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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 days

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Winter's King 6

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

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

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

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

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: i slept so gosh dang heavy.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You haul up the cask, one of the smaller but still heavy for your arms. The stairs are treacherous to the upper floors of the castle and you waddle down the corridors hugging the vessel with heavy steps. As you near the ivory room, you slow and face the wooden barrier. Should you knock?

You look down. You can’t balance the cask with one arm. You lean and tap with your foot as best you can. You wait and hear only the draughts flowing in from the windows. Then at once, the hinges groan and the door swings inward, the king already in retreat.

You enter, trying not to show your struggle, and carry it to the round table. You set it down with a loud clunk and your shoulders ache. You feel around your apron pockets for the spout. You sense the king’s mood clouding in the chamber.

“If you knew it was to be heavy, you could have said so,” he grits as he sits across the table from you.

“Your highness, it is not very much,” you lie. Your arms feel weak as you put the spout in place. You did not bring a stein. “I will fetch a cup--”

“I don’t care about the ale,” he rests one hand against the handle. “If you are thirsty, there is a cup in my bedroll.”

You back away, confused. You don’t protest or question him. Did you mishear him? He did request ale.

“So I am wed,” he mulls and toys with a loose lace hanging from the open collar of his shirt. It is untucked from his breeches as his hair is tangled around his shoulders.

“Good tidings for that, your highness,” you offer the expected courtesy.

He looks at you and you wince, putting your head down as you back away.

“Apologies, I speak out of turn,” you touch your chin.

He huffs, “weddings are supposed to be happy, are they not?”

You bow your head lower, “I believe so, your highness.”

He hums and tabs his fingers on the armrest, “I am not very happy.”

You stay as you are. He makes it hard to serve, he is cryptic to the point you can’t guess what he wants. You dare to peek up quickly but promptly retract your gaze as you meet his eyes.

“Speak your thoughts, I see them written upon your brow,” he commands.

You sway slightly and bend your arms behind you, “your highness--”

“Look at me,” he demands. You obey.

“Your highness,” you start cautiously, “you’ve been at war, perhaps you are sick for your home.”

He scoffs and rubs the coarse stubble on his jaw, “my home? You would not think that if you knew it.”

You slant your mouth. He raises his hand, gesturing with two fingers, “speak freely.”

“You are correct, your highness, I would not know. I’ve never been further than a day’s ride from this castle. I only hear that the north is cold but anyone might guess that.”

He snorts, “yes, it is cold. And dark. But the mountains, they are beautiful and when the snows fall, they glisten over the ground. So long as you have a fire to warm you, or a body near, it is not so bad.” He closes his eyes and leans his chin on his knuckles, “there are large elk with trees for antlers and the white wolves who blend into the snow but for their eyes, and the bears who sleep in the caves until the ground thaws in the springs.” He opens his eyes again and stares at you, “we have no summer there. The butterflies and flowers do not fare for long.”

You imagine the place he describes. Or attempt to. It sounds frightening. No summer?

“I’ve never seen snow,” you say at last.

He sits up and his expression eases, “then you will to come see it.”

You blink. Is he serious? Is that an order?

“I serve the castle--”

“You serve...” he swallows, “my wife and by rights I am her master. As she is yours, thus you serve me. She will need a familiar face once we are on to the Hinterlands. They are harrowing and she is weak. You will be her companion to see her through.”

You don’t argue. You never do. He is right. All that is Lady Jazlene’s is now his.

“Are you excited to come?” He asks.

You think. You will do as you’re told thought it is an unexpected, almost undreamt of, opportunity.

“I think I am, your highness. It is a far way and I’ve never been very far.”

“Mm,” he puts his elbow on the table, almost amused as he watches you, “are you afraid?”

“Why, yes, certainly,” you answer honestly. “You speak of bears and wolves. I’ve never seen those either, though I have seen deer.”

“Do not fear, even the bears and the wolves bow to King Geralt,” he lets himself laugh, a bawdy rumbling like thunder. It surprises you, “but first we must ride south to tidy up the summer countries. I must meet my people, make sure they are not left to ruin.”

You tilt your head but quickly fix it. He drones again, “speak.”

“That is kind of you. No, as you said before, prudent. To make certain the people are not unhappy. War leaves scars.”

“It leaves gaping wounds if one does stitch them up,” he counters, “a wise observation for a maid.”

