a waste of time. He was not going to change his mind and was willing to let his people die just so he wouldn't have to back down. However, Geralt had changed his mind after their short conversation. The moment he turned around he knew he would return to the village to help the farmers free of charge. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because he knew that it would piss Veldren off more than anything. Geralt was not afraid of retaliation. He had no issue with avoiding that town in the future should he be banished. He liked to take the long way around anyway.

Geralt stumbled into the modest hut of the family of the farmer whose eldest son had died trying to protect his people. They had offered to give him food and shelter while he prepared for the fight with the beast, and a place to rest after the task was complete. So once he was sure the monster was dead, he set out on his way back to their farm.

The older woman ran to him when she saw his condition. He was bloody and beaten. The beast had put up a good fight, but had ultimately failed to withstand the courage of the witcher and his silver sword. However, it had left Geralt with a fair amount of wounds, nothing that wouldn't heal with some rest, but serious enough to scare the poor woman as she saw him come through the door. She and one of her sons helped him sit up, while her husband, at her request, went to get some water —both for him to drink and to clean his wounds.

“It's done.” Geralt said as he finally allowed himself to relax.

The woman let out an exclamation of relief, passing him a glass of water as she mumbled something to herself. He couldn't catch it all, but from what he could make out she was speaking to her son's spirit, asking him to be at peace now that his family was safe. It was then that Geralt remembered the discovery he had made in his search for the beast. With some pain he brought his hand to his neck and tugged at one of the two chains around his neck. He took the woman's hand before she could move away from him and placed the object he knew belonged to her son in her palm. The woman looked at him in confusion until her eyes lowered to her hand and met the medallion resting in it.

“I believe this belongs to you.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone as he saw the tears beginning to roll down the woman's cheeks. He had found the medallion among bloody and rotting remains and knew immediately that he was in front of what was left of the son of the couple because his father wore the same necklace around his neck.

In tears the woman thanked him, repeating the words over and over again as she clutched the chain in her hand and held it to her chest at the level of her heart. She hugged her husband, who held her close and repeated the same praises to the witcher. Since they had no body to bury, retrieving such a significant object from their son was the next best thing to finding some sort of closure. It was something of his to remember him by and honor him for his bravery. It put an end to any doubt fueled by hope and allowed them to move on with their lives.

“I don't know how we can ever repay you.” The man spoke with tears in his eyes.

“I don't need anything. The shelter and food you provided me so far is payment enough.”

“You have given us too much, more than we could ask for. I cannot let this debt go unpaid.” The man insisted, his prideful side coming out. “We are not a family of great wealth, but we have honor. Integrity and the value of our word is all we have. I cannot offer you gold, but I can give you the hand of my only daughter in marriage.”

Geralt's eyes shot upward, momentarily forgetting the leg wound he was studying to look the farmer in the eye. “I didn't do this to get something in return. You don't have to offer me anything.”

“Please, witcher, I'm afraid I must insist. I could not go through life knowing that I owe such a great debt. You have not only saved my family, you have avenged my son's death and brought him home. I cannot allow you to leave this house empty-handed.”

“I assure you that our daughter is well educated in the arts of being a homemaker.” The woman interjected, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “She has a perfect understanding of how to build and care for a home and a husband. She's been helping me since I was a little girl in preparation for this moment.”

Geralt didn't know how to explain to the sweet couple that he wasn't looking for a wife. Witchers were destined to live solitary lives. Their life mission was not compatible with a family. They had been strategically designed not to be able to leave offspring and no woman would want to be with such a man. The only family they had were the fellow witchers, with whom they met every winter to rest, replenish elixirs and exchange stories of the road. They led dangerous and transient lives, plagued by monsters and uncertainty. There was no place for love or relationships, much less with human women that were not trained in the combat of evil.

“I'm sure that's the case,” Geralt cleared his throat as he searched for the right words to explain the reason for his rejection. “But I'm afraid my life is not compatible with married life.”

“Please, if you won't take her it's only a matter of time until Lord Veldren does.” The woman insisted, desperation evident in her voice. “I know that may sound like a good thing to many people, but not to us. He is an evil man and I would rather my family perish than have to give my daughter to him.”

“I–”

“I can be of service to you.” The sound of a soft, sweet voice echoed in the distance. Geralt followed it, and it was then that his eyes collided with the figure of a young woman emerging from the stairs.

The first thing Geralt noticed, besides your beauty, was the resemblance you bore to your mother. Seeing the two of you side by side was like holding a mirror up to the past. Your features, although modified by the passage of time in the case of your mother, were almost the same. You had the same cheekbones and the same smile, although you differed in one aspect: your eyes. Although they were sweet like your mother's, they were charged with a bravery and ferocity that the older woman did not have. You held his gaze at all times, holding your head high in a proud manner. Your attitude caught Geralt's attention immediately since you were not at all what he expected. He had heard the family speak of you from time to time, but the image he had created in his mind about you from such tales was nothing like the person who was staring back at him at that very moment.

“I have spent most of my days accompanying the village healer, so I can heal your wounds after your battles.” You spoke once again. The politeness in your voice and the smoothness of your movements contradicted the fire in your eyes, which only added to Geralt's curiosity. “If you don't mind, I could show you my skills right now so you can see that I'm not lying.”

Geralt remained silent, but motioned for you to proceed. You walked towards him with a firm step, clutching in your hands the leather bag where you kept ointments, herbs and other medicinal items. You settled on a chair in front of him and after receiving his consent once again, you very carefully examined some of the cuts he had on his arms and face. It was nothing too serious, they just needed a cleaning and perhaps the help of some ointments to treat the irritated skin. Only one cut on his shoulder seemed to need stitches and maybe one on his leg as well. It was nothing you hadn't already dealt with, so you would have no problem treating it and demonstrating your skills.

You asked your family for some space to work and they kindly left you the room to be alone with Geralt. Only then you began to clean his wounds, carefully wiping his skin with a wet cloth to remove the blood and dirt from the irritated areas. He watched you work in silence, admiring you with a puzzled expression. You intrigued him in a way that no human had done for a long time. He was waiting patiently for the moment when you decided to talk to him and slowly reveal a little more about yourself so he could understand what it was about you that he found so intriguing.

“You don't have to do this.” Geralt broke the silence after a few minutes of waiting to hear your voice. “It'll probably be healed by morning.”

“The witcher genes, I know... but a little help can't hurt, right?” You gave him a smile and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he noticed that the fire in your eyes had softened, mixed with a hint of sweetness.

“You don't have to prove anything to me. I don't need any payment for my work.”

“My father is a very proud man, Geralt. He will not be comfortable letting you go without payment for your services.”

“And I will not be comfortable dragging a young woman like you into the life of a witcher.” He placed his hand over yours to force you to stop your actions and draw your attention to his face. Your hand was trapped between his leg and the touch of his calloused fingers. “Life on the road is not one for a beautiful lady such as you. And I am not a man worthy of marriage.”

Geralt's voice was soft as he spoke, he wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you with his rejection. There was nothing wrong with you and he was sure that someday you would find a good man worthy of your hand. But he was not that man. He was not husband material and his life was not compatible with marriage. Perhaps if things had been different and Vesemir had not found him he could have had a taste of that life. But the mission to eradicate the monsters on the continent had been entrusted to him and he couldn't turn it down for a woman, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You must forgive me,” you muttered, feeling small under the witcher's intense gaze. You released your hand from his grip and hurried to grab the items needed to close the wound on his leg. “I was the one who put that idea in my father's mind. I figured it was an easy way out...not many men would refuse such a payment, but I guess I was wrong.” You gave him a shy smile before lowering your gaze to his leg once more to begin stitching the skin together with thread and needle. He didn't even flinch as the metal pierced him and you wondered how high was the level of pain tolerance of people like him.

“Lord Veldren, huh?” You knew from the tone he used when he spoke that Geralt understood the predicament you were in.

“He's quite a character, isn't he?” you let out a frustrated sigh. “He's made his interest in me pretty clear, but he knows it's not reciprocated, so he's been harassing my family to make sure he gets what he wants. Times are tough and he's not making it any easier. He's been creating ridiculous rules to raise taxes, chasing my brothers around town, sending me letters and gifts in hopes of winning me over... He's trying to back us into a corner. It is only a matter of time until we are forced to leave our lands or... I am forced to accept his proposal.”

After securing the last stitch, you spread some of the antibacterial ointment the village healer had taught you to prepare on the skin of his thigh. Your movements were slow and gentle even though you were pretty sure that Geralt wouldn't feel much pain if it were different. And once that wound was healed, you then moved over to the cut on his shoulder. You drew your chair a little closer to him so that you could reach the area more comfortably, and asked his permission to pull his shirt up. You felt your face heat up as you watched his fingers work on the buttons to expose his chest and allow you to work more comfortably. You tried to focus your gaze on his wound and only his wound, although you were a little distracted by counting the scars that adorned the skin of his chest.

“Why do you think he's so interested in you?” The question escaped Geralt's lips before he could stop himself. It was in no way a comment on you as a person. Your beauty alone was reason enough to justify any man's interest in taking your hand. But he had to admit that it was unusual for a man of nobility to seek to court a farm girl, much less someone like Lord Veldren. He was someone who craved power and wealth, so it would make much more sense for him to seek to marry someone of his own social standing.

“Because he is insecure and he loves nothing more than making people feel small to aggrandize his figure.” You said as if it were obvious, letting out a dry chuckle as your fingers delicately traced the irritated skin of the witcher's shoulder.

Geralt couldn't help but agree with you. The few minutes he shared with Lord Veldren were enough to recognize that his ego was probably bigger than his riches.

“He inherited the title unexpectedly.” You continued to explain as you carefully secured the first stitch over the wound. Geralt did not utter a single complaint, but you still treated him with the tenderness you would treat any normal person. Just because he was used to blood and pain didn't mean he didn't deserve a soft, tender touch now and then. Especially after he had risked his life to save yours and that of your entire village. And as you worked you explained to him what you knew about Lord Veldren's history.

He had only come to the village after a long search for extended family members of Lord Eldrake, who perished with his son in a tragic hunting accident. He was a distant cousin who lived far away not only physically, but also metaphorically. Veldren had grown up far removed from the riches and customs of the nobility, which showed in the way he imposed his power. He was not wise or cultured, he did not have good manners or a proper grasp of protocols. He only cared about himself, his new found power, and increasing his wealth with no regard for who he hurt along the way. Since he had arrived he had done nothing but squeeze every coin he could from the people, leaving them with just enough to survive. And his hand did not tremble when it came to punishing those who voiced their complaints.

Lord Veldren was a horrible man who was not prepared to fill the role that had fallen into his hands in a stroke of luck. And for you there laid the reason for his interest in you. Marrying into a noble family would mean exposing his incompetence. For now, as things stood, he was completely on his own to do and dispose as he wished, but marrying a noblewoman would mean being challenged. And his ego would not be able to tolerate such a thing. You, on the other hand, were someone he could easily manipulate to please. He held your family's future in his hands and he knew very well that you knew it. He was using them to get to you and it was clear that he would continue to do so to keep you under his control. Lord Veldren was obsessed with you not because of your beauty or your ability to maintain a home —as he often said in his letters— but because you did not present a threat to his ego.

“I know marrying a nobleman coming from a peasant family sounds like a dream come true, but it's not for me.” You muttered sadly as you finished bandaging the witcher's wound. “I always dreamed of marrying for love... but now I don't think that's possible. That's why I thought you were a good candidate. You are honorable and protective, he wouldn't come after you. You could take me away from here or be enough of a threat to force Lord Veldren to leave me alone.”

Geralt could feel your sadness just by looking into your eyes. A light shone in your eyes at the mention of love, the hope of having the life you wanted still alive somewhere in you. However, he had to watch it die quickly, crushed by the devastating reality in which you lived. It was a sad thing to see, but there was nothing he could do to help you. With a bit of luck on your side maybe he could get Lord Veldren to forget about you, but that was far from being the solution to the problem. You would still be trapped in a life you didn't want, married to someone you didn't love. Accepting your hand in marriage as payment for his services would only change the face of your misfortune. He could save your family, but he would become the executioner condemning you to a future of unhappiness. And he was not willing to be such a thing. It was none of his business whether or not to save the lives of maidens who were being threatened by monsters not born of magic. It never ended well and Geralt had no doubt that this would be no exception. Married or unmarried, happy or unhappy, it shouldn't matter to him because he had no reason to interfere.

“Marrying me wouldn't change things. You would only be tying yourself to a different kind of miserable future with a man you don't love. There is still time, you can still find love.”

The last thing Geralt wanted was to hurt you with his rejection. You and your family had been through a lot and he didn't want you to worry thinking that there was something wrong with you that led him to refuse such payment for his services. He knew that you would make an excellent wife someday and that was exactly why he could not take your hand. You deserved to marry for love, as you so desperately wanted, and live a good life with a man who deserved you. And unfortunately he was not that man.

“I'd rather it be you than him.” You looked at him with wide eyes full of despair. “My time is up. You are my last chance to escape him.”

“You must understand that my life is no life for a married man.” Geralt reached for your hand. He took it between his own, his thumb caressing your smooth skin with small circular motions in the hope that it would help soften the blow of his rejection. Your eyes focused on his grip for a moment, admiring the way his hands completely enveloped yours making you feel small and insignificant next to him. Looking up you met a pair of amber eyes that looked at you full of softness in them. “I live on the road, traveling from place to place in search of dangerous beasts. That's no place for a sweet woman like you.”

“I am not a porcelain doll that must be carefully cared for to keep from shattering. I can travel with you. I have traveled many times in my life, even accompanied my brothers on hunting trips. I know how to handle myself in the wilderness.”

“Being a witcher is not like hunting a deer. It's dangerous, especially for untrained humans. You can get seriously hurt if you travel with me.”

“Then you can marry me and go on with your journey!” you raised your voice, feeling frustrated with Geralt's excuses. You pulled your hand away from his suddenly, putting distance between the two of you.

He didn't understand. How could he? He had nothing to fear. He was a fierce witcher who had faced who knows how many beasts in his life and emerged victorious. He would never understand the guilt that ate at you as you watched your family struggling to make ends meet knowing it was your fault. He would never understand the fear of being trapped in a future without love or hope, forced to be the object of desire of a cruel and evil man. Geralt was strong and powerful to the point that you doubted he had ever felt small and helpless, so of course he would not be able to understand your despair.

“You would not have to see me again if you so desired. You could leave right after the ceremony and never come back if that's what you wanted, I don't care. All I need is a ring on my finger that will keep Veldren away from me and my family.”

“And you'll be condemned to live married to a ghost?”

“If that's what it takes! I'm willing to live a life of solitude if it means my family is safe... it beats being the object of desire of the most disgusting man I've ever met.”

From the look Geralt gave you, you know that he feels sorry for you. You can read in his eyes how bad he feels for you, how sad he finds your words and even the relief he feels knowing that he will never be subjected to a similar situation. And you hated it almost as much as you hated having to cry and beg him to agree to marry you. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but it was your last resort. Marrying Geralt was the best possible way out of your predicament. If he didn't want to share his life with you he could easily leave and not come back and it still wouldn't be suspicious given what he did for a living. You would have to stage things from time to time to keep up appearances over time, but even so you doubted that Veldren would dare to challenge someone with Geralt's reputation. You'd be doomed to a life without love, but at least you'd be free.

“I know I'm asking a lot.” Your voice broke the silence that fell over the room. It was softer this time, a reflection of the effort you were making to quiet your frustrations. After all, it wasn't Geralt's fault that you were trapped in this situation and he had every right to refuse to accept your hand as payment. You hoped you could appeal to his kindness. “I just want you to think about it. You don't have to decide anything now. You can stay here for as long as you need to get back on your feet, we'll provide shelter and food no matter what you decide. It's the least we can do after all you've done for us. I just... You are my last hope to escape from him, so please think about it. Please know that I am willing to be a good wife and serve you in any way you see fit, or give you the freedom to move on with your life if you wish. Nothing would change for you as I understand from your words that you do not intend to marry in the near future, but you would be improving my life.”

Geralt remained silent watching you disappear up the stairs as he seriously considered your last words.

The more time Geralt spent with you and your family, the less confident he became in his decision. He initially intended to spend only a couple of days with you, just enough time for him and Roach to rest after the long and tumultuous journey they had made to get there. But the more time he spent at your home, the more difficult it became for him to leave you.

It was one thing to hear them talk about the hardships they were going through because of Lord Veldren, but it was very different to see it happen with his own eyes. In the short time that Geralt had been living with you the tax collector had passed by your home multiple times, always with a new complaint and a threat to go with it. There was no doubt that Veldren was the one behind it. They were, for the most part, empty threats designed to pressure them, but they were no less effective for that. They knew he wasn't really going to evict or imprison them because if he did it was game over. Ultimately, what Veldren wanted was not to make an example of your family, but to force you to give in to his demands. However, they were all well aware that it was only a matter of time before he got tired and decided to deliver on his threats. So they woke up every morning fearing that this was the day he would finally decide he had had enough and leave them in ruins over a mere whim.

Geralt tried to help them in any way he could. He had offered to help with the harvest and had even gone hunting a couple of times to save them from having to go to the market for food. However, they were a very proud family who were treating him as an honored guest so he was not allowed to do much. He found that the best way to contribute to them was to collect some favors from the people in town. Everyone talked about him as if he was a hero. They would greet him in the street and thank him for his work. They sought him out to hear his stories and composed songs about what he had done that night. Being the town hero, many people found that the best way to thank him for his bravery —since they had no coin to pay him— was to give him some of what he produced. In this way he was able to provide your family with a varied catalog of things ranging from fur coats to cattle for slaughter.

Geralt knew that what he was doing was wrong. He was getting too attached to your family, making things personal. He would be lying if he said his hatred for Veldren hadn't grown in the last few days. More than once he had thought of sneaking into his home to end his life and finish the suffering of your family and the whole town. But that was wrong. He was not supposed to intervene in mundane matters between humans. His mission was very simple: to eradicate evil beings born of magic. Human affairs —politics, war, even love— were not his concern.

