Brattaming Stories

The first time that Geralt of Rivia met Etta, he knew she was someone destiny had plans for. Her eyes were unseeing to most but Geralt knew that hidden behind her clouded eyes laid something much more. A mischievous soul that saw what others could not. The first time Etta met Geralt of Rivia, she knew that he would be her anchor, whether she wanted one or not. The images that came to her head were filled with his amber eyes and silver sword. He would give her something foreign to her; respect. But he demanded it in return. When their paths intertwine in the middle of the tavern, with a beast stringing them together there is no going back. Etta needs protection and Geralt needs a purpose outside of killing monsters. In time, they form a relationship that many find strange. To Etta and Geralt however, it is just who they are. ***Story contains themes of d/s dynamics and punishments***

NOT FOR CHILDREN🔞🔞🔞🔞

Declan Kearney is a man of the law, but for years he has wanted to break every rule for Cataleya Montoro. His best friend's younger sister, a medical student with a sharp tongue and a talent for pushing him too far. To everyone else, Declan is the golden boy cop. Patient, dependable, easy to trust. But beneath that restraint is something far more possessive. And when Cataleya finally crosses the line, she learns just how dangerous "good" men can be.

Celphius, a seemingly unaware historian living in Spider-man 2099's world, ends up working as his private doctor. With an angsty secret and a special power, how will things end up between the two? (It's a slowburn but I swear there's smut 😭😭) (mostly written for myself so don't mind the mistakes)

At twenty-four, Viktor was the newly crowned King of Zaun. And the heaviest link in his chain was the betrothal contract to Lord Dimitri. Dimitri was... acceptable. Handsome in a sharp, calculated way, wealthy beyond measure, and from a house whose armies could shore up the crown's weakening borders. He was also a pompous, preening peacock who spoke in political platitudes and looked at Viktor not with desire, but with the cold assessment of a man acquiring a particularly fine piece of real estate. He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his solar, watching the sun rise over the city. The light, pure and hopeful, felt like a personal insult. Behind him, the rustle of parchment and the soft clink of a quill being set down signaled the end of his morning audience with the commander of his kingsguard. Sir Jayce de Talis. His sworn sword. The man who held Viktor's heart in his gauntleted hands and refused to acknowledge it.