Your cheeks twitch. You think it’s a compliment. You lower your chin.

“Ah,” he intones, “don’t. You don’t have to hide from me, little maid.”

His last words drag over his tongue. His timbre is like smoke. You feel how it traps the air in your chest. You linger, uncertain, across from him.

“Will you sit with me?” He asks and leans forward to pull out the chair nearest to him, “I rarely have pleasant company.”

You hesitate. What about Jazlene? He has her. She is his wife now. You don’t dare ask that question. You move carefully around the chair and sit. He stays forward in his chair, his arm on the table.

“I have told you of the Hinterlands, but what of you? I’ve seen some of your home but I expect this castle isn’t your real home,” he says.

“It is the only home I remember,” you murmur, “I’ve been here since I was a girl.”

His gold eyes flick down and he nods, “I didn’t...” he looks up again and leans back, a stitch in his brow, “would it make you unhappy to be away from home?”

You purse your lips. You’ve never thought of leaving. You don’t feel any sort of way about the prospect, nothing more than ignorant. You don’t know what awaits you outside those walls.

“I will go where I am bid,” you say evenly, “not many get to go so far from home. It would be nice to see more of the world.”

He hums as he watches you, brushing his fingers through his white hair. You watch how his index catches in a wave and he tugs it free with agitation. He pauses, holding out his hand before dropping it to his lap. He inclines his head as if to say, ‘what are you looking at?’

“Are there many people like you there?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Like me? There is only one king. I’ve made certain of that.”

“No, I... never mind,” you curl one hand around the other, “your highness.”

“Only me,” he affirms, “and what of you? I’ve yet to meet any like you.”

You furrow your nose, “there are lots of maids, your highness.”

He doesn’t respond and his shoulders drop. He once more runs his hand around his square jaw. He inhales and lets it out slowly.

“You should leave now,” he utters softly, “before...” he pauses and his eyes wander to the window, “before the dawn.”

You stand and bend your neck, “yes, your highness. I wish you a good sleep and a good marriage.”

He returns only another thick grunt. You leave him without looking back. As you’re shut out in the dark corridor, a clatter comes from the other side. You turn back but do not go through. You smell something stringent and feel something wet seeping into the stitches of your shoes. You kneel and put your fingers in the liquid leaking under the door. It’s the ale.

You stand and lean back on your heel. You never meant to anger the king. You will do well to stay out of the way. You don’t think you’ll be going to the Hinterlands after all. Merinda is much more fit for a royal court anyhow.

⚔️

You sleep hardly an hour before you are on your feet again. The castle is in a flurry to get the horses and luggage on the road. You and Merinda help Lady Jazlene dress as her head threatens to droop this way and that. She’s tired and her yawns tickle your throat as you hold back a similar act.

Lady Rezlyn enters, already dressed, her dark blue gown slashed with yellow in the sleeves. You and Merinda retreat to busy yourself with miniscule worries. The lady’s riding gloves and boots. A queen’s gloves and boots.

“Oh, my daughter,” Rezlyn sweeps over to put her hands to Jazlene’s cheek, admiring her daughter as she ever does, “I see your wedding night has left you fatigued. I expected no less of a man like the king.”

The lewd snicker from the duchess’ mouth makes your stomach churn. Jazlene trickles out a small chuckle and wriggles free of her mother’s grasp. She turns and sits to let you lace on her boots.

“What is it, then?” Rezlyn challenges, folding her arms. “Did it hurt very much? I told you, daughter, it wouldn’t be very pleasant if you stay dry as parchment.”

“Mother, please,” Jazlene begs, “I wasn’t...” she shakes her head and sniffs, “it was wonderful.” Her lie is told by the tremour in her void. She raises her head, “He is a true king and I am his queen now. These are matters between man and wife.”

Rezlyn scowls and sneers, “very well then. How quickly your head swells.”

“You will not mind so much when you see the advantage a queen’s mother reaps,” Jazlene’s bold tone returns. You see the same lady you’ve ever known. Haughty and stubborn. “I am off to meet my people, to ride through the kingdom. I will introduce my husband to my people and they will see they were wrong about me. Lady Theodora will choke on her stupid sapphire collar.”

“Precious, I know they will,” Rezlyn smirks, “they will all see how wrong they were about our family. The will recall at last your father’s title and the history behind it.”