He knew he had to leave before things got worse, but he didn't want to face what would come with his departure. He didn't want to face you and say goodbye forever because he was no longer completely sure that was the best option. In the last few days he had spent quite a bit of time with you. He noticed that you didn't leave the house much so he took advantage of the time to get to know you better. He thought it would help him stand firm in his decision, but it had done nothing but show him what a sweet and brave woman you were. A woman who didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life next to that disgusting man Veldren.

The words you had said to him that night always echoed in his mind before he fell asleep. The voice of reason told him that it was ridiculous to even consider the idea of taking your hand in marriage. Witchers were not meant to settle down and marry. Besides, accepting your proposal would, at best, condemn you to a life of misery —or an early death at worst. And yet, there was always this voice in the back of his mind. It wasn't powerful, but it would present itself just as he was about to fall asleep. It was the last thing he thought about at night and the first thing he remembered in the morning. That voice that said, “What if you tried? And one day, as he admired the way you groomed and cared for Roach in the barn, he seriously considered listening to that voice in his mind. And that's when he knew it was time to leave.

He decided to do it at night, after the family had gone to bed. It was not the honorable thing to do, but it was the only option that would allow him to get out of there without altering his life forever. Geralt was afraid to face you. He was afraid to look you in the eye and not be able to reject you. He was afraid to say goodbye and feel the weight of guilt increase with every step he took. Guilt for sealing your fate. Guilt for leaving you no choice but to surrender yourself to Lord Veldren's arms for the rest of your life. He kept telling himself that he was not to blame for any of it, that it was not his duty to intervene to fix anyone's life, but he believed it less and less with each passing day. So he gathered his things, took Roach from the stable and set off on his way out of town with the darkness of the night as his ally.

However, fate seemed to have other plans for him.

Geralt walked at a slow pace alongside Roach. The road leading out of town, which normally had people coming and going, was quiet. All that could be heard were Roach's footsteps in the dirt and the sound of the river flowing peacefully. It was a beautiful sight, the moonlight, the trees and flowers painted in the crystal reflection of the water creating a composition worthy of admiration. However, his eyes lost interest in such a beautiful sight when they came across the figure of a woman dipping her feet in the riverbank. She was humming under her breath, the sound traveling to his ears on the night breeze. He knew then that it was not just any young woman there, but the one he was trying to avoid.

He found it strange that you were there alone. It was late and the last he had heard you say was that you were retiring to rest. He hadn't heard you sneaking out of the house and neither did he understand why you were doing it. In the time Geralt had spent there, he noticed that you didn't get out of the house much, not even to stroll through the market like most of the women seemed to do in this town. You spent your time tending the crops and caring for the few animals they had. He had assumed that it was because you enjoyed the warmth of your home, but now he was beginning to doubt it. You looked so free and happy as you walked along the riverbank, the ruffles on your dress blowing in the wind, the fabric clinging to your body. Amused laughter escaped your lips every time the water made contact with your skin, splashing with joy and wetting the hem of your dress.

The woman who stood before him was totally different from the one Geralt knew. He had never seen you like this, so... free and full of life. You looked almost ethereal dancing in the moonlight, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the splashing of water beneath your feet. A peak of glowing light that pulled him to you like flames to moths. Roach protested when he went out of his way to approach you, but Geralt ignored her. He pulled on the reins lightly to force the horse to move and knotted them in a tree to make sure she didn't escape.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

Geralt's voice startled you. You turned your head to look at him, feeling embarrassed at being caught acting foolish thinking you were alone. There was no mockery in his expression, but your cheeks warmed anyway. What you did notice in his gaze was a hint of guilt that you only understood when you saw Roach waiting for him a couple of feet away.

“You're leaving...” You muttered with a bit of sadness in your voice. He was sneaking away, under the darkness of the night and without saying goodbye to anyone. And that could only mean one thing: he was rejecting your father's offer.

“You shouldn't be here alone so late.” Geralt decided to ignore you since it was the easiest thing to do. He wasn't proud of what he was doing, but he knew it was for the best.

“This is honestly safer than going out in the daytime.” You shrugged, moving away from the water to sit on the shore. You buried your wet feet in the dirt, feeling the small grains slipping through your toes as you wiggled them. “I used to love visiting the market with my mother and playing with the children in the town square... but I can't do that anymore without being watched by Veldren's men... sometimes even he shows up himself... So I stopped going. I focused on my home, on helping my family as much as I could... And I slowly stopped going out, stopped socializing with people other than my immediate neighbors. I thought that maybe if he stopped seeing me so often he would get bored of me and focus his attention on another young girl... but now I'm not so sure that's going to happen.”

You wrapped your arms around your knees, making yourself small as you thought of all you had lost because of that man. And you wondered how much more you had to lose. Your freedom and happiness didn't seem to be enough. Your family and your land were still on the line, and if you ended up accepting his proposal, so was your ability to decide about your own future. It wasn't fair.

Geralt looked down at you for a moment, admiring the way the moonlight reflected on your face. It added a layer of sadness to your expression, a vulnerability he hadn't seen in you before. You looked like a doll made of porcelain, fragile and beautiful, in need of care and protection. He felt the need to hold you, but restrained himself. Instead, he sat by your side offering you a friendly ear to listen to your misfortunes.

“Night is the only time I can be free. The moon is my only friend, the faithful confidant of all my secrets.” You went on, your eyes lost in the movement of the water. “I can escape the four-walled prison and wander around the village, enjoy the scenery and the fresh air without being watched and having every step I take reported back to him.” There was poison in your voice at the mention of Lord Veldren and you hadn't even said his name. “I suppose I have you to thank for that too... The night was no longer safe, but you gave me back my freedom by slaying that beast.”

You turned to look at him and Geralt noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. They glistened under the moonlight just like the water of the lake reflected it, highlighting the beautiful color of your eyes. They threatened to escape, but out of sheer determination you were able to hold them in place. You were not going to let the last image he had of you be of your crying face. You didn't want to cause him to feel sorry for you. You didn't want him to think it was a trick to get him to stay. He had done enough for you and your family, you couldn't ask him for anything more.

“I wish you the best of luck in your life, Geralt, and I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you... You must leave this place knowing that you helped a lot of people, myself included.” You gave him a smile, a subtle way of letting him know you agreed with his decision. “Although I'm not going to lie to you, I would like to see you again...only perhaps under less tragic circumstances.”

“I'm afraid tragic circumstances are my specialty.” The corner of his lips curved slightly into a sad smile, his gaze momentarily lost, and you wondered what thoughts might be going through his head. “But I'd like to make my way back here someday.”

“You will always be welcome in this town...and you will always have a place to stay. My family and I aren't going anywhere.”

You reached out a hand toward Geralt, daring to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and obstructed your view of his eyes. You had always found the yellowish hue in them mesmerizing, but somehow they looked even more beautiful under the moonlight. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but you felt they shone with a different intensity. It was like looking directly into the sun, beautiful but painful.

You let your fingers run down his temple until they reached his cheek, gently caressing one of the cuts you had helped him heal. It was nothing more than a line, just a shade lighter than the color of his skin, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know it was there, but you still felt it under your fingertips. You were going to miss him. You had grown accustomed to his presence in your home and you would be lying if you said you didn't like what you had learned about him. He was nothing like what people used to say about witchers, maybe a little quiet and grumpy, yes, but he was a noble and kind hearted man. He deserved to have a good life and you hoped he would find it beyond the borders of your town.

In that simple exchange of glances Geralt was able to read in your eyes the true meaning of your words. He saw the resignation and sadness hidden behind them, the courage and strength that he had noticed the first time he saw you. He understood then that you were willing to do anything to protect your family and that you were not going to let anyone or anything break you. It was inspiring, but tragic. The need to protect you grew stronger inside him, every fiber of his being asking him to stop you.

When you removed your hand from his face, Geralt met it halfway, holding it back so you couldn't move it too far away. Your gaze lowered, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you admired his fingers intertwined with yours. When your eyes met the shine of his again, you noticed that he had leaned toward you. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher, but that captivated you nevertheless. And suddenly, without even realizing what you were doing, you began to lean towards him as well.

It felt like you were in a trance, being pulled towards Geralt by some kind of magic hidden in his eyes. The air caught in your throat as you felt his nose brush against yours. Your heart raced as his gaze lowered to your mouth, lips parting instinctively, responding to his proximity. Geralt's half-open eyes met yours once again, looking at you with a clear question written in them. And you answered it the only way you could while trapped under that mesmerizing amber glow, pressing your lips against his.

It was a soft but quick kiss. Your lips barely pressed against Geralt's, moving with both hesitation and curiosity to explore the taste of his mouth. You were being cautious, like when you tested the temperature of the water in the lake with your fingers before diving in. You were dipping your toes into the turbulent ocean of uncertainty that was Geralt to see how far you could go.

You pulled away from him after a few seconds, feeling embarrassed by your boldness and how much you were enjoying feeling the caress of his lips on yours. However, Geralt didn't let you pull away too far. His hand came up to your jaw, gripping the side of your face gently to hold you in place. His calloused fingers awakened a warm tingling under your skin, managing to slightly accelerate your heartbeat. His breath mingled with yours and his eyes looked at you with a softness you hadn't noticed in them before.

Geralt could feel the change in your breathing and sense the quickening of your heart in the veins of your neck filled with anticipation. He tried to resist your charms, but you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your tongue peeked between your parted lips, wetting your lower lip in an act of clear temptation. And he understood then that he was not as strong as he thought he was. He gave in to your silent pleas, joining his lips with yours again, though this time in a kiss charged with trust and desperation.

And in that moment, joined only by the moonlight and the chirping of crickets in the night, you both felt a spark. A connection with each other that you had never experienced before with another person. Your lips moved desperately, your hands clung to any part of exposed skin you could touch without crossing a line. You tangled your fingers in Geralt's long white hair, losing yourself in the warmth of his body. His right hand found its place on your cheek, using the advantage to move your head in the direction required to deepen the kiss. His other hand clung to your back, pressing you against his body until there was no more space separating the two of you.

You moaned as he sucked on your lower lip and the sound, though music to Geralt's ears, alerted him to what you were doing. He carefully pulled away from you, making a great effort to ignore your protests.

“We can't do this,” he whispered between gasps. “Not this way.”

“Yes we can...there's no one around to judge us. No one has to know.” You pushed your lips against Geralt's once more and he gave in for a moment before pulling away again. This time instead of whining you simply turned your attention to his neck, planting soft kisses down the column of his throat. If he wasn't going to make you his wife, he could at least treat you to a night of intimacy. That way at least you could choose the first man to give your body to.

“We should wait... for the wedding night.”

You stopped your actions as soon as you managed to process his words. Your head jumped up to look into his eyes, searching his expression for confirmation that you had heard correctly.

“That means...?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we're going to do this right.”

Your eyes lit up with joy and hope, looking at Geralt with the admiration with which one looks at a knight returning after winning a great battle. You jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. You didn't know if he realized it, but he had just saved your life. And no matter how things turned out after your wedding, you would always be grateful to him for that.

The news was announced to your parents first thing in the morning and from that point on, preparations for the wedding didn't stop. It wasn't going to be a big event, just a ceremony with the close family to formalize the union. And you wanted it to be as quick as possible, not only to avoid delaying Geralt's departure for longer, but also because rumors of his heroic deeds had reached Lord Veldren's ears and you knew that couldn't be a good thing. The sooner you were married, the better it would be for everyone.

Your mother took on the responsibility of arranging everything, sending your father and brothers to get food and fabrics and the paperwork as well as the clergy's approval to perform the ceremony. And when she wasn't tidying the house or preparing floral arrangements, she took time to talk to you about marriage and what you could expect after the papers were signed. She spoke from her own experience and it was beautiful to see her eyes sparkle as she recalled her past, the happiness of the first moments of her marriage with your father and the arrival of her children into her life. But, as nice as it sounded, you weren't sure that was your destiny.

“You shouldn't get your hopes up so high, mother.” You sighed, watching her brush and fix your hair through the reflection of the mirror you were sitting in front of. In addition to arranging the ceremony, your mother had taken on the responsibility of helping you get ready for your big day. “I don't think that's the future that awaits me when I marry Geralt. He's just doing it as a favor.”

“You don't know that, honey. True love may still be in your destiny... You wouldn't be the first woman to find it long after the wedding day.” She smiled at you in the mirror before returning her attention to your hair, carefully braiding a strand.

“I don't even know if he'll stay after the deed is done... But that's okay, the whole point of this was to get Lord Veldren off our backs and marrying Geralt can do that, so I'm happy.”

“He can't leave after the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated.”

“Mother!” you let out a high-pitched whine, feeling blood pooling in your cheeks.

“I'm sorry, darling, but you are hours away from becoming a married woman, these are things I need to talk to you about.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Your father and I made arrangements to visit your aunt across town for a few days. We'll leave after the ceremony so you two will have time to be alone and... figure out how to move forward. It's important, honey, that you take some time to think about the kind of woman you want to be, the kind of wife you want to be... and show him that he can find support in you, someone to grow together with. That's what a wife should be...what a marriage should be, a safe place you build as a couple. Your safe place.”

Your mother's eyes filled with tears and you immediately rose from your seat to hug her. You cherished every word, every piece of advice and word of encouragement she gave you and had given you in the last few days. Seeing her so emotional brought tears to your eyes as well, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to show her that she had taught you well. You wanted to make her proud of you, to build a marriage that would show everyone who knew you how well she had raised you, but you weren't sure you could do it.

Maybe under normal circumstances it wouldn't seem so far away. But there was nothing normal about the way you had arrived at this moment. You had thrown yourself into the arms of a kind stranger to escape the advances of a powerful but evil man. There was no love or deep connection between you and Geralt, only incompatible lives and mutual respect. There was a spark, the one you felt in your core when his lips touched yours, but you weren't sure it was enough to build a life with him. You supposed time would show you eventually.

“Thank you for everything, mother.” You mumbled through tears as you broke away from her embrace. “I don't know how the future will turn out, but I promise I will try my best every day to make you proud of me.”

“Oh, honey! I'm already proud of you.”

You hugged through sobs one more time until your mother called the moment over, pulling away from you as she wiped away your tears and scolded you for distracting her when you had so much to do. She proceeded to finish fixing your hair, braiding it into a nice half up half down hairstyle. You admired your reflection in the mirror, unable to believe that the woman looking back at you was you. You had never paid so much attention to how you looked so you didn't even know you had the ability to look so well presented.

You were so distracted by your appearance that you didn't notice that your mother had left your quarters until you felt the door close behind her upon her return. She was carrying in her hands a neatly folded piece of green fabric, which you soon discovered was a dress. But not just any dress, but the one she had worn the day she married your father. She handed it to you with tears in her eyes and helped you put it on while she told you how much she had waited for the moment to see you wearing it.

The dress was beautiful and fit you perfectly. The green fabric clung to your body, caressing your natural curves, all the way down to your hips where the skirt became full and flowy. Similarly, the sleeves flared out towards the lower half of your arm and the edges were adorned with golden thread embroidery that your grandmother had made herself for your parents' wedding. Your mother took it upon herself to add detail to the bodice, embroidering delicate flowers with the same thread.

“I always envisioned it this way,” your mother commented as you both admired your reflection in the mirror. “At the time we couldn't afford to add more detail. Your grandmother sewed everything herself to save us some money, but I always imagined something more. When you were born I knew I had to finish it, so that one day I could see it on your wedding day.”

“Mother, thank you! It's... it's beautiful!” And you really believed that. The dress was beautiful and the story and sentiment behind it made it even more special.

Looking in the mirror you noticed that you felt beautiful for the first time in your life. Not that you thought you were ugly before that moment, you just never paid much attention to such things. You admired the beauty of noble women when you were lucky enough to come across one in the market, but it was always like someone admiring a painting or a statue. You admired their elegance and the detail of their dresses. You were puzzled by the perfection of their skins and the strong but delicate scent of their perfumes. You appreciated the intricate beauty of their hairstyles and the grace of their walk. It was a beauty that almost didn't seem real. You thought that you were not capable of it, that such delicacy and femininity was unattainable for someone like you. But looking in the mirror at that moment, you felt for the first time like one of those women, beautiful and elegant.

“I know it's not as pretty as the dress you would be wearing if you were about to marry Lord Veldren, but I'm happy to be able to carry on the tradition. He probably would have given you a much more detailed and expensive gown, made of the finest fabrics to enhance your beauty... but then I could never have seen this finished beauty.” Your mother smiled, smoothing the fabric of the skirt to fit your body properly.

“I'm not so sure about that. Although I do think he wouldn't have let me wear it, I don't think it would be because he wanted to give me something better, but rather to use it as a tool of control and take away the power of making my own decisions on yet another thing in my life.”

“Maybe so, but you shouldn't think about that now. What matters is that you managed to get rid of him and we will be able to keep the tradition going. Hopefully someday you will be able to add something else to the dress and pass it on to your daughter on her wedding day.”

You smiled at your mother, but said nothing. You really doubted that would be possible given the person —and the circumstances— you were marrying, but you didn't have the heart to break it to your mother at that moment. There would be time for that, but right now you wanted to focus on the positive.

Your mother excused herself again, running downstairs to make sure everything was going according to plan. You were left alone with your thoughts once more, your mind full of questions about what the future held for you. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Even though you and Geralt didn't share the love you imagined every time you fantasized about your wedding day, it was still quite a nerve-wracking situation. Maybe even more so.

Marrying for love meant getting to know the other person, knowing what they wanted for the future and being certain that you would both work together to make that shared desire come true. But you had none of that with Geralt. You were extremely grateful to him for the decision he had made, but you couldn't help but think that you had no idea what would happen after the ceremony was over. Everything had happened so quickly that you hadn't had time to talk about it. Yes, you had shared a meaningful kiss, but that didn't automatically negate the many reasons he had presented as an argument for not marrying you. At the end of the day, he was still a witcher with a bigger mission and purpose than you and you weren't sure how that was going to affect your marriage.

Would he stay with you and build a life together? Would he leave the next morning, never to return? Would he let you into his life or would he run off into the night without even saying goodbye as he had already tried to do? You were fine with any of those options, after all, they all fulfilled your true goal of getting Lord Veldren out of your life. But you would still like to know beforehand what his choice was going to be so you would know what to expect.

The ceremony was quick. There were no special guests or grand entertainments. It was an intimate event, witnessed only by your family and the officiating clergy. There were no special vows either, you and Geralt didn't know each other well enough to write down your feelings for each other and pronounce your vows of love in front of the witnesses present. But that didn't stop it from being emotional, both for you and your family. Your mother had gone to great lengths to decorate the garden for the ceremony, with colorful flowers and candles surrounding the area where it took place. The pinkish orange tones of the sunset sky added a magical touch to the moment, and while the circumstances of the wedding were not perfect, it was very close to what you had always imagined.

The ceremony was quick, more of a formality than a celebration of love, but you were still happy. The moment the union was official you and your family were free from Lord Veldren and his extortions. You were now married to a man very well trained in the art of combat, if he was smart —and you appealed to his cowardice and his need to feel superior— he would focus his attention on another young girl and finally stop tormenting you. And that was reason enough for you to rejoice and celebrate.

You were contemplating going out for a stroll around town hand in hand with your now husband so that rumors would slowly begin to circulate, when a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Your father went to answer it while you instinctively hid behind Geralt's imposing figure, peeking over his shoulder to decipher if there was danger on the other side of the wood.

You didn't quite hear the conversation that the stranger and your father seemed to be having, only mumbles. But that was enough to make out that it was one of Lord Veldren's men making demands. Only this time they didn't seem to be directed at your family.

“Where is the witcher? We know you are sheltering him here. Have him present himself immediately!” The man demanded in a firm, threatening tone, causing your gaze to rise to meet Geralt's.

“What is this about?” you heard your father say, clearing his throat to try to sound more intimidating.

“He is not welcome here. We have strict orders from Lord Veldren to escort him to the outskirts of town. If you hide him, we will take you as well.”

Geralt took a step forward, ready to face the men calling his name, but stopped when he felt your fingers close around his arm. He looked down at you and saw concern in your eyes. You were afraid of them, of those men, of their threats, of what Lord Veldren might do to you and your family. He had heard you say it on several occasions, but he had never seen it so explicitly on your face. He knew then that he had to act. His job as your husband was to watch over you and protect you from danger, to show you that you no longer had reason to fear these men. So he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it as a way of reassuring you that everything would be all right. Then he approached the door and patted your father on the back to signal that he could leave. He was going to handle what was next.

Geralt took a couple of steps out of the threshold of the door to make sure that if things got out of control you and your family could be locked inside the house while he dealt with the problem. The two men Veldren had brought to capture him backed up with every step he took, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the witcher. Geralt knew then that it was not going to be difficult to get rid of them. He towered over them intimidatingly, his muscular figure large enough to accommodate both men under his shadow. He saw the fear in their eyes and the regret of having left the horses behind to approach the gate.

Despite everything, the men tried to hold their place, and Geralt respected them a bit more for it. However, he did not give in to their demands and when they wanted to force him, he showed them without any trouble or effort the mistake they had made.

“Geralt!” you exclaimed from the doorway, alarmed to see the fight break out. But he quickly proved to you that your concern was in vain. Between blows he even had time to give you a calming look, silently reassuring you that everything was fine and you had nothing to worry about.

“Go inside!” he instructed before turning around and delivering a punch to the guard closest to him.

You didn't listen to him. You stood in place admiring from a distance the skill with which Geralt moved, the precision of his body position and how lethal his attacks were, even as you could tell he was holding back. It was an art, a complex dance that he had mastered to perfection. Those guards never stood a chance.

It wasn't long before the men were on the ground, panting and bloody, wondering what would become of them. But Geralt didn't want to kill them, he understood they were just following orders. His fight was not with them, but with the one who held their leashes. He was the reason they had come looking for him and the one to blame for the fear in your eyes every time you heard the knock on the door. He was the one he really had to fight. So Geralt made sure they heard his next words well.

“Tell Lord Veldren that I'm not going anywhere. If he wants to cast me out, he'll have to come himself to do it in person. If he is not willing to face me then he should leave me and my wife alone or next time it will be me knocking on his door.”

Hearing the protectiveness in his voice as he called you his wife made your heart pound. You weren't used to that, to belonging to someone in that way, but it was definitely something you could get used to. It felt nice having someone caring about you in that way, having someone willing to fight to protect you. You knew it wasn't much of an effort for someone like Geralt, but you also knew he didn't have to do any of it, which made you appreciate it even more.

You ran into Geralt's arms as the men scurried off to their horses, riding away from your home as fast as they could. “Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

It took Geralt a couple of seconds to reciprocate, slightly surprised by your show of affection. He wasn't used to humans —much less young ladies such as yourself— reacting positively when he demonstrated his combat skills. People usually had no problem paying him to solve their problems, but they were rarely able to accept the methods he employed to do so. Of course the fight there had not been brutal, but in the past he had earned negative looks for similar things, so your acceptance of his violence took him by surprise. But eventually Geralt relaxed and pulled you close against his body, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

It wasn't long before you found yourself alone at home. Your family had left for your aunt's place just as your mother had told you and Geralt had disappeared. You were just finishing tidying up, washing glasses and dishes so it wouldn't pile up, when you saw him through the window. He had taken his horse out of the stable and was walking with the reins in his hand at a slow pace in the direction of the exit. And you watched him walk away with sadness in your heart, certain that you would never see him again.

You contemplated running after him, trying to stop him or asking him if he was planning to stop by again. But you regretted it at the last minute. You didn't want to push him any harder than you already had. He had married you because you asked him to and that was more than enough. You couldn't demand that he keep to the guidelines of a normal marriage when you knew very well that there was nothing normal about your arrangement. Geralt had kept his word, he had married you and he had made sure that Lord Veldren knew that you were already taken and that your family was under his protection. You could not ask more of him than that. You now had the freedom you wanted so badly, it was only fair that he could return to his normal life.

You wished he had at least said goodbye, or that he had waited for the sun to rise before disappearing. You'd be lying if you said you weren't sad to have to spend your wedding night alone, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to not force something that wasn't there. The marital bed your brothers and father had built for you would definitely feel too big and empty without someone next to it, but that would probably be that way with or without Geralt there. You didn't share the love necessary to make the bed a warm and safe place, so the night would be long and cold, alone or together.

When you finished tidying up the house you went upstairs to your quarters and took the time to undo your hair and take off your wedding dress. It felt wrong to walk around the house looking like that when there was no one else around. Without your husband there it felt like you had gone back in time to when you were little and played dress up with your mother's dresses, imagining what your life would be like when you got to be her age. You felt silly, so you put the dress away and covered your chemise dress with a robe since you weren't ready to go to sleep yet.

To avoid being consumed by your thoughts, you decided to grab a book. You settled yourself on one side of the bed, your eyes glancing only for a moment at the empty side before you opened the book with the intention of losing yourself in its pages. It was not an easy task. It took you much longer than usual to read just ten pages, your attention always wandering to the swirl of questions that was your mind, forcing you to reread the same pages over and over again to understand what was going on in the story. But eventually you were able to lose yourself in the words to such an extent that you didn't hear the sound of the front door opening or the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Seeing the imposing figure of Geralt peering through the door of your chambers really surprised you. You put your book down for a moment, watching as he took a few hesitant steps inside. “I didn't know if you were coming back.” You broke the silence. Your gaze returned to the book in your hands to avoid the awkwardness of looking him in the eye.

“Honestly I didn't either.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone and you could almost hear the doubt in his voice. “But I threatened Veldren so I can't just disappear and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

Geralt made his way to the empty side of the bed and you watched him sit with his back turned to you. He remained still and silent for a moment, as if lost in his own thoughts, and you wondered if he was regretting the decision he had made. A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your heart was heavy with sadness, feeling guilty that you had trapped him into this.

“You don't need to spend the night here.” You muttered under your breath. If he didn't want to be there you weren't going to force him to sleep next to you. There was no one in the house to judge you, so he could sleep wherever he felt most comfortable, far away from you. “You can go back to your quarters, no one has to know.” You looked down at the book once more, trying to find an escape from the shame you felt in the words written on the weathered pages.

“I want to be here.” Geralt turned, looking at you with softness in his eyes. “It's where I belong.”

And he wasn't lying. He had to admit he wasn't sure if things were going to work out, but he was your husband now and it was his duty to be there for you. It was the one thing he was sure of in all of this, it had become clear to him on his walk through town with Roach. He had left with the intention of clearing his thoughts, to contemplate his options and decide how to proceed accordingly. And he found that the further he got away from you, the worse he felt. He didn't like the idea of you spending your wedding night alone, in an empty house without your family or husband. It was wrong. So he came back to hold you in his arms at night as he should and keep you safe in case Lord Veldren decided to pay you a visit. He did not know how long he could keep up the charade —how much longer he could hide from his destiny and responsibilities—, but that was not a concern he had to consider at the moment. Tonight he was supposed to be by your side.

You smiled at him as you heard him say that, feeling relieved. You didn't notice anything in his expression that made you think he was lying to you so you allowed yourself to relax a little. You were still a little tense as you didn't know how to proceed or what he expected from tonight. You knew it was tradition for newlywed couples to consummate the marriage on their wedding night, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about it, but you wondered if it made any kind of sense. You weren't going to build a family together. There was no love between you to express in a physical way. And yet you couldn't help but wonder if Geralt wanted you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you asked after a moment of silence, shifting your gaze away from Geralt's in embarrassment. You hoped you didn't sound controlling or needy.

“I haven't decided yet... I do have to go back, I have a home and people waiting for me, but we have some time. Besides, I realized it would not be wise to leave so soon after threatening Lord Veldren. I promised you that I would keep you safe from him and I intend to keep my word. It is best that I stay for a while to make sure he does not retaliate.”

You felt that comforting warmth in your belly again as you heard the protective tone in his voice. You tried to focus on that to get rid of all your worries, repeating over and over in your mind that he wanted to be there and that it had been his decision to help you.

Geralt turned his back to you once again and the air caught in your throat when you noticed that he was taking off his shirt, probably getting comfortable to sleep. Heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't stop your eyes from trailing over his figure exposed to your curious gaze. He was like a work of art, the most beautiful and detailed sculpture you had ever seen. You admired with marvelous awe the way his muscles marked on his skin with every movement, as if they were sculpted by the hand of the most talented artist. His pale skin was the perfect canvas on which the tales of his adventures were told in the form of scratches and scars. Some were larger and flushed, others smaller and faded, but all equally intriguing. There was a large one on his left shoulder blade and another near his lower back that caught your attention. You couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. How did they end up on his skin? Who or what was responsible? Had it been saving someone?

You had to occupy your hands with the book, flipping through the pages to distract yourself and resist the urge to reach out to touch every bit of exposed skin your fingers could reach. You didn't know what had gotten into you, but with each passing second it became harder to stay away from Geralt. You were grateful that he had turned his back on you, that way he wasn't able to see the hunger and curiosity in your eyes, which allowed you to keep your dignity.

But even though he couldn't see you, he could still feel your gaze on him. He could feel the way you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and hear the change in your breathing that now escaped your lips in shallow gasps. He knew exactly what was going through your mind and thought it was adorable that you thought you could hide it from him.

“You can ask about them. I know what you want to.” Geralt broke the silence.

He still had his back to you, working on taking off his boots, but you still felt your whole face light up with embarrassment at having been caught. Could witchers read minds? You were pretty sure they couldn't, but the way he knew with such certainty that your eyes were examining his scars scared you a little.

“I guess everyone's curious about that, huh.”

Geralt shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first to ask about them.”

The implication behind his words put a strange feeling in your stomach. The idea that other people had had the opportunity to share such an intimate moment with him didn't sit well with you in the slightest, though you didn't quite understand why. You ignored that strange feeling for the moment, choosing to focus your attention on the moment unfolding before your eyes. Geralt's past or future should not concern you since you were not part of either. But you were part of his present and that was all that mattered.

You moved closer to him on the bed, letting one hand timidly make contact with his back. Geralt said nothing when he felt your fingers on his skin, which gave you the confidence to explore his body with a little more freedom. You were careful with your touch, slowly tracing the lines marked on his skin as you memorized their shape and color, reading them as if they were the story of his life. You tried to guess which had come first, imagining the causes behind each rough line on his skin. Your fingers lingered a little longer on his shoulder as you discovered that beneath your fingertips there was a mark that was almost imperceptible to your eyes. It was almost the same color as his skin, but you could feel the difference in texture when you touched the area. It reminded you very much of the mark that had been left on your shoulder after a hunting accident when you were a child, and you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he was the same age as you when that wound was made.

“Were they all done by the monsters you hunt?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Geralt closed his eyes as he felt your warm breath tickle the skin of his back. He focused on your touch, letting your fingers guide his memory and transport him back to the moments when those marks had been inflicted on his skin. The Striga, the Bruxa, the fight in that bar that one time, the Kikimora in the lake by the side of the road and, finally, the dislocated arm he earned on one of his first days of training when he was much smaller and skittish than he was now.

“Some were made by human swords as well... that's what I meant when I warned you of the danger I bring with me. It's not just the monsters.”

Geralt turned to look at you and met your confused expression. You were lost in thought for a moment and then, without a word, you removed the robe you were wearing, exposing the linen chemise dress that covered your body. The white fabric was loose but thin, exposing probably more than you wanted to before his eyes. He almost felt bad for looking at you until your hands grabbed his and pulled them to your shoulder, right where the short sleeve that held the chemise dress in place had slipped down.

You pressed Geralt's hand against you, feeling a warm tingle under your skin as his fingers finally made contact with the scar you were trying to show him. His eyes moved up from your collarbone to your face, looking at you curiously.

“I got this one when I was about 10 years old. My older brother was just starting to learn to hunt so my dad was going to take him on a hunting trip just the two of them. I begged him for days to let me go with them, I even promised him that I wouldn't leave his sight and I would do whatever he told me to do... He agreed, just to shut me up. And he was very careful all the time, they both were. But still things went wrong and I was shot with an arrow. The wound got infected and I almost died... my father had to carry me two villages away for a healer to cure me.”

Geralt listened to you attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid gently down your shoulder. He wondered what point you were trying to make, though he had to admit he found it a bit difficult to focus having you so close. Your hand never let go of his. It remained lightly clinging to his wrist, giving him enough freedom to move across your skin but keeping it in place. He couldn't help but notice how small it looked in contrast to his, your slender but short fingers had trouble closing around his wrist while his hand could wrap around your entire shoulder.

He allowed you to move his hand once more, guiding it further south this time. You stretched one leg out on the bed, lifting your chemise dress up to thigh height. It was a slow, tortuous movement that Geralt followed closely with his eyes, silently admiring how you shyly exposed part of your body to him. Then you allowed his calloused fingers to make contact with the skin of your knee where he quickly found another mark.

“This one I got when I was even younger. I think I was about 8 years old or so. I fell off a horse and broke my leg. The bone was showing and everything! I fainted from the shock and I don't remember much of what happened. It took a long time to heal and even on rainy days it still hurts and I have a little trouble walking... My point is, we all have scars.”

You offered a warm smile to Geralt, but he looked away. His fingers ran over the faded lines on your knee a couple of times before he spoke.

“It's not the same.” He muttered, lost in thought.

Your smile widened slightly looking at Geralt with compassion. You reached out your free hand towards him, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to look at you. “Yes it is. They may not be equally heroic, but they represent the same thing... danger, risk of death, pain... Any one of those wounds could have ended my life because danger can come from anywhere, even in the comfort of this very house. Life is not a competition about who lives longer, but about who lives it better... if having you in my life shortens my lifespan 10 years I will take it without complaint because it is infinitely better than living 100 years under Lord Veldren's control.” You meant every word and sealed it by pressing your lips against Geralt's in a soft, gentle kiss.

The moment your lips connected you felt that spark again. A warm sensation spread through your body and you found it impossible to separate from Geralt. But this kiss was different from the one you had shared on the lakeside that night. It felt much more intimate and special. He let you set the pace, adapting to the movement of your lips and keeping his hands still. It was clear he was doing it for you, to make you feel comfortable and to allow you to set your own boundaries. And you found that incredibly sweet. His movements were slow and tender, caressing your lips with his as if he knew exactly what to do to sweep you off your feet.

But it wasn't long before you began to feel like you needed something more. As sweet as his lips felt against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted to feel his warmth enveloping you completely, to explore his body and leave your mark on his skin. You moved closer to him, deepening the kiss in an attempt to satiate the need that was growing rapidly deep inside you. Your hand clung properly to his chin and you sucked on his lower lip with fervor, your tongue timidly caressing his mouth as an invitation for more. Geralt's grip on your leg tightened, his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your thigh in warning. He was trying to slow you down, warning you that you were headed down a dangerous path. But all he got from you was a moan. The sweetest, most addictive sound, that vibrated against your lips and awakened a fire inside him.

Geralt's fingers tightened around your leg instinctively, a natural reaction to what your beautiful sounds were provoking in him. He was trying so hard to hold back and you were making it increasingly difficult for him. A moan escaped your lips again, feeling a pressure in your stomach and a pulse between your legs as his calloused fingers marked your skin. This time the sound was much louder and clearer, echoing in the witcher's ears as if it were a beautiful song. One that awakened his most primal desires.

When you fell silent he felt empty. An urgent need to know all the sounds of pleasure that he was able to get from you took over him. Suddenly he lost the little control he had left over his desires, but he gained control of the situation, guiding your body down onto the mattress without separating his lips from yours. He had only one goal in mind: to engrave forever in his memory the sound of your voice calling his name as you unraveled in his arms.

The moment Geralt took control, it was over for you. His body trapped you against the mattress, his much larger and imposing figure hovering over yours like a wolf over its prey. One of his hands rested beside your head, helping to keep his balance, the other ran up your thigh until it reached your hip, lifting your chemise dress in its path. His fingers left a trail of fire over your skin, increasing the pressure in your stomach and the wetness in your most intimate area. Geralt's lips moved down from your mouth to your neck, sucking and playfully nibbling at the sensitive skin with enough fervor to leave marks.