Jazlene raises her chin and her nostrils flair, “is that why, mother? Is that why we’ve done this? To reclaim our glory?”

“To find new glory. In a new kingdom. Darling, don’t you see, you will watch over a realm larger than any before. You and the greatest king the world has known.”

You stand as Merinda hides her dry flutter of lashes. She is always much more amused by the flowery conversations between the duchess and her daughter. You can only think of the ale leaking under the door and the king’s declaration; ‘I am not very happy’.

When Jazlene rises, you tie a cape around her shoulders, the shimmering silver with the blue and violet flowers sewn into it. She is sparkling in her new role. A queen with even a circlet of silver in her curls, though it was formerly a necklace.

She emerges with her spine straight and her eyes set. She has readied all her life to be a wife though she just as easily acts a queen. Her shoulders are high and strong as she descends into the chaos of the castle.

You and Merinda follow behind the two ladies. Lord Dustan blusters towards them, the toggle buttons of his riding jacket unaligned with the loops. He looks between his daughter and wife.

“The horse will be ready shortly, are you ready to ride?” He sneers at Jazlene.

“Father, I am the queen. You do not tell me--”

“You are a queen and queen’s cannot be tardy. We must way to the capital to consolidate the kingdom. This is not a pageant,” he hisses.

“Is the carriage ready?” Jazlene asks.

“Carriage? You will ride abreast. All haste is required.”

“Father,” Jazlene shifts on her feet with discomfort, “I’d be better on a cushion than a saddle--”

“Argue it with the king then. His orders.”

Dustan storms past without further discussion and disappears through the outer doors into the courtyard. Jazlene pouts into a grimace and looks at her mother. Rezlyn gives a wry shrug.

“Well, your highness...” Rezlyn taunts.

“Motherrrrr,” Jazlene growls before she spins and breezes away in her father’s stead.

You trail the duchess into the dim hues of dawn. The yard is even more hectic than within. The king’s soldiers move like ants on a hill as their horses stand in patient rows, ready to be mounted. It is the Debray party that is in disarray.

As Jazlene weaves through the crowd, several of the castle hands back away and show their deference for their new queen. The black and grey soldiers of the Hinter carry on in checking their saddle bags and weapons. The king is near the gate, head down as a steely haired soldier speaks to him.

The duchess’ daughter, newly married, awoken a queen, approaches her husband without hesitation.

“I am told I am not to have a carriage? I cannot sit a horse. It is unseemly--”

King Geralt signals to his man with irritation. The soldier with eyes as grey as his hair quiets and backs away. You can tell by the pin on his mail that he must be important.

“You will,” the king says evenly. “We must be quick. I cannot have a broken axle. We ride as if to battle. In itself, this is exactly what we face.”

“But you have won--”

“I won in blood, but there are other victories to be claimed,” the king interjects, “still your tongue and obey your husband and king. The world does not exist as your cloistered life in this castle.”

“I am the queen and I want a carriage!” Jazlene squeals shrilly. Several heads turn as you keep your chin low. You know it isn’t the right response but Jazlene does not take orders easily.

“You have not yet been coronated,” the king snarls, “do not forget so quickly on who’s back you rose.”

Jazlene huffs and puts her hands to her hips. She steps closer to the king and he glares down at her. You peek up to find his eyes blazing.

“I am your wife, not your servant,” she snaps, “and you will not speak to me as one.”

He blinks and you retract your stare. You look over at Merinda as her face strains with horror. The tension of the confrontation quiets the courtyard.

“If I need to have you strapped to the horse like a bedroll, then so be it,” King Geralt hisses. “I have done my duty to you so you will do yours or you should void our contract. Obey.”

Jazlene stands defiantly close to the king. They stare at one another, the air thrumming between them. Lady Rezlyn reaches to touch her daughter’s sleeve.

“You will look so pretty aback a horse, daughter. Imagine what the people will think when they see you resplendent as you ride into the capital, eh? You shouldn’t hide in a carriage, you will want to meet your people.”

The daughter puffs out and steps back at her mother’s tugging. She retreats slowly as the king does not budge, his face twisted with anger. The duchess has tendered a fragile truce.

“Come, I haven’t ridden in some time,” Rezlyn coaxes the younger woman.

“And you will not,” King Geralt speaks at last, “my wife will ride. I see no need of her mother. She is no naive maiden.”

Rezlyn flinches, “your highness?”

The king raises his hand and gestures with his fingers. Two soldiers come forth in his colours, “I will leave some of my men to watch over your walls. The word will spread how Debray did assist in my victory. I have yet to assuage that animosity so you would be best to stay and hide behind your walls.” He drops his arm, gripping his pommel, “your husband has not yet given all he promised.”

Rezlyn grips her daughter’s arm and staggers as if she’s been struck. What the king has said is clear. They are traitors, not only in the eyes of their fellow summer lords, but in his. He has not trust and the duchess will be kept in her castle as little more than a hostage.

“Your highness,” Lady Rezlyn rasps, “I shall do as you bid. I will only say farewell to my daughter.”

“Make it fast,” the king sneers.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #medieval au #series #winter's king #the witcher

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bookofbonbon · 14 days

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the ground beneath our feet - aemond targaryen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!reader (third person - no name used).

Warnings: Mention of suicide. Angst.

Summary: Your relationship with Aemond has fallen apart as the war wages on and you remain his prisoner.

Prompts: My love for you is as firm as the ground we stand on (Mary & George 2024).

Word Count: 863.

The hem of her dress dragged heavily across the darkened sand. The treacherous sea binding itself to the satin material as it rose to the bottom of her calves, reaching higher and higher as the tide came in. Each step harder than the last as her bare feet sunk further into the unsteady ground. With the shore disappearing, every new current was stronger than the last and threatened to drag her under if she wasn’t careful.

But careful she was. Though she loved the sea as every Velaryon before her and now has, death by drowning was not high on her list of ways to die. Although, in times - such as right now - when she found herself under the steady gaze of her estranged husband, she wondered if she might let the sea consume her out of spite. Alas, it was too late as sand turned to stone beneath her feet.

Beginning her barefoot ascent to Dragonstone, she walked carefully as she made her way back to the looming castle, weary of the deep cracks in the foundation as the stone crumbled and created an uneven ground of the eroding path.

Careful more so, however, of the Targaryen Prince awaiting her company on the first landing of many.

“Must you come out here every day?” Aemond drawls once she is within ear shot.

Quick to anger, she feels her ears grow hot as her head snaps up from the ground. Gaze finally meeting that of the man who insisted on stalking her every move. Not once could he allow her to suffer his presence in silence. There was always something to be said.

“Must you follow me out here every day? I’m not a child, you need not watch over me as if I am one.”

Her fury however, is met with indifference as Aemond regards her coolly. The one-eyed Prince having grown accustomed to her anger-fuelled outbursts at him- of course, that didn’t make them hurt any less. But, she was predictable and always ready to be angry with him and despite his efforts, there was no balm he could give to soothe it. So, if her anger remained the one thing that she would give then Aemond would take as much of it as he could get.

“Had you not gotten into the habit of wading further and further into the sea, gazing longingly upon its depths as if you may opt into disappearing into it at any given moment then perhaps I would not feel the need to supervise you as if you were one.”

There's a beat of silence. A flicker of hurt in her now glassy eyes that she tries to wash away with a thick swallow that Aemond tracks with his one good eye. He didn't like her hurt, he didn't want her pain.

“So, the sooner you begin acting within reason, the sooner you will be left to your own devices. It really is that simple,” he finishes in the hopes of raising her temper but, it does more of the opposite.

She visibly flinches, Aemond’s dismissiveness of her suffering hitting the soft spot in the back of her throat.

"Is it?" The question catches him by surprise, his back straightening as he stares unblinking at her. She hadn't endeavoured to ask him anything more than a mocking retort of his own questions since the war started but, there was a sincerity to her voice that demanded an answer. "Is it really that simple?"

“It is.”

Another beat as she silently regards him.

“Do you love me still?”

Aemond’s eyebrows furrow, scar pulling inward from the motion as he takes offense at the question.

“Still? I never stopped. My love for you has always been as firm as the ground we stand on. It is yo-”

“So if you claim to love me so, then am I your prisoner or am I your guest?”

“Guest,” he speaks too fast, lying without thinking.

“Guest?" she smiles sadly. "Guests may leave as they please, so can I? Can I leave as I please?”

Aemond’s throat dries. The question hangs heavy in the space between them as he flounders for something to say, mouth agape but no sound coming out; the winds whistle and the crashing of the waves the only thing to be heard.

“Answer me, Aemond.”