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, struggling to keep the moans from escaping your throat. You were embarrassed by the ease with which he could arouse such improper sounds in you. You sounded so pathetic —your voice so whiny and desperate— that it was hard to recognize your own voice. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself any more than you already were, so you fought against every instinct to keep those sounds inside you.

But Geralt didn't share the same thought. When he noticed what you were doing his hand traveled from your hip to your chin. He used his thumb to free your lower lip, pushing it away from your teeth in a delicate movement. His eyes admired your slightly swollen lips glistening with saliva. He resisted the temptation to kiss them once more, settling for gently caressing them with his thumb.

“Don't do that,” Geralt murmured in your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your ear lobe. “I want to listen to you.”

He showed you no compassion as he placed his mouth on your neck again. He started soft, leaving a trail of wet kisses over the sensitive area just below your ear, a way to lure you into a false sense of security. Then he sucked and nibbled on the skin and didn't stop until he heard you moan under his touch. Only then he ran his tongue over the area, a gentle caress that sought to soothe the slightly irritated skin. And then he started the whole process all over again, working his way downward toward your collarbones.

“That's it, I want to hear you... I need to know that I'm making you feel good.” he whispered against your heated skin.

You wanted to answer him, to assure him that you had never felt anything like this before. But when you opened your mouth no sound came out, only an airy sigh as you felt his fingers brush your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt dress. Geralt took note of that and soon wrapped his hand around your breast, covering it completely. You arched your back towards him instinctively as he began to play with your nipple between his fingers. It was slightly painful when he pinched them, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You instinctively tried to push your legs together, hoping that the pressure of your thighs together would be enough to relieve the throbbing need in your most sensitive area. But you were unable to do so because Geralt's leg rested between yours, keeping you open and in place for him. You moaned and squirmed under Geralt's body, frustrated and desperate for some relief. And his solution to your predicament was to push his thick thigh directly against your crotch.

You both moaned as you rubbed against his leg. Your eyes opened wide, surprised by the wave of pleasure that coursed through your body as it made contact with the fabric of Geralt's pants. You had never felt anything like it before, but it did wonders to soothe the pulsing heat inside you. So you moved your hips against him again and again until you established a slow, sensual rhythm that made your whole body feel on fire.

Geralt took a moment to admire you in the dim candlelight, noticing every little detail about you. You looked beautiful with your hair spread out on the bed and your soft, delicate skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your swollen, parted lips let out the sweetest sounds, inviting him to devour them once more. Your breasts moved slightly with each sway of your hips, tempting him to release them from their white linen confinement. He couldn't help but notice that you looked very different from the way you did the first time he saw you. The purity and innocence was still present in your eyes, but hidden behind the lust and desire that had taken over your body. He found it increasingly difficult to keep himself under control, especially when you looked at him with half-closed eyes in pleasure, mumbling incoherently as you soaked his thigh with your arousal.

He was amazed at how easy it was to bring you to that euphoric state. Your naivety on the subject made you more receptive to his caresses, all he had to do was touch you on the right place and say the right words and you would whimper for more. Geralt found it incredibly attractive. Knowing that he was the first man to see you in that state awakened something deep inside him. He was the one who was introducing you to the world of pleasure, he would become your standard, your only reference for judging another man's ability to perform, and he wanted to make sure that no one could ever compare to him.

“You look so pretty like this.” Geralt whispered against your lips, his hand clinging to your chin to make sure you didn't move your head back in pleasure. “Such a perfect little dove, feeling good to me.” The nickname escaped his lips without too much thought, but it was fitting. You were his little dove, white and innocent, but with a free spirit that longed to fly and explore the world.

Warmth poured into your cheeks, feeling nervous under the witcher's intense gaze. “Geralt...” you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. You wanted to ask him to stop, but at the same time you were sure you would cry if he pulled away from you. The friction was no longer enough, but you weren't sure you could take any more.

“What is it, my dove? Use your words.” The tone of his voice was gentle, but his lips curved upward in a devilish smile. It was such a distinct contrast that it startled you, it made you wonder if you were capable of enduring what he was dying to give you.

“I need more... I need you.”

“You already have me.” Geralt scattered little kisses down your chin and neck, and pressed his thigh a little harder against your crotch, giving you a better angle to move your hips.

You let out a pathetic moan, closing your eyes in embarrassment and frustration. “You know what I mean.” You mumbled, hoping he wouldn't make you say it out loud.

“I know, I know... but I need to get you ready first... I need to make sure you're ready to take me.”

Geralt pulled away from you and you let out a groan at the loss of the only amount of friction that was giving you some relief. However, he didn't stay away from you for long. His hands caressed their way down your body, making you gasp as you felt his fingers on your exposed thighs. You remained still, expectant. Your eyes didn't leave his figure for a second, waiting to see what his next move was.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked you in a husky voice as his hands slowly moved up your thighs, getting dangerously close to your most intimate area. “Have you ever let another man kiss you and touch you like this? It's okay if you did, you don't have to feel ashamed of that with me.”

You shook your head, having trouble forming a coherent sentence as his fingers drew circles over the sensitive skin of your thighs. “No... I-I was waiting for the right person.” You managed to blurt out between gasps.

“Have you ever given yourself pleasure?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that intimate and strange question. Were you supposed to? Was that a part of all this that you hadn't been told about? When you were old enough your mother had taken it upon herself to tell you certain things, but not even in the days leading up to the wedding had she talked about something like that. You had been raised under the belief that sex was something special only meant to be shared with a spouse. You had felt things in the past, but never acted on it, no more than squeezing your legs together to make the throbbing in your core stop.

“Was I supposed to?” You asked in a whisper, afraid you were doing something wrong.

You didn't have to be too bright to know that Geralt was experienced in the subject —it was clear in the way he moved, in how he kissed you, and in the confidence of his caresses— which only made you feel more aware of your inexperience. You were afraid that he expected something different, that your inexperience would be a problem and that he would reject you for it. You needed him and wanted him to have a good time too, you just weren't sure you could give it to him.

But Geralt smiled warmly at your response, his eyes looking at you with a softness in them that awakened butterflies in your stomach. He didn't seem angry or disappointed, which gave you some reassurance.

“Do you trust me to make you feel good?” His voice was a raspy whisper that made your heart flutter in your chest. You nodded your head, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you say it, dove.”

“I trust you, Geralt.” You said confidently.

Maybe it was the way you looked at each other as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, or maybe it was the slow, passionate kiss you shared afterwards, but the moment felt much more intimate and authentic than you expected. It was no longer just about carnal desire and feeling good, there was something much deeper behind your words and the softness in Geralt's eyes. It was about your connection, how comfortable and safe you felt in each other's arms. It wasn't love, at least not yet, but it was a spark.

Geralt's hands continued to travel up your body as he kissed you, lifting your chemise dress in his wake. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the fiery trail his fingers awakened in their path. The higher they traveled, the more your heart pounded in your chest, racing with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Geralt pulled away from your lips as his exploring fingers reached the underside of your breasts. He looked into your eyes, searching them for consent before fully revealing your body to his hungry eyes. He didn't have to say anything and neither did you. You simply shifted your position and raised your arms so that he could remove the article of clothing with more ease.

You felt the need to cover yourself as you were finally exposed to him, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. Your hands instinctively went to cover your breasts, but Geralt stopped you before you could do so.

“Don't hide from me. You are beautiful and I want to take the time to admire and appreciate every part of you to show you how beautiful you are.”

This time it was you who sought his lips since you didn't have the words to express what his tender words and desire filled eyes made you feel. You gave yourself completely to him, body and soul, so that he could do with you whatever he wanted. You let his fingers explore every inch of your body and his lips mark your skin as if he were claiming ownership over your being. And you allowed yourself the same freedom, caressing his arms and back, burying your fingers in his long white hair as he lost himself in the crook of your neck.

When he buried his hand between your legs, your grip on his hair tightened, tugging lightly on the strands as waves of pleasure flooded through your body. It was a pleasure you had never felt before, intense and exhilarating. It set your whole body on fire and made it hard to breathe, but you were sure you would burst into tears if Geralt pulled away from you at that moment. It was all too much —Geralt's caresses, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the wetness of his lips attacking your most sensitive areas— the pleasure was overwhelming and with each passing second you felt more and more as if something inside you was going to snap.

“That's right, my beautiful wife, feeling good for me.” Geralt muttered against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked deep into your eyes. You let out a pathetic moan in response, feeling your heart pound at hearing him call you his wife. You liked the sound of that, probably more than you should.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the moment. The pleasure and possessiveness of his words brought you to a high that had you completely enraptured. Your body no longer felt like yours, it no longer responded to you, but to Geralt's touch, his words and his kisses. You couldn't say that it bothered you. On the contrary, it felt good, right. You trusted him with your body, mind and soul, you knew he would take good care of you.

You were brought back to the moment when you felt a pressure in your core. You opened your eyes, alarmed, as you felt one of Geralt's long, thick fingers slowly slide inside you. Your hand flew to his forearm, gripping it to stop him. It hurt. It wasn't unbearable, but it was uncomfortable. You could feel your velvety walls stretching open, struggling to accommodate his finger.

“Sshh, I know, I know,” Geralt's reassuring voice echoed in your ears. “It hurts, I know. But it'll be just for a moment until you get used to it. Then it will feel good, I promise... Do you trust me?”

Your grip on his arm lightened at his question, a silent answer that you reaffirmed with an affirming nod of your head. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Then let me show you how good it can feel.”

You did not remove your hand from his arm, but allowed him to continue. Geralt's movements became extremely slow and careful. He distracted you from the pain with pleasure, spreading kisses over every inch of skin his lips could reach, and resuming the gentle caresses of his thumb over your little bundle of nerves. Soon the pressure dissipated, your walls opening up to him, inviting him to get lost deep inside with the slipperiness of your arousal. And so he did, pushing his finger deep inside you in search of that special place that would make your toes curl and your back arch in pleasure.

He knew he found it when the volume of your moans increased and you rolled your eyes back. Your grip on his arm tightened, only this time not as a signal to stop, but as a desperate search for some support, something to help you stay grounded while the pleasure consumed you. It hurt a little when he added a second finger to his intrusion, but not as much as the first time. You were more relaxed and more comfortable. You knew you could take it and that the reward for doing so was pleasure like you had never felt before, so you bit your lower lip and took it.

It didn't take long for you to feel yourself on the edge of explosion, the tension in your belly getting tighter to the point of being unbearable. Your moans became more whiny and incoherent, your body moving without your control to the tune of Geralt's touch. You felt you could take no more, but at the same time you needed to know what lay beyond the limit.

“Geralt, I can't... it's too much.” You managed to blurt out between incessant panting. Your vision was getting slightly blurry and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You tried to pull away from Geralt's arms, but he wouldn't let you. He trapped you under his towering figure to make sure you couldn't escape his touch.

“Yes you can. I know you can... You just have to let go, all right? It's okay, I'm here. I've got you. I've got you. You're alright. Just let go, you're safe with me.”

The softness of his words contrasted with the firmness of his touch, his fingers attacking your most sensitive area without any mercy. And the combined effort of both of them was enough to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and white lights exploded behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure washed over you. The world around you ceased to exist. You could hear Geralt's voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear and feel his soft caresses on your skin, guiding you through your climax, but it all felt distant, like a dream. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure that shook your body.

Geralt's golden gaze was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He was silently admiring you, one finger stroking your cheek in a circular pattern while his eyes watched every little detail of your face. There was something in his gaze, a sparkle in his eyes that captivated you. It was more than lust, more than the lasciviousness you were used to seeing in Lord Veldren's eyes. You couldn't quite name it, but you knew it made you feel good, comfortable and safe. Geralt desired you, but not in the possessive, objectifying way that your previous suitor did. When he looked at you as he did at that moment you knew he didn't see an object he wanted to possess, he saw you as the woman you were. You felt seen by Geralt in a way you had never experienced before. He gave you confidence and self-assurance and you loved the way that felt.

“How do you feel?” his raspy voice whispered close to your ear.

The corners of your lips curved upward slightly, demonstrating the state of complete bliss you were in. “Good... I'm fine.”

“You did so well...” Geralt trailed off, his thumb following the line of your lips as his mind was lost in the image of your eyes closed and your mouth parted open letting out moans and gasps as you came undone in his arms.

It was a beautiful image that he wanted to engrave forever in his memory. Giving you pleasure was his new addiction, the way your body trembled beneath him, the sounds you made, the scent of your arousal, it was all too intoxicating. He was dying to see you in such a state again. And again. And again and again, until his scent was so impregnated into your skin that everyone knew you were his wife when they came near you.

“Do you think you're ready for more?”

You nodded eagerly, regaining the strength to lift your arms and cling to Geralt's neck, pulling him to you to melt into a kiss. “I am, I want everything from you... I want to make you feel good too, even if I don't know how.” You admitted with some embarrassment.

“You don't have to worry about that, my beloved. It makes me feel good to see you enjoy yourself. Tonight is about you and I will take it upon myself to show you all the pleasure you don't know.”

Your heart pounded as you heard the affectionate nickname he used for you. His beloved... You liked the sound of it, even when it wasn't real. You let yourself get lost in the moment, drifting into a reality where he really loved you enough for those words to mean something.

The softness in his voice and the tenderness of his touch made you feel good, safe. It was soothing to know that he had no great expectations for you and was willing to take the time to teach you what you didn't know. However, your newfound confidence suffered a blow the moment his naked body was completely exposed to your curious eyes. He was beautiful and big, almost too big. As you looked at him you remembered the discomfort you felt when his fingers pushed inside you and felt your stomach twist with nerves, thinking there was no way the experience could be pleasurable for both of you.

Geralt noticed the concern on your face immediately and rushed to comfort you. His body was on top of yours in no time, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you with softness in his eyes. “You need to relax,” he muttered against your lips.

“B-but, it's going to hurt...it won't fit.” You closed your eyes as he spoke, feeling embarrassment taking hold of you. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel good and let him guide you through the pleasure, but you had to admit you were a little nervous.

You feared that your comment had ruined the moment, that Geralt had grown tired of your hesitation and decided to leave you and go to sleep. But instead of scoffing, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, making you open your eyes again.

“It will fit. We'll make it fit. That's why I spent all this time getting you ready for me...so you'd be wet and ready to take me.” Geralt spread little wet kisses down your jaw to your neck as he spoke. If it was a strategy to distract you it was working wonders, because you could start to feel your body relax again. “It's going to hurt a little at first, just like before. But then it will feel good... We'll go slow and if at any point you feel it's too much we'll stop completely, alright? You are in control here.”

His words relaxed you more than you expected and with a simple kiss and a slight nod you gave Geralt permission to continue his assault on your body.

You winced as he began to thrust inside you. It felt a lot more uncomfortable than his fingers, though not so strange anymore. Your walls were struggling to accommodate his size and that resulted in a sharp burning pain between your legs that led you to consider stopping everything. And honestly you would have if Geralt hadn't let out the most beautiful sound you'd heard all night. It was a moan like no other so far, a primal growl that came from deep inside him, vibrating in his chest and filling you with confidence. You were making him feel good. Even if it hurt a little, even if you didn't quite know what to do, you were making him feel good. It filled your chest with pride and confidence to know that you were capable of such a thing and that was what you focused on to overcome the pain.

Your hands clung to him, nails digging into his back as you closed your eyes and focused all your attention on him, on his gasps and the way his body pressed down closer into yours.

“That's it, you're doing so well for me, dove” Geralt encouraged you between ragged breaths and a warm feeling filled your insides at the praise. “Just a little more, you can do it.”

“Geralt” you sighed, a mix of pain and pleasure clear in your voice. It was a plea for him to stop and for him to continue all at the same time, the expression of the conflicting sensations you felt inside you.

Geralt felt as if he could die at that very moment. The high-pitched whine in your voice, the glimmer in your eyes from tears and the hunger in your gaze was all too much. Your arousal helped him slide in with ease and he had to control himself from slipping inside you in one quick thrust. You felt so good, so wet and tight that he was going crazy. Slowly thrusting inside you was torture, but it was one he was willing to endure to make you feel comfortable and safe.

He stood still for a moment when he finally pushed all the way into you, giving you time to adjust to him as he enjoyed your warmth. “Can you feel me deep inside you, filling you more than you've ever been?” Geralt whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “You know what that means, huh? It means you're mine now.”

Your walls tightened around him, causing you both to let out a moan of pleasure. The pain slowly dissipated as your body molded to his almost as if to honor his words. You were his, body and soul. The burning pain turned to pulsing desire and it wasn't long before you were squirming beneath Geralt's body, struggling to find some friction to relieve the pressure between your legs.

“I'm yours... I'm yours...” you repeated between wet kisses, giving him the power to do whatever he wanted with you. “Please...”

Geralt loved hearing the plea escape your lips, a whiny whisper that let him know you were ready for more. He enjoyed the way you looked up at him waiting expectantly for every move, every word, knowing that only he could bring you to that sweet relief once again. He almost wanted to hear you beg more for it, to watch you squirm under his body and whimper in frustration until he decided to give you what you so desperately needed. But he wasn't sure he could hold on that long to feel you fall apart in his arms one more time. He needed to feel you and he needed it now.

“I know, I know... I got you” Geralt breathed as he slowly slid his member almost all the way out of you. You threw your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes as you felt the delicious drag along your walls. He held still for a moment and then thrust inside you again, only with a little more force this time.

The moan that escaped your lips was both obscene and pathetic in equal parts. And Geralt loved every second of it.

“Does that feel good? Was that what you wanted?” You knew Geralt was making sure you were okay with those questions, they weren't necessarily meant for you to have a particular reaction to them, just to communicate your state to him. But there was something in the tone of his voice that sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body.

“Yes, yes! More, please, more!” was all you could blurt out between gasps, but Geralt didn't hesitate to indulge you.