The shake of his head is slight but not un-noticeable.

Aemond didn’t want her pain but it is all he got as it spills over and onto her cheeks.

"I take no pleasure in your captivity," Aemond tells her softly.

But then a sound, a sound he had not heard for a long time - a laugh. It’s slight and it's broken and it's watery and one clearly reserved only for herself but, a laugh nonetheless as she gestures to the ground around them.

At the deep cracks in the foundation, at the fragile stones that bowed and bent and broke and created an uneven and unstable ground of the eroding path with each passing day.

“Look around you, Aemond,” she sighs. The same sad smile stretched across her lips. “The ground is not firm, it has crumbled beneath our very feet.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen angst #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x velaryon!reader #ewan mitchell fanfic

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aphroditelovesu · 8 months

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Yandere love letter from Zeus and Poseidon to a pregnant reader pls? (Maybe Zeus's reader is worried of Hera's wrath on her)

Zeus

My love,

My love for you transcends any limits, it is an overwhelming passion that consumes me completely. Seeing the life blossom within you brings me an indescribable ecstasy, but it also ignites an uncontrollable fire within me.

At this time in our lives, my determination to protect you and our baby is unwavering and unbreakable. I solemnly swear that I will face any obstacle, any adversity, and any threat she may throw at us.

With each passing day, my mind is haunted by the shadow she casts over us. Her jealousy and anger are known to all, and the love I feel for you only increases my anxiety. Every thought of possible threats she might pose to you and our child's safety torments me in an overwhelming way.

My beloved, I would do anything to keep you and our precious baby safe, even if it means eliminating any threat that dares to get in our way.

May this letter testify to the profound oath I make to you and to the life that burgeons within you. My beloved, trust me, for I am willing to brave heaven and earth to protect what is ours.

May this letter testify to the profound oath I make to you and to the life that burgeons within you. My beloved, trust me that I am willing to stand up to the titans and Gaia herself to protect what is mine.

With a heart that's yours entirely,

Zeus.

Poseidon

My beloved,

Every wave that kisses the shore carries with it the echo of my passion for you, a passion that has blossomed into an unwavering devotion that knows no bounds. Knowing that a new being, fruit of our ardent love, is growing inside you awakens an indescribable joy and, at the same time, a concern that threatens to consume my reason.

From the moment you came into my life, my heart was engulfed by an overwhelming wave of love and protection for you. The news that you are carrying our child fills my being with uncontrollable ecstasy and worry.

However, allow me to express my growing concern about the safety of you two. Wild imagination haunts me with visions of dangers that could threaten your life and that of our baby. The fear that even the treacherous waters might conspire against you consumes my mind.

I swear by the seas I rule, my beloved, that I will shape the seas into impassable shields to protect you from any evil that dares approach. No tumultuous currents or raging storm will dare even touch your delicate skin. Our connection runs as deep as the very depths of the oceans I rule, and my love with you is more powerful than the pull of the tides.

May this letter testify to the intensity of my commitment, my beloved. Be mine and mine alone, that I may protect and adore you forever.

Take care, my queen of the deep, and know that my devotion to you and our child is fiercer than the storm itself.

With possession and fervor,

Poseidon.

#yandere love letter #love letter #yandere greek gods #yandere greek mythology #greek mythology #yandere zeus #yandere zeus x reader #yandere zeus love letter #zeus x reader #yandere poseidon #yandere poseidon x reader #yandere poseidon love letter #poseidon x reader

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layaart · 2 years

Photo

Here’s the new art for the Once Stolen ebook! it’s available now.

#once stolen #these treacherous tides #book design #my art #a few weeks late LMAO i've been too busy for social media posting #books

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tinytinyblogs · 2 months

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The Mafia: Mingi

He never jokes about his determination to make you his forever, even if it means he has to take a bullet to prove his love for you.

(Mafia theme, mention gun and blood) 1k words

This story has been lingering in my draft for quite some time, and I haven't made any changes or edits to it.

💌 @ultimatebathroomsinger

Ateez masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

The opulent ballroom buzzed with an unsettling energy, a symphony of clinking glasses, silken whispers, and forced laughter that hung like a shroud over the gathering. Amidst this sea of feigning sophistication, a palpable tension crackled like electricity, threatening to erupt at any moment. Like phantoms in a masquerade, the guests mingled, their faces masks of artificial smiles, their eyes darting like wary predators. Enemies, forced to feign cordiality for the sake of appearances, exchanged knowing glances, their words laced with thinly veiled hostility. Beneath the veneer of camaraderie, a web of unspoken threats and hidden agendas wove its intricate pattern, poised to ensnare the unsuspecting. Amidst this treacherous tableau, your eyes found solace in the gentle presence of Mingi, a figure radiating an aura of quiet strength amidst the chaos.

His gaze, as deep and mesmerizing as the midnight sky, met yours, sending a reassuring warmth through your veins. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered, a question that echoed in the recesses of your mind: Was it wrong to find comfort in the presence of Mingi, a man whose name was whispered in the same breath as violence and power? You, clad in a shimmering dress that seemed to reflect the very essence of your vulnerability, felt like an outsider in this world of hardened criminals and Machiavellian schemes. In the heart of the opulent ballroom, you stood mesmerized by Mingi's gaze, his eyes a hypnotic vortex that drew you deeper into their depths. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, the vibrant lights extinguishing like a collective breath, leaving behind an unsettling silence that sent shivers down your spine.

In the stark void, Mingi's presence transformed into your lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. His strong hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his solid form a comforting shield against the looming chaos. In that moment of absolute surrender, you knew that only Mingi mattered, his presence the only anchor in the tempestuous sea of turmoil. As the darkness thickened, the air grew thick with an ominous tension. Gunshots erupted, their deafening blasts shattering the silence, sending echoes ricocheting through the room like a symphony of terror. Painful groans and cries of despair followed, their sources obscured by the enveloping gloom. The once elegant guests, now transformed into terrified souls, scattered in all directions, their frantic footsteps echoing like the panicked heartbeat of the night.

In the midst of this pandemonium, your body was tossed about like a leaf in a storm, Mingi's grip the only lifeline keeping you from being swept away by the human tide. The sounds of violence intensified, the air heavy with the acrid tang of gunpowder and the palpable fear that gripped the room. Suddenly, amidst the cacophony of chaos, a deep, guttural groan escaped Mingi's lips, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. The echo of his suffering hung heavy in the darkness, a stark reminder of the peril that surrounded them. The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional groan. As you and Mingi escaped the chaos of the ballroom, he dragged you towards a room with a large window, the only source of light amidst the darkness.

The moonlight streamed in, illuminating the room and revealing Mingi's bloody shirt. Despite the wound, he couldn't suppress a grin. "We're safe, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection. He gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I told you, no one else can keep you safe. Only me." A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You knew Mingi was capable of great violence, but he also possessed a tenderness reserved only for you. You had always questioned his motives, but now, as he cradled you in his arms, you felt a flicker of trust. "I took the bullet for you," he confessed, his grin widening. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you fought back tears. The thought of the bullets that could have pierced your body sent shivers down your spine.

Mingi reached out with his other hand, gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your face. "Darling," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "They say falling in love means we're being stupid. Well, I guess I've been stupid for you all this time." A faint smile graced your lips despite the fear that still lingered in your heart. "And I'm not going to let this bullet wound kill me," he continued, his voice filled with determination. "My men will be here soon, and you're going to stay with me tonight." Your eyes narrowed into slits, their fiery gaze piercing through Mingi's calm demeanor. "Why would you do that?" you hissed, your voice barely a whisper yet laced with intense emotion. "You know it's dangerous!" Mingi maintained his serene expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Calm down, my love," he soothed. "It's called sacrifice, and I'm willing to make it for you." A sudden noise from outside startled you. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by a voice that Mingi immediately recognized as belonging to one of his trusted men. "That's why I told you to make it easy for both of us," Mingi said, turning his attention back to you. His gaze softened, his eyes filled with a tenderness that almost melted your resistance. "Just marry me," he proposed, his voice a gentle caress. "Be stupid for me, love me. Isn't that easy enough?" Mingi turned his body to face you squarely, his expression resolute. "One bullet should be enough to demonstrate that I'm not joking," he declared, his voice unwavering. The door burst open as one of his men rushed in, his face etched with concern. He quickly scanned Mingi for injuries, his relief evident when he received a nod of assurance. "I'm fine," Mingi informed him, his tone dismissive. "Take care of the rest. Get the car ready and take my fiancée with us." With a final wink at you, Mingi strode towards the door, leaving his men to handle the aftermath. You followed closely behind, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.