He set a slow, sensual pace at first, dragging his member torturously slow along your walls before thrusting back inside you, using a little more force with each time. His lips never left your body, kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach. His hands closed over your hips, holding you in place to make sure each thrust of his cock reached that special place inside you that made you scream.

Once you got used to his rhythm, you began to move your hips at the same pace, seeking to meet him halfway and forcing him inside you when he took too long. One of your hands got lost in his hair, grabbing and pulling the strands between your fingers when pleasure overwhelmed you or you wanted to feel his lips in a specific place. Your other hand clung to his broad back, nails digging into the skin until they left marks that would not fade the next morning. And Geralt loved every second of it.

He loved knowing you were feeling good. He loved being the one guiding you, teaching you things about your own body that you didn't even know yourself. But most of all, he loved the idea of you leaving your mark on his skin just as he was marking yours. Being inside you —feeling the warmth of your walls clenching around his cock, hearing your incessant moans and smelling the scent of your arousal in the air— had awakened something primal inside him, a possessiveness he didn't know he was capable of feeling. You were his after tonight and he wanted everyone to know it just by looking at you. No other man would ever dare to get close to you because his scent would be forever present on your skin, warning everyone not to lay a finger on you because you were already his.

“That's it, mark me as yours... I am yours and you are mine... mine to protect. Mine to please and to take care of. Mine to fuck and guide through the most intense carnal pleasures... Mine... My woman.” Geralt emphasized each sentence with a thrust bringing you closer and closer to that sweet relief. His movements were becoming more and more rough and sloppy, signaling that he was close to losing control as well.

You were slowly losing your grip on reality, your mind spiraling with pleasure. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the heat coursing through your body, but Geralt's words managed to bring you back to reality. The roughness in his voice and the possessiveness of his affirmations were a lethal mix designed to push you to the limit of what you could bear.

“Yes, yes! I'm yours, forever... I need... please.” You weren't being very coherent, but Geralt understood perfectly well what you wanted. He could feel the way your walls tightened around him, swallowing his cock deep inside you. You were close to exploding and he was more than willing to take you there.

“I know, I know... I got you, it's okay. You can let go, just relax. Take a deep breath... that's it. Let go, I've got you. I want to feel you come apart around me, please.”

Geralt's fingers pressed against your little bundle of nerves, drawing small circles on the swollen, sensitive skin. His thrusts became more precise, hitting that special place inside you with each thrust. His words were interpreted by your body as a command and in a matter of seconds the pleasure exploded inside you, spreading throughout your body.

You fell limp in Geralt's arms, overwhelmed and ecstatic. He only slowed his assault on your body for a moment, his hips almost ceasing to move to give you time to catch your breath.

“That's it, my good dove” he praised you as his thumb drew circles over the skin of your hip. “I wish you could see yourself right now... so beautiful, so fragile... Do you think you can take a little more? I need to fill you, to mark you as mine in the deepest, most intimate way possible, do you think you can take it?”

You moaned in response, already feeling his hips begin to pick up the pace ever so slowly. There was nothing you wanted more than that. You wanted to be his forever, even outside these four walls. You wanted to feel his warmth always with you and the weight of his body against yours. You longed to feel his scent on your skin and see the marks of his kisses on your body. You wanted everything he had to give you and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Yes, I can take it! Please give it to me! I need it... I need it all from you, please.” you pleaded eagerly and in response Geralt thrust his hips against yours, setting a fast and lethal rhythm.

It was clear he was using you for his pleasure now, but even then your body responded to his touches, the tension building again in your belly. It was as if you were no longer in control of your own body, as if it had stopped recognizing you as the one in charge and instead waited for Geralt's orders to react. And you didn't fight against it one bit, you simply let yourself be carried away by passion, feeling the pleasure through him.

His movements became more and more erratic and his moans louder and more frequent. He was losing control and you loved knowing that you were capable of causing something like that in him. You liked that he was using you for his own pleasure, that he was focusing on himself and using your body as a tool to achieve that sweet relief. He wasn't actively working on it, but with every thrust and moan he let out he brought you closer to that same edge. It was sweet and overwhelming. You felt the urge to escape from his arms so you could catch your breath, but your body could only press harder into Geralt's, moving your hips to help him find the pleasure he had shown you.

And it wasn't long before you both exploded in a sea of moans and pleasure.

“That's it, take it all in... take my seed deep inside you. Feel me inside you filling you up, claiming what belongs to me.” Geralt growled as he painted your walls with his essence, which mingled with the remnants of your release. “No one else is ever going to get the chance to feel this ever. You are mine... mine.”

You could do nothing but respond in whimpers of pleasure as your body shook with the intensity of your own orgasm, amplified by Geralt's words and the sensation of being filled with his seed.

You lost consciousness after that, reality slipping through your fingers like sand. You could hear Geralt mumbling sweet words in your ear and feel his fingers gently caressing your skin, but you didn't have the strength or ability to move or respond to him. You just laid there in his arms, full and in a state of complete bliss for who knows how long. The passage of time was a concept that had ceased to exist for you. The world around you seemed to have slowed down, but inside you felt your body working at an accelerated pace. Your heart pounded hard against your chest, the sound of pumping blood echoing in your ears. Your lungs struggled to get enough air so that your body could relax, your short, quickened breaths slowly finding a calmer rhythm as time passed.

Geralt took care of you every step of the way as you came down from your high, spreading soft kisses over your skin and whispering praise in your ear. He even went to the trouble of tucking you into bed and covering you with the sheets so that you wouldn't get cold once your body returned to normal temperature. And when you regained consciousness, his gentle smile was the first thing your eyes saw.

“There you are!” He said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear so he could admire your sweet face in all its glory. He would be lying if he said he wasn't proud of the expression of pure pleasure and satisfaction that graced your face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine... tired, but fine.” You let out an airy chuckle, still feeling somewhat disconnected from everything.

You both remained silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. You couldn't help but think that there was something different about the way Geralt was looking at you. It was something you had noticed before, but you thought it was due to the intensity of the moment. Although now that everything was calmer you began to think it was something else. You didn't quite know how to explain what you saw in his eyes, but you knew you liked the way he made you feel. The only way you could describe it was a soft, comforting warmth, like a sunny spring morning. It felt like a caress to the soul, a tender gesture that awakened a tingle inside you. You felt safe under his gaze, seen in a way you had never experienced with a man.

“Thank you...” your voice broke the silence, ”for everything, I guess... for protecting me, for being such a gentleman, for treating me so well...” You were interrupted by the yawn that escaped involuntarily from your lips, reminding you once again how tired you were. “You gave me a perfect night... If you decide to leave tomorrow and I never see you again, you still leave me with the memory of a beautiful wedding night.”

Geralt was surprised by how much he disliked the idea of walking away from you. He knew he had to do it and a couple of hours ago he was more than ready to do it, but now things had changed. Separating from you was not as easy now that he had you naked in his arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes full of pleasure. It wasn't easy after having heard you beg for his name or having inhaled the scent of your essence. It wasn't easy at all now that he had claimed you as his own, marking you in the most intimate way he could, leaving his mark forever on your skin. He no longer wanted to be away from you and was willing to fight anyone who wanted to come between you. And, to be honest, that scared him a little.

“It's okay... rest.” He murmured gently as he noticed the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open. “We'll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. You need to rest now, my dove.”

The last thing you felt before you surrendered to sleep was Geralt's arms pressing you against his body, letting you rest your head on his chest as he traced sweet caresses on the skin of your back.

The month you shared with Geralt alone in your home was beautiful. You loved waking up tangled in the sheets and his arms, and his honey colored eyes being the first thing you saw in the morning. You loved chatting with him over breakfast and taking long walks around town hand in hand. You especially liked the way he would put his arm around you when a man dared to even look at you for too long, and how he would show you off when his walks through the marketplace ran into one of Lord Veldren's men. At first it was in a provocative way, as if he was looking to generate a reaction in the man, but after days passed and he did not show up at his door to challenge him and fight for your hand, Geralt knew he had won. Then the gentle kisses and soft caresses in front of his men —and in front of Lord Veldren himself on one occasion— went from being a provocation to a brag, a constant display of the weakness the Lord sought so hard to hide.

You learned a lot about Geralt in this time, about his life, his profession and the important people in his life —although perhaps not as much as you would like, as it was hard to get him to talk. Your favorite thing was listening to the tales of his adventures at night when you were both lying in bed. He didn't seem to find them as fascinating as you did, since you sensed a slight annoyance in his eyes whenever you insisted on the subject, but he never refused to indulge you. You loved listening to him talk, especially at night when the warmth of his chest and the deep sound of his voice lulled you to sleep. But besides being a cure for your restless nights, you quickly discovered that his stories were a good way to get to know him better. Geralt wasn't good at talking about himself or his life when you asked him a direct question, but through the way he recounted his travels you were able to gather little bits and pieces of his persona —the way he thought, his moral compass, details of his work and the reality of witchers that you didn't know. You found his world fascinating, frightening and dangerous at times, but fascinating nonetheless.

However, all good things always come to an end, in your experience, sooner rather than later. And this was yours. The day had finally come for Geralt to leave and you woke up that morning terrified that you would never see him again.

You hadn't talked much about it, since you were both secretly dreading the mere thought of being apart. And this morning was no different. You went about your routine as if it were any ordinary day, though with the heavy tension in the air that came from knowing it wasn't. You tried your best to ignore it as much as possible, looking for every excuse to spend more time together, making the most of what you had left. The morning chores were a bit delayed, as getting out of bed proved to be a particularly difficult task when all you wanted to do was melt into each other's bodies until you were one. But beyond the desperation to be with each other, there was not a single mention of the countdown you both had in the back of your mind.

When Geralt had marked this date as the day of his departure he had assured you that it would not be permanent and in the blissful happiness of the moment you had believed him. But now that the time had come, you couldn't help but be saddened not only by having to part from him, but also by not knowing for how long. You had spent a beautiful time together and you wanted to believe that it would be enough for Geralt to want to come back to your arms, but the reality was that you didn't know. You couldn't help but think that he had been almost forced into this marriage and you feared that going back to his old routines would put things in perspective. After all, there was a reason he had refused your proposal so much the first time. He had only agreed to marry you after spending time living with your family, losing himself in a reality far different from his own, and you were afraid that getting back on the road would show him what a big mistake he had made.

You couldn't stop thinking about it as you watched him from the kitchen window, gathering his things and slowly loading them onto Roach. You wanted to run over there and ask him the thousands of questions that were running through your mind. You wanted more than anything to hear him reassure you that everything would be okay and that he would come back for you, but you knew you couldn't completely trust his words. That may well be what he was thinking and feeling now, but there was no way of knowing how time alone on the road, accompanied only by his old habits, could possibly change him. There was no point in exchanging words, so you focused your attention on preparing and packing some supplies for his journey, so that at least he would have fresh food and water until he reached the next town.

You dared to step outside when you noticed that Geralt was almost finished settling his saddle, signaling that you didn't have much time left to keep lamenting about the future. You approached him with a slow step, as if you were looking for any way to drag out every second, taking advantage of the moment to memorize every detail you could find in his sideways profile.

“So you're leaving, huh?” you finally broke the silence, causing Geralt to raise his head to look at you. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard you approach, though it was a pleasant surprise.

At least until he noticed the doubt in your eyes.

“For a while, yes. I have business to take care of, people that are waiting for me... but I'll be back.”

You weren't able to hold his gaze, your eyes focusing on the grass beneath your feet as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was cry, but you could start to feel the tears building up in your eyes.

Geralt noticed your concern and disbelief, and knew he couldn't leave until you knew he was being honest. He needed to make sure you understood that he wasn't playing games and that he intended to keep the promise he had made to you that evening in front of your family.

He hooked his fingers under your chin, using them as leverage to tilt your face up and force you to look at him. “I will come back for you.” Geralt assured you. “I promise.”

“You don't have to, that was the arrangement. Lord Veldren has already found another girl to focus his attention on so he no longer presents a danger to me or my family. You are free to go on with your life as it was before our paths crossed.”

“That's where you're wrong.” The corners of Geralt's lips curved upward slightly at your gesture of confusion. “Our paths did cross and I can't go back now. I can't go on with my life pretending you don't exist, that this time we shared didn't happen... I don't want to. I want to come back for you... and next time I will be the one to share some of his life with you. Perhaps I'll take you on the road with me, how about that?”

Even though nothing had changed, his words managed to bring a smile to your face and soothe your aching heart. There was something in his beautiful honey eyes that invited you to trust him, and the promise to take you on a trip with him made everything more real. It wasn't just words spoken into the wind, it was an idea, a plan for the future, something on which to build your relationship and, why not, a home over time. It was a first step, one of many you had to take if you wanted your relationship to continue, and Geralt was assuring you that he was willing to take it together, as it should be. So, while you were still saddened by his departure, you chose to give your mind and heart a break by believing his words.

“I would like that very much.” You muttered before pressing your lips together in a kiss, sealing your promise.

Watching Geralt leave was not easy, but his promise left you with some comfort. Tears escaped your eyes as you watched his white hair disappear into the horizon, and an aching emptiness built in your chest as you stepped back into a silent house that felt so much bigger now that you were alone. You realized then that you were going to miss him more than you thought and that the time apart would be much harder to endure than you had imagined. Only minutes had passed and you were already contemplating leaving everything behind, grabbing a horse and running to catch up with him. And you knew that feeling would only get worse as the days went by, growing and growing until it became unbearable. And it wouldn't go away until you saw his figure on the horizon again, coming back into your arms where he belonged.

Still, in the midst of your sad contemplation a smile formed on your lips. A gust of wind had blown in through the open kitchen window, and it brought dancing up to your nose the distinctive smell of leather, earth and wood of Geralt. And you realized then that he was still there with you, his scent lingering in the air, on your clothes, on the sheets on the bed and even on your own skin. And there he would remain with you forever, because you were his and he was yours.

Geralt of Rivia tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

(I'm so sorry guys I forgot to tag you when I posted it)

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher smut #geralt x reader smut #geralt of rivia fluff #the witcher fluff #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #henry cavill

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augiewrites · 1 year ago

Text

"valley reverie" - sebastian

summary: the timeline of sebastian and the farmer’s relationship based on canon dialogue

pairing: sdv sebastian x farmer

word count: 2.5K

a/n: this may be my magnum opus

The sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains when Sebastian emerged from the house for the first—and only—time that day.

He shot a glance to his mother and Demetrius, who were standing at the edge of their property, looking over the valley bathed in golden light. His mother sent a small smile back, followed by a pointed disappointed look at the carton of cigarettes held loosely in his hand. Demetruis didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Sebastian knew it was a nasty habit, but he spent most of his life with not much thought to the future—he was surprised he made it this far. Maybe his life would have been different if he had planned better; if he had considered for a moment that there was such a thing as life past sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. He supposed he should start to consider a life past twenty-four, but quickly dropped the thought as he placed the cigarette between his lips and continued his stroll to the lake.

He saw it then, as his lighter sparked to life and helped the cigarette take eleven minutes off his.

Someone was sitting in his spot. A humanoid blob of denim focused intently on the bobber floating in the water.

He hesitated, then decided to keep moving—his trajectory now locked in past the stranger and across the rickety planks of wood to the smaller islands in the middle of the lake. His mother had been saying for years that she needed to build something more structurally sound, but had yet to get around to it.

As he got closer, he took in more of the scene. There was a muddy bucket next to the stranger, and he noticed a couple slimy carp flopping around inside. Whoever this was, they clearly didn’t have enough experience to catch the tricker creatures in the lake.

Just as he was about to slip past toward solitude, he locked eyes with the stranger. Their bored expression quickly turned to worry.

“Sorry, am I in your spot? Robin said it was okay for me to fish here.”

Recognition sparked in his brain—his mother had told him about the new resident of Pelican Town. The words she had used to describe them flashed behind his eyes: sweet, a little lost, cute. That last one was sent his way with an exaggerated wink and met with a scoff from him.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

The farmer didn’t respond, just looked on waiting for an answer to their question. Sebastian didn’t gratify them with a response, instead looking across the lake at the tree line and abandoned quarry.

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The farmer scrunched up their mouth slightly, beginning to reel in their line. There was nothing but a limp worm dangling from the hook. Sebastian took note of the grieving look flashing on their face before it was gone in a blink.

“Better than where I was.”

Sebastian didn’t bother responding as the farmer heaved up the bucket—they were a lot stronger than they looked—and walked away without another word.

Robin smiled at the farmer with a wave and shouted goodnight before sending another disapproving look to her son.

_________________________________________

Sebastian heaved open the door of the house, exhausted from band practice. Sam was his best friend, and he enjoyed spending time with him more than he would admit, but the newest addition to the band was definitely a hindrance.

He didn’t dislike Abigail, and he couldn’t deny that she was a talented drummer, but he had been hoping for years that her little crush on him would fade away. He could only take so much of puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated laughter at his quips that definitely aren’t that funny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts on how to shake off the purple-haired girl—more importantly, how to shake her off without actual confrontation—that he didn’t notice the farmer leaning against the shop counter until their voice pierced through. His mother was nowhere to be seen, so they had to have been talking to him.

“What? I didn't hear you...I'm busy thinking about something. What do you want?”

The farmer narrowed their eyes at him, leveling him with a glare. “You know, I get that you’d rather be listening to My Chemical Romance and jerking off to Nietzsche than interacting with a human being, but you really need to work on your people skills.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

He expected avoidance from the farmer, based on their first meeting and subsequent run-ins where they gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to acting like he didn’t exist.

He realized that the farmer wasn’t as timid and one-dimensional as he let himself think.

The moment was saved by Robin entering the shop room and dropping a workbench on the floor with a heavy thud. “You’ll make better use of this than I have lately—it’s pretty old,” she looked up from the dusty bench, noticing her son frozen in the doorway, “oh, hi Sebby.”

“Sebby?” the farmer questioned with a smirk.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, brushing past his mother to get to his lair.

“Sorry about him,” he heard his mother as he descended the stairs.

“It’s fine,” the farmer laughed, “he’s cool.”