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sinisteryanderescribe · 13 days

Note

Hello I'm curious on how Norton comfort Nurse Reader?

Norton comforting Nurse Reader pls?

Note: Hello dear sorry it took long I was very sick and had a lot of personal issues going on.

Depths Of Comfort

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The echoes of the match still reverberated through the manor, a haunting reminder of the fear and pain that had unfolded in the twisted corridors. You sat in your room, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, your breaths ragged and hands trembling from the harrowing experience you had just endured.

Norton, stood at the threshold of your room, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and understanding. Without a word, he crossed the room to stand beside you, his presence a grounding force in the midst of turmoil.

In the dimly lit room, the male reached out a calloused hand to gently rest on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone accustomed to the rough terrain of the manor. In that simple gesture, you felt a rush of emotions - relief, vulnerability, and a flicker of hope that you weren't alone in your pain.

With a silent nod, he settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight at your side. There was no need for words between you, for in the shared silence lay a deep understanding that transcended the horrors you had faced in the match. It was a connection forged in the depths of the manor, where words often failed to convey the magnitude of the trials you endured.

As you struggled to steady your racing heart and quell the rising tide of emotions, Norton's steady presence was a lifeline in the darkness. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a silent pact of solidarity and support, a promise that you didn't have to face the aftermath alone.

You found solace in Norton's quiet strength, a beacon of light in the shadows of the manor. His unwavering presence spoke volumes, offering a sense of comfort and understanding that cut through the chaos and fear that lingered in the air.

Norton remained by your side, a steadfast companion in the aftermath of the match. His role as a miner shone through in the way he navigated the complexities of your emotions, much like he would navigate through the treacherous passages of the manor, with caution and determination.

As you sat there, enveloped in the quiet comfort of Norton's presence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support in the aftermath of the match. Though the black haired man hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to navigate the unfamiliar territory of offering comfort and solace to someone in need.

Despite his lack of experience with overt displays of affection, Norton's actions spoke volumes. Sensing your need for reassurance, he leaned in slightly, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions that swirled around you. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Norton's usual guarded expression softened, revealing a glimpse of the caring soul that lay beneath the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Norton tentatively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, a gesture both tentative and sincere. The warmth of his touch seeped through you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your struggles. It was a small yet profound act of comfort, one that transcended the barriers Norton had built around himself.

Feeling the weight of his arm around you, you couldn't help but lean into his touch, seeking solace in the simple act of human connection. Norton's presence, though unfamiliar in its tenderness, offered a sense of security and understanding that you desperately needed in that moment of vulnerability.

As the night deepened, Norton's instinctive need to provide comfort and solace to you grew stronger, overcoming his usual reservations about physical touch. With a subtle yet determined resolve, he gently lifted you from your seat, cradling you in his arms with a surprising ease that belied his strength as a miner.

Moving you to his lap, he settled you against his firm chest, his arms encircling your waist in a protective embrace. The contrast between his rugged exterior and the tenderness of his actions created a sense of safety and warmth that enveloped you in a cocoon of comfort.

Feeling his breath against your neck as he nuzzled his nose and face into your hair, a wave of shyness and flustered warmth washed over you. The unexpected intimacy of his touch, though not overtly sexual, stirred a gentle flutter in your chest, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude for his unspoken support.

In response to his touch, you placed a hand on his thigh, a soft and subtle gesture of reciprocity. The contact was a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had formed between you, a wordless reassurance that his touch was welcomed and reciprocated in kind.

With your hand resting on his thigh, you felt the tension in Norton's frame ease slightly, a subtle sign of his own need for comfort and closeness. In that quiet moment of shared intimacy, surrounded by the hushed stillness of the room, you found solace in the unspoken bond that had formed between you.

As the ex-miner held you close, his touch a balm to your weary soul, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, finding a sense of peace and security in the strength of his arms. The gentle rhythm of his breathing against your neck, the warmth of his body enveloping you, created a sanctuary of comfort in the midst of the chaos that had unfolded in the manor.

“Norton…” you would whisper softly, loving how his lean yet strong arms wrapped around your small form in a sort of protective yet intimate manner.

The said male would not respond but a soft raspy grunt followed by a hum. A way of informing you to stay quiet and relax on him…you knew him too well to be able to understand his language of communication.

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