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _________________________________________

Sebastian looked down at the frozen tear in his hand with a neutral expression on his face, though his heart was quickening its pace.

“Gunther told me it’s fabled to be the frozen tears of a yeti.”

He met the farmer’s grin with one of his own, “I really love this. How did you know?”

They shrugged, “Seemed like some emo shit you’d be into.”

A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Well…thanks.”

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for more when I’m in the mines.”

“The mines?,” his brow furrowed, “how far down did you go?”

“Not super deep, I think I stopped at sixty since it was getting late.”

Sebastian gaped at the farmer—who he now realized he really misjudged—as they shouldered their backpack and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” they stopped just shy of the threshold, “your code is wrong, by the way. Third line down.”

He looked to the screen, baffled, seeing that there was, in fact, a mistake in his code.

He began to ask the farmer how they knew that, but they were gone. _________________________________________

The sun was setting on the valley, and Sebastian found himself sitting by the lake’s edge with the farmer, who was reeling in sturgeon and bass with ease.

“I’m sure the city’s different for other people, but it was corporate hell for me,” the farmer spoke softly as they baited their hook—it was different than any bait he had ever seen, and the farmer had informed him that the wild man living behind their house had taught them the recipe.

Sebastian hummed, “I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?” the farmer teased him, flicking water at his face.

He blew a puff of smoke in their face.

The farmer coughed, then began to laugh as they fanned the smoke out of their face, “asshole.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the palms of his hands and gazing across the water.

They sat in comfortable silence as the farmer cast out their line and half-heartedly focused on the bobber—they didn’t really need it anymore, but liked the safety net.

“You and Sam are probably my only friends in this town.” Sebastian broke the silence, but continued looking straight ahead.

“Well I am very likable.”

Sebastian knocked their shoulders together with a scoff.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” _________________________________________

Sebastian was indifferent—and sometimes loathful—toward most events held in their little town, but tonight was an exception. It was hard to not be in awe of the midnight jellies, and he was excited for the farmer to see them for the first time.

They were perched at the edge of the dock, along with Sam and Abigail, their feet dangling inches above the water.

It was a lot colder than expected, and the farmer was bundled in his black jacket. He couldn’t help but feel bad about the sad glances Abigail was sending their way.

The farmer looked content, and Sebastian recalled something they told him at the beginning of the season—the used to be terrified of the ocean before moving to the valley.

He nudged their shoulder with his own. It didn’t take much effort—they were sitting a lot closer than he realized. A light blush dusted his cheekbones.

“I thought I saw something moving in there…” he pointed to the void of the ocean and leaned closer to their ear, whispering, “something big, something dark.”

The farmer’s eyes widened as they looked across the vast darkness before they narrowed and turned to him.

“Just trying to scare you...” Sebastian laughed.

The farmer smiled, knocking their knee against his, muttering an all too familiar “asshole.”

It wasn’t too long before Lewis sent out the first lantern, and the water surrounding the docks was filled with glowing jellyfish.

“It’s beautiful,” the farmer breathed out as their head landed on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” his eyes landed on a glowing green jelly before looking down at the farmer, “it is.” _________________________________________

Sebastian never saw the farm in its full glory—before the farmer’s grandfather grew old and passed away—but he had been there plenty of times when it was overgrown and abandoned.

He had told the farmer this as they sat on the newly installed swinging bench on their porch. They joked that they would be suing him for trespassing, since it was technically their property at the time, even if they hadn’t known it.

It was a chilly fall day, but the farmer had made a pot of coffee to keep them warm.

“I thought this was your busy season,” Sebastian lit up a cigarette and moved the ashtray closer to where he sat. It was a newer addition to the farmer’s decor. He thought about the prideful look on their face as they held it up and told him that Leah let them use her pottery wheel. It was painted with little creatures that looked like the much happier cousins of the slimes living in the caves.

The farmer hummed, holding their mug close to their face, but not taking a sip, “Yeah…a lot busier than I thought it would be, actually.”

He grinned at them, “so, you’re slacking today, huh?”

The farmer laughed.

“I’d rather hang out with your sorry ass than work.” Despite the insult, the farmer’s tone was soft and earnest. Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up.

“Could you picture me living on a farm? It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately.”

“If I could do it, then so could you,” the farmer linked their pinky with his, “it’s a lot more freeing than you’d think.” _________________________________________

Boxes filled with Sebastian’s things lined the walls of the farmhouse, but Sebastian and the farmer lay in bed, choosing to ignore them.

They had all the time in the world.

The farmer was twirling the pendant dangling from Sebastian’s neck, “there’s steam coming out of your ears, Seb,” the farmer giggled and smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows with their finger.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Sebastian turned his attention from the ceiling to the farmer, “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

A beat.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

The farmer laughed, “Well I would hope so,” they tugged gently on the pendant, pulling him closer, “because you’re stuck with me.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer had joined his family for dinner, and his mother had shooed them away with one hand as she cooed at the bundle held tightly in her other arm.

The valley was coming to life, but the ghost of a winter chill was in the air. They settled down by the lake despite the cold. It was no longer his spot, but theirs.

The farmer was skipping stones across the lake when he grumbled about how being in that spot made him want a smoke.

“No one’s stopping you,” the farmer laughed.

“I am.”

The farmer still held a loose smile as they raised their eyebrows at him, “oh?”

“I'm trying my best to quit smoking now that we're married…” He avoided their gaze and brushed some mud on the palm of his hand onto his jeans, “I don't wanna die on you. It's a bad habit. I want to have a future together.”

A baby cried in the distance. Sebastian and the farmer smiled at each other. _________________________________________

The farmer was surprised to find Sebastian’s side of the bed empty when they woke up. It wasn’t a rare occasion, as they usually found Sebastian in the kitchen after a restless sleep, but he was nowhere to be found.

They couldn’t help but worry a little bit as they pulled on their boots and opened the screen door. They paused out of instinct to let the dog run out before them only to realize that the dog wasn’t hot on their heels like usual.

They had only gotten two steps onto the porch before a mass of fur and slobber crashed into their legs.

“Oh hello baby,” they cooed down at the dog as it rolled onto its back, breathing heavily out of excitement, “good morning stink.”

“Good morning to you too.”

The farmer was so caught up in giving the dog attention that they hadn’t noticed Sebastian leaning against the porch railing.

They straightened from their crouch, smiling at him as the dog whined from the loss of affection.

“I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went ahead and fed the animals,” he pushed off the railing and took a few steps forward to fix a rogue piece of the farmer’s hair, “one less thing for you to do.”

“Thanks, Seb,” the farmer said softly, suddenly bashful, “I’m going to check on the pumpkins. Thought I could make some soup tonight if any of them are ripe.”

They took a few steps off the porch, “feel like being a country boy today? Or did you get your fix?”

He smiled, leaning his forearms against the railing, “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer found themselves sitting on the porch swing once again. It was a mild summer evening, and he was looking on as a toddler played with the dog in the yard.

He tore his attention away from the rowdy scene in front of him to look at the farmer, who was curled up at his side reading a book. He felt his heart swell.

“This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

The farmer looked up from the book in their lap, smiling.

“I don't often show it, but I'm really happy that I'm your husband. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

#stardew sebastian #sdv sebastian #stardew valley #stardew farmer #sebastian x farmer #sebastian x reader #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fic #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x farmer #sdv sebastian fic #farmer x sebastian

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thyvora · 21 days ago

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This thought came to me when I was trying to sleep and it kept me up so I had to write it. I’ve seen so many Dc x Dp crossover but never one where Dick and Barbara are Danny parents alternate versions so I figured I write it. Also this is a revealed that went wrong.

———

Danny Fenton’s life falls apart after the truth gets out — not just about being half-ghost, but everything. Amity Park turns on him. The GIW and his parents come crashing in. Jazz telling him to run, and he listens.

He escapes through the Ghost Zone, hoping for a safe place to regroup.

Instead, he crashes into another reality — Gotham.

———

The rooftop cracked under the weight of the portal’s collapse.

Nightwing landed with escrima sticks already drawn, eyes narrowed at the point of impact. Debris scattered. Something had come through.

Then—movement.

A boy staggered out of the smoke.

Black hair. Bright blue eyes. Pale. Blood soaked suit clinging to him like a second skin. He looked terrified — and familiar. Too familiar.

Nightwing took one cautious step forward.

“Hey. You okay, kid?”

Danny looked up.

And froze.

His eyes went wide, panic sharp and immediate. For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Then something cracked behind Danny’s gaze — recognition, heartbreak, fear.

He didn’t answer. He just turned invisible.

“Wait—!”

Too late. He vanished.

Nightwing was left alone with the faint trace of blood still glowing on the rooftop, heart pounding like he’d just watched something slip through his fingers.

He didn’t know that boy.

———

When Nightwing went to the Cave, he said nothing lost in his thought — just dropped the small sample of blood into Tim’s hands.

Tim ran the test. The results processed fast.

Too fast.

Tim frowned. “So. Uh… you might want to sit down.”

Dick spoke up for the first time he entered. “What is it?

Tim gestured to the screen. “Blood sample came back human…but with Lazarus water in it.”

Jason blinked. “So… the kid died and got brought back with the Lazarus Pit? Happens all the time. Hey, look at me—I was brought back to life because of it.”

“That’s not the weird part.” Tim murmured. “In his blood it was stabilized. Balanced. His blood is saturated with it. It’s not corrupting him — I don’t even know what going on — Like his body was built for it.”

Silence

“But that’s not even the weird part.”

The monitor flickered as it loaded the second half of the report. Two genetic matches lit up on-screen:

PARENTAL GENETIC MATCH FOUND

Richard. Grayson and Barbara. Gordon

Dick stared at it like it might blink out of existence if he looked too hard.

Everyone in the Batfam assumes the obvious.

Jason frowned, eyes sharp. “So someone made a cloned of dickwing and spliced in Babs’ DNA? That’s dark, even for Gotham.”

Tim frowned. “If CADMUS is involved, it’s bad news. They never stop.”

Damian: “We should have incinerated that lab when we had the chance.”

Dick presses a hand to his chest and whispers, “No.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What??”

Dick’s gaze hardened. “I think he’s my son somehow, not a cloned because even before the results, when I saw that boy on the rooftop, for that split second — it felt him my hearts stuttered. Like my body recognized something my minds couldn’t name yet.”

The whole batfam is silent.

Tim, staring hard at the data: “If he’s a clone, he’s… weirdly clean. There’s none of the degradation markers, no artificial telomere tampering, no lab-grown sequences. This is full-genome, natural structure. Like—like a real person.”

Dick’s voice was hoarse. “He saw me and ran.”

Jason scoffed. “Can’t blame him. I’d run too if I saw a weird younger version of my dad who didn’t remember me.”

So now the Batfam is hunting down Dick and Barbara kid across Gotham.

#danny phantom #bad parent jack and Maddie #bad reveal #jazz phantom #Danny is dick and Barbara kid from AU #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp #barbara gordon #Barbara doesn’t know how to react to this #Barbara hasn’t stopped thinking about it.#and Dick is a mess

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a-hermit-pining · 4 months ago

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LADS Men in a Matriarchal Society

AN: this hits 🤌🏻

Pairing: LADS Men x Fem Reader

Genre: Fluff

Xavier:

What if the roles were reversed? You, the ruler. And him, the knight.

It was his sworn duty to protect you. To kneel before your throne, sword in hand, and bleed for your crown.

And when you died, for the world, for the kingdom, it was his task to hold the throne in your absence. To guard it from grasping hands and hungry hearts. To ensure that your sisters, or the sisters-in-law married to your brothers, did not seize the crown during the fragile limbo of your death.

He became your regent.

A man, entrusted with the power that was made only for women.

It was unnatural. Heresy, they whispered. The crown of queens, held in the hands of a man.

But he stood at the foot of your empty throne, unwavering. His hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His gaze fixed forward.

Then you came back. Dragged from the void, scarred, breathless, unyielding. Remade once again.

Followed by your subjects celebrating your return, you walked into that hall, crown glinting beneath the torchlight, his knees hit the marble floor. His head bowed.

"My queen."

You met his eyes, steady and familiar. He had ruled in your place. And for the first time, you realized the terrifying truth:

The knight had become a king.

Rafayel:

"Darling daughter, meet Rafayel, our esteemed guest from Lemuria," your father beamed, introducing you to yet another match. Why could he not leave you be?

You smile politely. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Rafayel." You take his hand and press a light kiss upon it.

The man’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he pulls his hand away. "Ah… I see you don’t remember me."

Your father’s brow lifts. "You’ve met before?" An unholy light of assumptions flickers in his eyes.

"We have."

"We have not."

You and Rafayel speak at the same time.

Rafayel turns to your father, sipping his drink with practiced ease. "I happened to meet your daughter in the Sun Theatre, sir."

Your face warms in sudden recognition. Oh no.

But Rafayel.

"You see, I am a devotee of art. But your daughter, sir," He smiles, eyes glinting with mischief. "Your daughter is quite taken by it too. Especially the sopranos."

So that’s where he saw you.

In the sopranos' room. God dammit.

Of all the places, of all the people, this was how you first met your husband.

Zayne:

Your betrothal had been arranged at birth, with none other than your grandmother's dearest friend's son.

You grew up with him, playing in his father's gardens, stealing figs from the orchard, and chasing fireflies.

Now, years later, you step down from the carriage and turn to offer him your hand.

"Will this be alright?" Zayne asks, his eyes lighting up as he peeks eagerly into the apothecary.

You chuckle, opening the door for him. "Why wouldn’t it be? Who would dare object?"

"Your grandmother," he mutters, lifting a small glass vial to his nose and inhaling deeply. "She’d rather I follow your father’s footsteps and get involved in the household."

You lean against the shelf, watching him lost in his world. His brow furrows slightly as he tests the scent of lavender and sage.

"I think healing is your calling," you say softly. "How could I deny you that?"

He hands you a vial of peppermint extract. You lift it to your nose, the crisp scent tingling your senses.

"Besides," you add, "our household has my grandfather, my father, brothers, cousins, and brothers-in-law to manage things. I'm sure you can be spared from such duties."

Zayne hums thoughtfully, placing the peppermint in the basket for your nighttime tea. "They say you're under my spell. That I've bewitched you."

"And?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He leans closer, his voice dropping low. "I’m starting to think it might be true."

Sylus:

"Your husband is a dragon." Your sister glared at you like you’d personally spat in her tea.

Across the room, your mother, barely held back by your father—hurled a vase at you. You sidestepped just in time as it shattered against the wall.

"A good-for-nothing, mooching dragon at that!"

"Mother!" you snapped, crouching to gather the shards. "Sylus is perfectly capable of carrying our family name. And he has his own wealth, he just likes using mine." You shrugged, unbothered.

Your said husband was currently lounging in peace at your manor, wisely out of sight until tempers cooled from the whole eloping with a dragon situation. Not that Sylus wouldn't have enjoyed this? He would have loved getting on your siblings' nerves.

"He’s a wild man," your brother scoffed, sipping his tea like he sat on a throne of moral superiority. "You can’t just bring him into the family."

You arched a brow. "I could say the same about your wife. Whose mother, if I recall, is a tyrant."

Your brother choked on his tea. "Do not compare my wife to that beast!"

"Don't you dare call my husband a beast!" you snarled, eyes flashing.

"He is not welcome here. Not him, not his party of goons," your sister replied coolly, delivering the verdict like she had any right to it.

You smiled, sharp as glass. "Trust me, sister, your hospitality made sure of that. But it’s fine. He doesn’t need to be welcome here." You rose, brushing imaginary dust from your sleeves.

"I don’t need a damned family name to keep my husband happy."

Caleb:

"You have to look after him," your grandmother's thin hand trembled as it curled around yours. Her breath was shallow, strained beneath the weight of the sickness that bound her.

"Promise me." Her voice was barely a whisper, cracking under the effort. "Promise me you'll protect Caleb when I'm gone."

You pressed a kiss to her fragile, shaking hand. "No harm shall come to him. I will treasure him. I swear to protect him."

He had left not long ago.

Off to the aerospace academy, chasing his passion. One day, he would be the first man to lead the fleet, changing the history forever.

But he was sweet. Too kind and trusting for the world he was stepping into.

You worried the academy would change him. Make him feel insignificant, unfitting. Break his heart.

Surrounded by second-generation women, daughters raised with power and sharpened tongues, he was bound to face conflict. He was stepping into a space carved for them, and that made him vulnerable.

It troubled you. It troubled your grandmother more. Ever since his departure, she'd barely touched her meals. Her eyes followed shadows, haunted by the worry she could no longer hold in her hands.

"Please." Her fingers curled tighter around yours. "Look after him."

"I will."

You meant it. With the marrow of your bones, you meant it.

Even if it meant, giving up on your dream to follow him as a shadow.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #caleb x reader #fluff #love and deepspace reaction #competent reader

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sparrows4bats · 1 month ago

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Gotham Med AU

An answer to the replies I got from @gosuckmydickgrayson @chomumo

If DC says Med Student Damian isn't interesting enough for a comic, I give you my pitch for a Doctor Damian Run.

Damian Wayne starts his internship as the youngest in his class. He is dual specialising in trauma surgery and paediatrics and everyone looks at the famous Wayne heir and assumes that he bought his way through med school. Got his rich father to pay for him to graduate early.

There are rumours and comments before Damian even puts on his scrubs. The few who knew him in med school sneer and gossip about how he was at the top of the class, no matter the subject. Those who don't know him know of him through Brucie Wayne's reputation and imagine a party boy just like his father.

Even his attending doesn't expect much, Gotham is a hectic place, especially for those who have to deal with the aftermath of its violence and chaos. Gotham General Hospital has the worst retention rate of any Hospital in the country.

Those who stay, stay because they care and because someone needs to. The veteran doctor and nurses look more akin to battle medics then medical professionals in a supposedly privileged country.

The interns not only learn how to take care of their patients but also how to survive. There are classes on deescalation, self-defense and emergency evacuation, and preparedness classes all staff must complete alongside their board exams to be licensed to work in this city.

Gothamites are the best equipped first responders in the world. Nurses and Residents place bets on how long it'll take the interns to drop out and how many will still be there by the time the internship ends.

Everyone who heard about Damian Wayne becoming a doctor expects him to crumble under the pressure. For a sheltered rich boy to falter once the reality of practising medicine in the most crime riddled city in the world sets in.

They do not get what they expected. Doctor Damian Wayne starts his internship like someone who has done this for years.

He follows orders, can stay up 24 hours or longer without complaint, does not flinch at any of the horrific things they see as they help with surgeries, and the emergency room, which is almost permanently understaffed.

He keeps quiet but is polite and professional in the face of surgical interns posturing. He is easily the most competent and quickly earns recognition from the higher-ups.

Damian has a steady hand and is courteous to patients, especially children who almost universally adore him, much to the youngest Waynes confusion.

During the extra classes Damian completes them without bating an eye and after he recognises a particularly rare parasite in a patient one day, the diagnostic department keeps trying to poach him.

The first time the hospital is attacked by rogues Dr Wayne save 3 lives and disables a bomb, claiming his father insisted he learn how to be ready for all situations.

The youngest Wayne becomes the Gotham Med Darling.

It earns him respect and envy, and jealous people have an unfortunate habit of becoming cruel.

Those who whisper and spread rumours of nepotism and preferential treatment are shut up when they can't even insert a line correctly or shut down by nurses who have a soft spot for the boy that reminds them of their sons.

They try to exclude Damian or find fault in his actions, but it's like he knows their every move.

Point out he is making a big leap with a diagnosis? well damn Dr. Wayne was right!

Try to take his patient away from him? Guess who got in early and just so happened to finish the surgery before they did.

Accuse him of buying his way through life? They boy performs seemingly impossible medical feats that no billionaire parent could buy them.

Try to suggest he is sleeping with someone to get the best cases? His boyfriend brings him lunch and coffee every day, and the two are so sickeningly sweet that no one believes a word of the slander.

Accuse him of cockiness or not caring? It's revealed that he volunteers at Leslie Thompkins free clinic in his spare time, donates his entire salary, and the first time he lost a patient on the table needed to call his brother because it shook him so badly.

Eventually, they stop trying, either quitting the program after the third Jokerized victim they struggle to treat or they use Damian Wayne as inspiration to better themselves for their patients.

That does not mean Doctor Damian Wayne isn't weird, though.

Dangerous impossible situations seem to follow him, be it vigilantes requesting him by name while actively bleeding out or the sheer number of villains that kidnap him.

He attracts trouble. Always involved in odd, rare medical mysteries. He even helped the GCPD track a new drug once and saved a victim of human trafficking after she appeared in the ER with an ear infection.

He deduces who is dangerous or how to help those who are desperate.

He 4 engaged after his partner gets caught up in a hostage situation and adopts a baby girls left in the NICU. He gets married on a random Tuesday in Vegas, annoying many of the staff that wanted to attend his wedding.

Performs surgery during blackouts, invasions, and attacks. Takes down goons, aliens, and on one memorable occasion Killer Croc. He dissappears at random but is always there as soon as a code is called. No one ever sees him running, though.

It's is all pretty tame by Gotham standards, Batman regularly buys them lunch and coffee after mass attacks.

Damian Wayne saves lives and causes chaos while doing it.

Gotham Med embraces him as one of their own.

#damian wayne #jondami #jon kent #batfamily #doctor damian wayne #damijon #dr damian wayne #batfam

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paincest · 3 months ago

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fanfics where penelope fell first are my absolute favorite

odysseus coming to sparta, without any real intent of finding himself a wife, encounters the cousin of the renowned helen and doesn’t think anything of her. helen is beautiful, clytemnestra is fervent and penelope is… there. modest. quiet. watching. he briefly recalls meeting her ages ago during their visit to ithaca but there wasn’t much to recall of it. he introduces himself to king tyndareus, presents his gift that’s humble yet clever and asks for helen’s hand in marriage. he’s unaware that before he even took step foot on this island, he has already secured himself a wife.

penelope knew the spot next to helen would be fought for by the most powerful of men and no doubt, if he were smart and he is, odysseus would be one of them. so she waits and waits and waits till the day the boy she fell for ages ago under an olive tree comes to sparta. there’s a flicker of recognition when their eyes meet, and he smiles, polite but dismissive. he does not think much of her but penelope doesn’t mind. she did not spend all that time just waiting; she spent it devising a plan.

penelope, who calls helen’s suitors savages and the entire proceedings ridiculous, has now begun courting. however, as tradition dictates, she can’t be the one kneeling before ithaca’s king and asking for his hand in marriage. no, it is he who must come to her. so she gets to work.

she rests in places she knows he frequents, approaches ladies within his vicinity, deliberately speaks of topics she knows he’d have interest in when he’s within hearing distance, etc. she asks the maids to watch his schedule and pretends it’s pure coincidence when she stumbles into the archery grounds when he’s practicing. soon, her efforts are rewarded. odysseus is before her dear uncle, earning his favor with a suggestion and exchanging it for her hand.

odysseus thinks it was he who fell first, that he is the one who has come to sparta, that he saw the wit of penelope and laboured to catch her attention. this is the story odysseus tells people. “my dear penelope had no idea of what was to come,” he’d say. “i had fallen for her! it was her or nobody at all that shall be my wife!”

it is only years later that odysseus is told the truth. he recounts the story once again for his son.

“your mother and i fell in love in sparta when–”

“you fell in love in sparta,” penelope corrects, not looking up from the tapestry she’s weaving. “i fell in love in ithaca.”

and odysseus, poor odysseus whose brain malfunctions too often when around the smartest girl he knows, takes it to mean in ithaca when they had wedded. he’s flabbergasted, offended even, ready to call his darling wife a liar for she had given him the sweetest confessions prior to racing her father. how could she say she had only started to love him after they had spent nights and nights laughing under the stars?

“you misunderstand me, odyseeus.” she’s smiling now, unable to help herself. it’s not often she catches the most clever of kings by surprise and it’s a delight knowing she’s able to. “in ithaca. during your coronation.”

and odysseus is in shock, abruptly standing up. he’s spinning around her seat like an eager puppy, asking her hows, whens, whys and penelope only gives him the vaguest of answers and never looks away from her work. he’s shooting out accusation after accusation (“I knew it! You must have been lying when you said you liked archery. You couldn’t even string a child’s bow then.” “Hey now...”). Had a stranger been eavesdropping, they might think the king was angry but upon close inspection, they'd see that he’s blushing and stuttering and asking her again and again to repeat how she’d fallen in love with him like he was some lovesick teenage girl. telemachus just watches his parents with amusement.

penelope fell first but odysseus fell harder. she made sure of it. UGH just penelope masterminding her entire love story with a man known for mind games makes soooo much sense to me because who else should reign beside him if not a woman with a mind like his?

#epic the musical #odypen #odysseus #penelope #thought bubbles #greek mythology

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blackkatdraws · 1 year ago

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HELP MEMFEIF

🫡YES MA'AM

you absolutely captured the tired and sad wet cat pathetic energy he has, THANK YOU SO MUCH

ALSO YOU GET IT, YOU GET IT SO MUCH

this is so stupid

@blackkatdraws saw your most recent post and my brain automatically made a connection with this specific image

anyways nighty

#LOOK AT HIADSADN #MY BABY #MY SON #HES GETTING RECOGNITION #WUWUWUWWUWUW #CRYINNF #him when he gives his entire self to the only person who accepts everything that hes been and ever will be #because its the only thing he has left to offer (himself)#teehee (✿◠‿◠)

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swordgrace · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #gwayne hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon smut

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3rdgymbros · 8 months ago

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━ 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 (𝟐) !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's dad thinks you're dating, and comes down to meet you

— notes; here is part 2, part 1 is here. please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work bc im broke and need cash. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s a bright afternoon at Night Raven College when Eric Venue arrives at Night Raven College unannounced, causing a minor frenzy among students and staff alike. They’re starstruck; after all, seeing a famous actor on campus is a rarity, and Eric is surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans as he makes his way to Pomefiore.

❋ Vil, however, is not thrilled to see him. His father’s obviously come here to snoop, and Eric’s wide grin tells Vil there’s no escaping him today.

❋ Ever the professional actor, Eric insists he’s just here for a little visit. “Can’t a father see his son and stroll around the college campus for a while?”

❋ Vil reluctantly obliges, but he’s wary. Every time they pass a group of students (many of them gawking and staring and pointing), Eric gives each and every one of them a careful once-over, as if expecting you to magically appear. Vil notices and gives his father a dirty look, but Eric just shrugs, the very picture of innocence.

❋ Despite Vil’s attempts to keep his father far far away from you, your paths do eventually cross. You run into both father and son as you’re heading down to the cafeteria for lunch, and Eric’s eyes immediately light up with recognition. He strides over before Vil can stop him, extending a hand with a charming smile. “Ah, you must be the famous Ramshackle student! I’m Eric Venue, Vil’s father. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

❋ You’ve seen exactly zero of his movies. Thanks to Ace and Deuce giving you the lowdown, all you know about this guy is that he’s some big star — Leonardo DiCaprio level, maybe? Not that anyone here would know who he is . . .

❋ Realising that Eric’s waiting for a reply, you quickly recover, shaking his hand with a slightly awkward but friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Venue.”

❋ Eric immediately wastes no time in drawing you into a conversation, asking you about your interests, your studies, and — much to Vil’s chagrin — what you think of his son. He’s so friendly and warm, it’s almost like talking to an old friend, rather than a famous celebrity.

❋ (The shy tinge to your smile, and the way your voice softens when you talk about Vil doesn’t go unnoticed by Eric, and only serves to confirm his suspicions.)

❋ Vil is unnaturally tense through it all, a bow string about to snap. It’s almost as though he’s debating grabbing his father and making a break for it, public image be dammed. But instead, Vil settles for hovering beside you both, looking mortified and slightly flustered when his father asks you something just a little too personal.

❋ Finally, Vil manages to pull his father aside, insisting that they should let you get to lunch (Vil makes eyes at you and you take the hint, dutifully acting as though you’re absolutely starving).

❋ Eric sees right through your little act, but lets you leave with a wave and a laugh, expressing his desire to see you again. Afterwards, Eric turns to Vil with a knowing smile, quietly whispering, “I like them,” like it’s the final stamp of approval for the relationship Vil absolutely refuses to admit he’s in.

#vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit imagines #vil schoenheit headcanons #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit fluff #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland reader insert #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines

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gaywineauntsstuff · 7 months ago

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Okay but imagine for a second

You’re Bruce Wayne, Batman

The richest, smartest man in every room you have walked into since you turned 20

Every bit of information is at the tip of your fingertips money, brawn and brains are no object

And then you take in a child

Named Dick Grayson

From the circus, who has the most flimsy proof of his existence you’ve ever seen with a birth certificate that looks too worn to properly make out the parents named without knowing them before.

No passport despite traveling all over the globe

No form of identification

So you give the kid an ID and everything is fine

He becomes Robin

Joins a team

Becomes nightwing

Runs all the teams

Becomes Batman

Runs himself into the ground

And then Dicks in his 20s and he’s sick

Really sick

It’s not viral, fungal, parasitic or bacterial

No one else you know has this

And he’s getting sicker

He can’t walk without help and spends all his days wrapped up in blankets fighting off never ending shivers.

He mixes up his brothers names and sometimes outright forgets some of the kids

He didn’t recognize Kori a few weeks ago and hasn’t remembered her since

So Everytime he blearily asks “who are you again?” They All answer with the knowledge that this might be the him decaying blue eyes don’t spark with recognition

The first time it happened it was horror and tears “an Oh my god! I’m so sorry I love you you’re my brother” over time it’s devolved into an “oh right…hi Jason”

And the doctors ask for his family history

Maybe. Maybe there is something that could save him, bring him back or stop this descent… this fall from happening to the most untouchable man that’s ever lived.

(Tim threw up after he saw Dick burst into tears, head resting on Alfred’s shoulder when he realized he couldn’t walk without help- they need to stop this)

So they dig

And dig

And nothing

There’s no evidence of the Graysons before John, the Lloyd’s before Mary.

Neither had been to a doctor anytime in the states at least

Bruce had redone all of Dicks vaccines once he acquired guardianship of him.

There was nothing

Nothing on his aunts or the uncle that was his namesake

There’s just nothing

Bruce realizes he doesn’t even know Dicks ethnic background. 1000s of tests he’s ran and he doesn’t even know if Dick has ever been to his parents home countries

They do every test they can come up with to try and fake a comprehensive family history

Mary Grayson was a fake name

So way John

They don’t know the real ones

Bruce finds out the mother of his son is Syrian and Romani and the boys first father is Afghani and Italian.

He finds out Mary’s father fled from Syria during the 60s and settled in Germany

He finds out that John Grayson and his brother were orphans together

He can’t even tell you which one of them gave Dick his blood type.

He knows everything

He’s the smartest man in every room he’s ever walked into

And he won’t be able to save his son

Because the boy who holds Bruce Wayne’s very heart in his hands knows that the best way to stay in the shadows is simply to show so little everyone will fill in blank spots with jarring inaccuracies so seamlessly they won’t even notice they did it.

They’ve called everyone

And Dick just keeps getting sicker

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xomakara · 9 months ago

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Rewarded With Love

SUMMARY | Hongjoong rewards you for being such a good mother to his children.

PAIRINGS | Hongjoong x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

GENRE | dad!Hongjoong, wife!Reader, dilf!Hongjoong, milf!Reader, smut, non-idol au, fluff, established relationship

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, filthy dirty thoughts, protected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving/m. giving), dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, mommy and daddy kinks (pet names?)

LENGTH | 4,858 words

TAGLIST | —

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Momma is back with another dad!Teez fic lolol. If you read my dad!Jongho fic (Second Chance at Love), you'll see some familiar children lolol. At this point, I should just make a series. Show support by liking, commenting and reblogging. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"I'm home!" Kim Hongjoong called out as he shut the front door behind him.

He listened and heard the pitter pat of feet coming down the hallway, the screams of 'Daddy!' making his heart smile, hearing his kids come running and flinging themselves at him, trying to give him a hug at the same time. They were trying to talk, one voice blending in with the next, only catching fragments of what they were actually saying, so excited to see him they could hardly contain it.

"Where's Daddy's kisses?" He asked as they chattered about their day.

Loud smacking kisses pressed against his cheek before he stood and put the pair down on their feet, giving them each a smile. "Where's mommy?" He asked when he didn't see his wife in the hall.

"Kitchen,” they said in unison, smiling up at their daddy, holding his hands and leading him through the house with his son to his left and his daughter to his right, matching excited grins on their faces. "Mommy! Daddy is home!"

Hongjoong let out a small laugh as he watched you stir the pot of stew, bouncing lightly on your feet with the baby strapped to your front, nestled there with his head on your breast. His arms reached and tightened around you, a soft laugh escaping your lips when you felt him against your back.

You pulled his left hand over to kiss it, a smile pulling at your lips. "Welcome home, Daddy."

Hongjoong grinned and kissed your shoulder, turning you to face him. He cupped your cheek, kissing you softly as his children groaned in disgust and ran off to play. Leaning his forehead against yours, he smiled and asked, "How were the kids today?"

"Good as always. Well, Hyejin almost choked on an apple, so that was a little scary for me. She's fine," you lifted your hand to cup his cheek with a smile, returning his forehead with a kiss.

"My angel," he kissed your nose, making you chuckle before he leaned into the baby. "Hey there, big boy. How are you?"

Hyunwoo turned his head, blinking at his father, taking him in, and when recognition donned him, his face lit up, his hand reaching out for his father, cooing excitedly.

Hongjoong took him from his sling with a grin and brought him close to him, kissing his little chubby cheeks and chin with loud smacking sounds. "I'll take the baby while you finish dinner. Did you need help with anything else?"

"No, just get the table set and that'll be all good," you hummed. "Can you make sure the kids wash their hands before they sit at the table?"

"Yes, love. You can count on me," he gave a mock salute and turned with the baby in his arms to carry him out, watching the kids run through the halls in their socks, screaming and laughing.

He almost tripped a few times while navigating his way with a child in his arms, but Hongjoong had gotten very adept in having children run under his feet. He had lost track of how many times he almost trampled one of them or how many stubbed toes he had because they were doing somersaults in the living room. He remembered being a miserable single dad when his ex-wife suddenly up and left. He lacked a support system, and the abrupt shift from married life to single parenthood, with a toddler and a baby to care for, was incredibly challenging. He struggled to make ends meet while trying to stay strong for his children, who were now without their mother.

When Jongho's wife recommended you for the nanny job, he thought nothing of it, but you were so good with the kids, they attached themselves to you faster than you could've known. Hongjoong fell for you long before you'd even noticed, his children chattering on and on about you being their 'mommy' now and it took everything in him not to blurt it out, hoping that the affection they gave was a reflection of his own.

Now, four years later, you had his ring on your finger, another baby to join the family, and two healthy older siblings running underfoot. His ex-wife wasn't coming back, and he hadn't thought once about her since she walked out the door with the clothes on her back and left her life behind like she meant nothing to any of them. It broke his heart the first year, the thought of her leaving for months, no explanation, no return calls or letters, and now, he had long since buried his sorrow to focus on the family he had instead of the family he didn't.

He thanked Jongho's wife every chance he got because without her, he wouldn't have gotten you into his life, and now, he never wanted to let you go, no matter what.

After he watched Hyejin and Hongki scurry off to wash their hands and he deposited his newest baby into his high chair, making sure he wouldn't get out, he returned to your side. "Food's done?"

"Yes," you handed him the plates and cutlery, letting him lead the way back into the dining room.

Once everyone had sat down, food was distributed, and napkins were spread over laps, dinner began with chatter amongst all of them, as usual, talking over each other so fast that nobody was really keeping up with the conversation. Hyunwoo babbled between them as he gnawed away on the piece of bread you had given him.

"Oh, did Jongho tell you that he and his wife want to take the kids for a sleepover?" You spoke up while wiping the bit of juice that trickled down the baby's chin. "I think Jooeun and Joomi wanted a weekend with their friends."

"Are the other kids going?" Hongjoong asked, the 'others' referring to the kids of their friends.

"Yeosang already said that Yeonwoo is going. Yunho said that he's going to drop Yunhee off when he gets off work and I think San mentioned that Haru has been begging him to go," you checked the kids in front of you. "Does that sound good? Sleepover weekend with your friends? A big sleepover party at Uncle Jongho's house?"

"Sleepover?! At Jooeun's and Joomi's house?!" Their excited voices blended into one another.

You giggled. "Yeah and I think Yeonwoo, Haru and Yunhee are going to be there too."

They screamed in their chairs, all manners of speaking gone while they shrieked.

"Yeah?" You watched as they nodded their heads up and down. "What does Daddy say? Is that a good idea?"

"Daddy thinks it’s a great idea," Hongjoong turned his eyes from the kids to you, a wide grin on his face as you smiled. "That gives Mommy and Daddy a night to themselves too."

"We still have the baby," you turned your gaze to Hyunwoo who looked quite happy to have his piece of bread to gnaw on, sucking it a little for moisture. "You think Wooyoung would take him for the night?"

"It's Wooyoung," Hongjoong laughed. "The man will never say no to a baby. I'm sure he, Seonghwa, and Mingi, single and childless as they are, will be ecstatic to watch the baby."

Watching a gummy smile crawl across Hyunwoo's round little face and turn his attention to him. "He's just a precious thing. So cute, just like his Daddy and his big brother and sister."

His hand crept along the table and covered yours with a smile. His thumb ran circles over the wedding ring on your finger that matched his. "Couldn't be as cute as you, baby."

He heard his daughter groaning and knew her manners came out at the worst of times because all she had to say was, "Oh my God. Daddy, can you not do that at the table?"

"Don't blame me. Daddy loves Mommy." Hongjoong laughed.

"We all love mommy too!" Your son was quick to respond. "But don't make that yucky stuff at the table! Mommy always says to have our gross stuff done somewhere that’s not at the table!"

Your laughter rose up amongst the chatter, leaning over to peck his cheek. "Well, the table is now going to be strictly gross free. Daddy, let's keep our grossness elsewhere and not bother the kids."

He leaned down to kiss the crown of Hyunwoo's head, placing a kiss on the crowns of the eldest children's heads. "Agreed, gross free table."

"I can't remember the last time we did this," Hongjoong spoke from his spot on the couch, leaning back into the comfortable cushion with his arm over your shoulders while the credits to some movie played on the tv. An hour ago, Jongho had just picked up the older kids for the sleepover and an ecstatic Wooyoung came to grab the baby. Now, you were home alone and could do as you pleased.

You hummed, sliding down the couch more until your head was pillowed on his lap.

"I think it's been forever, sweetheart," his fingers played with the flyaways of your hair with a smile pulling at his lips.

You groaned and rolled onto your side, pulling his hand with you so it was draped over your side and laying half across your stomach. "Since before the baby?"

You recalled all the moments where Hongjoong wanted to pull you close and show you his love, but with the baby attached to you or in a different room, he found it hard to have those intimate moments. Even sex wasn't an option, at least, not regularly like it was before the baby. The moments you were alone to do so were too few and far between.

"Unfortunately, the most action we've had lately was a little bit of dry humping," a breathy laugh passed his lips. "God, it sounds so juvenile saying that. We're a married couple, yet, the most action lately was rubbing ourselves against each other in the middle of the night."

A light giggle escaped your throat and your head shifted on his lap, turning a soft grin towards him, meeting his eyes. "Hon, please, with these kids running wild around the house, sex is the least of our worries. If we can catch a few minutes of intimacy without someone coming up the stairs and bursting in on us, I'll count myself blessed."

A smile pulled at his lips and he took your left hand, holding it up so he could look at your rings. "I don't regret it, baby. None of this. Growing this family, starting a life with you. I would do it again in a heartbeat. Thank you for coming into my life, for loving Hongki and Hyejin like they were your own kids and giving birth to our little Hyunwoo. We're only going to grow from here. Who knows? Maybe we'll expand again."

"And have more kids like Jongho and his wife?" Your lips curled into a smile, making Hongjoong laugh and shake his head. "Yeah, let's keep it to three kids and that'll be enough."

"Darn it, guess my evil plans are foiled. I was hoping that our baby-making would multiply and I'd have five or six. Can you imagine? A house of seven? It'll be the end of us," Hongjoong laughed with you and brushed his fingers through your hair with a hum and leaned back more on the couch.

"Don't know how Jongho and his wife could do it," you mused. "A set of twin girls, a set of twin boys and another baby on the way?" You shook your head in amusement and curled more into your husband's leg. "Who knew our youngest friend would have the most kids out of us all?"

"With the biggest house and the most bedrooms," he added.

"Biggest yard and the largest living space,” you continued.

Hongjoong and you continued rattling things off with a shared grin until your gazes met and your eyes squinted into small smiles. Your right hand reached up and stroked his cheek. His eyes crinkled in response and his forehead lowered down to touch yours, chuckling low under his breath. "My pretty wife."

Your hand gripped the nape of his neck, holding him close as a soft exhale passed your lips and your eyes slipped closed. "My handsome husband."

Slow, soft, gentle lips touched yours and Hongjoong cradled you in his arms, humming into the kiss with a happy smile. Time escaped you as you melted under your husband's ministrations, a simple and chaste exchange. The whole house was quiet, not a single kid around to stop you, or yell from somewhere else in the house, or suddenly need you and throw you back into the realm of parenting. Right now, it was just you and him. Nothing more, nothing less. Just his arms, his lips on yours, his hands stroking through your hair and feeling his love surround you like the warmest blanket.

His teeth gently teased your lower lip and he pulled back to hover over your face with a breathless chuckle, his hands now trailing down your face to hold your hands in his. His thumbs gently rubbed circles into your skin, making shivers run up your spine and down your back with a silent exhale.

"I'm not gonna lie. It feels kinda nice not having the kids around for a whole night. Makes it much more relaxing. I don't have to run after kids every second," his chuckle met your ears and a breathy laugh of your own fell into the air around you two.

"Yeah," your arms curled around his middle, trying to pull him close and bring his lips back to yours.

He laughed quietly again, tilting his head with a smile and cupped your cheeks in his hands. "The kids are gone tonight, my love. What should we do? All alone without kids?"

"Cuddles. Kisses. Movie?" The smile was unmistakable and your heart filled with pure love for your husband, melting with every second his eyes remained on yours. "A reward for being the best wife and mother to your children?"

"A reward, huh?" His laugh tickled your ears and his lips pressed another soft kiss on your forehead, gently nudging you from his lap and rising from the couch. "Anything for the most beautiful mother and best wife I've ever had. Now, come on, Mommy, let Daddy show you how much you deserve a break."

You giggled at his cheeky antics and caught his extended hand as he picked you up and carried you all the way to the bedroom. His kisses didn't stop until he dropped you onto the bed, bouncing with a happy smile up at him, the moment a blur as he crawled over top of you.

You brought him down for another kiss with a chuckle. 'What are you planning to do?"

"Giving my wife a reward," his lips grazed your chin and began peppering the side of your neck and making his way down as he spoke. "One she well and truly deserves for everything she's done."

"By doing what?" your eyes followed his head down as he buried himself into your collarbones and the exposed part of your chest. Your shirt had ridden down, bunched in his grasp as he snaked his hands underneath to touch your skin. His cold hands warmed up within seconds.

"Giving Mommy a night where all her needs are met," Hongjoong tilted his gaze towards you, a flirtatious wink greeting you and his eyes growing half-lidded. "A night where her pleasure is met, a night where I am completely and totally wrapped around her little finger. She's so lovely and wonderful to all the kids, my wonderful children's mother."

He kept your hands pinned above your head, bringing your attention back to him and kissing your lips once again. "Tonight, everything is Mommy's decision. If she wants kisses, if she wants love, if she wants affection. Anything, Mommy gets what she wants," his tone was gentle, lips speaking low as his breath warmed your face. "Can I do that, sweetheart? Make Mommy feel good and loved?"

You blushed, nodding a small little motion and lifted your head to meet his next kiss. "Yes, of course. I'd love anything you'd give me."

Hongjoong's answering kiss brought tingles of happiness through every cell of your body.

It felt good, and nothing would tear your husband's hands or kisses off you as he slowly peeled away your clothing piece by piece. Each kiss followed and a small burn of warmth swarmed your skin, causing goosebumps to rise, and it was addicting, being bathed in this type of attention from Hongjoong, his eyes only on you and making sure you received his entire focus. Every part of his body was doing what made your body happy and made you shiver.

Kisses littered the inner flesh of your thighs and the peaks of your breasts, Hongjoong's gentle smile and caresses stroking through your hair or on your legs made your head turn with love. Your stomach felt jittery with every kiss and the coil in your core only tightened with every passing minute.

"Breathe, sweet girl. It's all okay. There's no hurry," Hongjoong's voice was soft and tender, urging you to slow your racing heart and taking a breath when a gasp left your throat.

You blinked and looked over his smiling face with a soft smile pulling at your own features. "I love you, Joong."

"I love you too, baby," a warm grin stretched his lips.

His fingers brushed over your opening, feeling a sudden need to slide in and watch as you broke around him. His fingers sank into your welcoming body, slipping in and out with ease. His movements were slow and sensual, loving the way your eyes rolled back, your head flopped, and your lips parted into a silent gasp. He spread his fingers, making you tense and releasing a short moan from your chest and the desperate way you begged him, asking for more as your hands tightly clenched the sheets.

He smirked. It was definitely a beautiful sight, one that always sent his blood roaring in his veins. "Tell me what you want. Say the words and I'm more than happy to comply."

Your breaths came in shaky gasps and you weakly mumbled, "M-more. J-just... k-keep going, p-please."

He chuckled softly, placing one last kiss on your knee and moved down, placing himself in between your legs. You immediately looked at him through half-lidded eyes and cried softly when his thumb rubbed hard and firm against your clit, only adding a flash of fire in your belly, spreading into your legs and chest.

"D-don't, J-Joong. I-I-" you cried out softly, bringing your fingers down into his hair, tugging on the strands in desperation. "Pl-please!"

"Mhm. That's what I want to hear, baby," he leaned over you, your gasps fanning across his chin as he dipped his head down and gave you a quick kiss. "Such a pretty sound, only for Daddy's ears, yes?"

You whimpered in answer, his tongue trailing along the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling, leaving a burning sensation in its wake.

"You can be as loud as you want, love," the edges of his smile rose up, knowing the soft sounds that echoed around the empty house of yours. "It's just us. It's alright."

You sucked in a deep breath and your eyelids closed as his lips met your folds. It was almost as if he didn't want to waste a second before tasting the warm slick your pussy offered him. Your eyes shot open, back arching as his lips, tongue and finger went straight to work.

His mouth latched around your clit while his fingers worked, rubbing you inside while you lost the ability to speak, all that could come out were soft and weak moans while your legs trembled. Hongjoong's lips tightened against your clit, making your thighs clamp down around him in an attempt to slow down or make him stop.

"Joong..." you moaned softly, closing your eyes, feeling a wave of ecstasy washing over your mind and you had to swallow or choke on your spit. Your throat felt dry, as you threw your head back when Hongjoong started sucking harder and wiggling his finger.

It felt way too good, his lips, his fingers and the vibrations from his own soft groans that made your knees clench around his ears as your chest arched. His tongue ran laps against you and pushed your thighs to shake around him. The warmth in your stomach had built up from the attention on your core, sending jolts of fire through you. He felt too amazing and you couldn't fight back. He was going to get a reaction whether you liked it or not.

Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him down and begging to ride his face until the ache in your lower half subsided. Your body shook and your pussy pulsed, gushing your sweet juices around Hongjoong's working hands.

He purred when your legs finally settled down from the tremors running up and down your legs. It had been long since you've last experienced release, let alone from the skill of your husband's talented mouth and talented fingers. His hands were resting against your inner thighs, his eyes gazing down at the beautiful way you quivered and rode through the throes of pleasure he managed to give you. He licked his lips clean of the sticky and sweet wetness, chuckling softly.

"Did it feel nice, my love?" his hands ran gently up and down your quivering thighs, laughing in amusement at the way you could not catch a breath from the sudden orgasm he induced. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your hip, murmuring, "Gods, it's so fun watching you like this. How much I can't wait to see what other expressions you'll be making as the night goes on."

"I need you Joong," you gasped out, tugging his shirt as your thighs clamped against him. "Please, I need to feel you inside. Please."

"Hold on, baby," he muttered, leaving the bed briefly to rummage through the nightstand next to his side of the bed. Once he found the box of condoms, he set it on the table and settled between your trembling knees. "We did say we're stopping at three babies, right?"

A watery laugh escaped your chest, lifting a weak hand to cup his face. "Joong, just hurry!"

Hongjoong shook his head and grinned in amusement. "Patience is a virtue."

"If you don't put it in soon I'm kicking you off this bed,” you frowned.

"Hmm, Mommy is demanding," Hongjoong played back. He kicked off his sweats, rolling the condom over his hard member before settling in the gap between your legs. His lips were on yours once again as he rolled his hips against yours, gliding himself against you.

You tugged him forward, eager and hungry, breathing his name against his lips in between kisses, hoping for him to slip inside, thrusting hard and fast so your world was filled with nothing but him and your desires. You lifted your leg up and curled it against the back of his thigh, clinging tight and grinding into him.

Hongjoong wasted little time before he slid himself easily and steadily into your sex, gasping into your lips at the velvety heat and groaning into your shoulder when his balls pushed flush against your ass. He felt so thick and full inside you and yet his thrusts were gentle and steady, his hands cradled under your ass to give better leverage and his lips capturing yours each time you broke away for a breath or to moan loudly.

He picked up the speed and the force behind the rhythm, smirking against your skin at how your hands cupped his cheeks and the whimpers escaping your lips each time his dick reached so deep inside of you that you were sure your organs were being rearranged.

"H-Hongjoong," you panted, your head dazed with a pleasurable haze as his thrusts had now quickened and was shoving you up the bed a little each time his hips slapped yours and you both moved as one. The coil in your stomach wound tighter, feeling every inch of his member spearing into your flesh and sending yourself into a head spin of pleasure.

"Look at you baby," the warmth from Hongjoong's voice drew your attention, a smile plastered on his lips as you melted around him, a silent cry in your lips as your fingers tangled in the sheets. "Feeling so good, yeah?"

"Ah, so g-good," you answered breathlessly, feeling a light buzz in your ear from how dizzy you felt with his shaft buried to the hilt inside of your pussy, your muscles tightening around him each time his thrusts became slower to grind his hips into yours. The sheer look of awe on Hongjoong's face kept your chest warm. He adored every part of you. He took joy from every action, sound, sight that surrounded him as he thrusted slowly inside of you.

Your eyes slammed shut and you heard his soft groan fall against your ears, a satisfied sigh meeting them shortly after. He shuddered when you held him close and caressed a hand up the sweaty back. He laughed and returned the gesture, resting his head on your shoulder and tucked close into your neck. He rubbed his hands soothingly down your back, up and down, feeling the steady and comforting pace that had you both calm, yet his dick was still hard and pulsed deep within.

"I love you, baby," he whispered. His voice had softened and his hips moved smoothly in a tender sway that left your head falling back and your back arching closer towards him, hips jerking erratically and needy.

"I love you too, Hongjoong," you answered, crying quietly as your fingers tensed and pressed against the hard and sturdy muscles of his back. "So so much."

The squeaking of the bed creaked loudly and your breathing felt uneven, your heart beating frantically as you felt his dick slide in and out. The rhythm was smooth and pleasant, making you whine when his hands suddenly slid up to gently brush your sides and cupping the softness of your breast, playing with them, pinching, twisting, flicking. All while whispering sweet little nothings into your skin as you trembled with overflowing affection.

"Mommy looks so sexy like this," he cooed into your shoulder, laving at the skin with his tongue. "Trembling all around me and taking my love like such a good girl."

His groans became heavier and the rocking of his hips caused your mouth to drop open with each deep roll, your bodies pressed together without an inch of space. You could feel every inch of him in such detailed clarity. "So lovely, so good. Such a good wife, a mother. Beautiful."

Your orgasm reached quickly, far too quickly. You moaned and yelled his name, throwing your head back and forcing your legs to stay clamped around him as the waves crashed through and you were left gasping, taking the air that had disappeared during the peak of bliss.

His fingers intertwined with yours, kissing your cheek lovingly. He lowered his head against your breasts and licked, sucked and gently bit into them. A content sigh came from his chest and he gave a squeeze with his teeth, massaging his hands all over your body, on your breast, on your back, and everywhere he could reach as your whole body shook. He came apart, unloading himself inside of the condom. Your fingers entangled in the strands of his hair, letting the moans ring in the air.

Once you both could finally breathe normally and had gotten the energy back to speak, Hongjoong collapsed on the bed next to you. He pulled the condom off, tying it up and dropping it into the trash before pulling you back to cuddle up to his chest.

"You good, love?" he whispered against your temple, pressing kisses as he awaited a reply.

"Yeah..." your breathing was quiet but content. It had been so long since the both of you were intimate, especially without worry of little interruptions or noisy children waking up throughout the night and demanding attention.

You cuddled closer to Hongjoong, reaching up to feel your face hot and a dorky smile crossed his lips, bringing his face down to nuzzle against your forehead.

He sighed softly against your hair. His voice, a gentle, sleepy slur. "What's on your mind?"

"Sleepy," you blurted out, squeezing your husband against your chest. "And then we can go again after a little rest."

"How demanding," Hongjoong let out a laugh as he snuggled closer to your chest.

"You knew what you signed up for when you put a ring on this finger, Kim Hongjoong. Get ready to provide all the affection I want,” you grinned.

Hongjoong scoffed, wriggling to hold your body. He hid the small smile curling on his lips. "Good grief, woman."

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